Some of my favorite childhood memories are of summers at my grandparents' home in Utah. I grew up in Southern Nevada where it rarely rained. Dry doesn't even begin to describe it. Layers of concrete-hard caliche covered the ground and fine sand blew in the wind and mounded around the creosote bushes in the desert around our home. So when I went to my grandparents' home and things were green and lush; where it rained in the canyons almost every evening, I was in heaven.
At least once each summer, we would spend a couple of days at my great aunt's cabin in Provo Canyon. That is where I first discovered fireflies. My grandmother gave me one of the quart jars she used to can fruit and punched holes in the lid with the tip of a small knife. Then, she turned me loose on the fireflies!
I was such a novice at it, that I only caught one, but oh what a joy that was! I sat on the front porch of the cabin, listening to the crickets and looking at my little firefly. It's light reflected off the glass sides of the jar and dispelled the darkness in a tiny, warm little circle around it. I don't remember how long I sat there before my grandmother sent me to bed. I took the lid of the jar and released my prize at her insistence and I remember feeling such loss as the tiny speck of light flew away and the darkness returned. That night, as I lay snuggled under the quilts, I listened to the murmur of the tiny creek behind the back porch and pondered - in that drowsy moment between waking and sleeping - how something so small and alive could give off such a tiny, warm-looking light.
It was many years later, when I was grown and capable of such abstract cognition, that I pondered how such a small and singular experience could have brought me such joy and comfort. Then I thought of my grandmother. She was like the lightning bug. She was a tiny woman, only 5'1" and wore size 2 shoes. She had little hands and small features. She bustled around like a perpetual motion machine, joggling up and down as much as forward. She talked a mile-a-minute on the phone and jiggled one foot in time with the conversation; the more animated the discussion, the faster she jiggled.
But those are not the only things I remember about my grandmother. She was an optimist and she always made those around her feel that things were going to work out. She certainly had her share of trials in life, but she was that rare person who could always see a small speck of light amidst the darkness. Her clouds always had silver linings and her glass was always half full.
She knew how to love. She looked for - and found - the good in almost every person she knew. She had a kind word for everyone. She never spoiled me and she always held me accountable for my choices, but she was never harsh and she loved me absolutely and without condition. And I knew it.
She never talked down to me not did she talk over my head. With her, I always felt that adults were adults and children were children, but that was no reason for them not to get along perfectly well together. She was my very best friend. When she died, I felt a light go out in my world.
Over the years, I have often found myself patterning my behavior after hers. I try to do small things with great love as Mother Theresa once said. I strive to be a light, although my light may be a pinprick in a darkening world. I try to listen and talk parallel to everyone; I try to be sensitive of their feelings as well as my own. I try to find the good in others and to love without condition. I often fail, but still I try.
I cannot do the big things. I can only do small things with a big heart. When I feel overwhelmed by the darkness and wickedness of the world, I try to look for people who are pinpricks of light. Like the lightening bug, I strive to be such a person as well.
"I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble." ~ Helen Keller
Love it.
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