My maternal grandmother is one blessed with wits that well match her cheer and constant laughter. Stories she has told us by candlelight, by the fireplace, and outside her house as we enjoyed the warm sunny afternoons, still linger in my mind and will probably stay in my heart for as long as I’ll be able to remember.
Grandma had a beautifully furnished bedroom. It was nothing fancy. Just a small room, but very neat(I carry those perfectionism genes 🙂 ), clean and decorated with beautiful crocheted cloths and simple antiques. She referred to it as her ‘sanctuary’. The first time I walked into it, I knew then why she spent so much of her morning time locked up in there, singing hymns and praying. I certainly would choose to stay in there and write, listen to music, read or just sleep.
One rainy evening, we followed our doting grandmother, and huddled in her sanctuary where she offered us a snack of fried dry maize (It’s a Luhya delicacy). We loved listening to her, loved her cheery voice and definitely her stories. Occasionally, the loud clap of thunder would make us all jump. She laughed – really laughed.
“That shouldn’t scare you at all. You know why? That’s just the angels in heaven, rearranging God’s furniture.”
I was surprised. In all the few years I had lived, I had never heard such an explanation for thunder before. I had read stories in the story books at school about gods getting angry at humans; none of them fascinated me as much as her explanation.
I couldn’t help smiling as I pictured white-robed angels with feathery wings, shoving sofas and chairs and TV sets across the bare wooden floors of heaven. Without doubt, this heightened my awe and respect for angels as I’d imagined them in my mind.
I loved and still love the way this beautiful woman talks. “Angels moving furniture…”