By Christen McKey 
There are times my kids will slip up and call me “Grana” instead of “Mama.” I just laugh and jokingly thank them for aging me 20-some years. Then I make a mental note that it’s probably time to add hair color to the grocery list again. Truth be told, due to our blended family, my grandmother days probably aren’t too far off. But I chuckle at each “Grana-I-mean-Mama” nonetheless.
This is probably a common occurrence for kids who spend a decent amount of time with their grandparents. Yes, my husband will answer to the occasional “Poppy.” But then again, I guess we can’t say much when we are often accidentally calling our children the names of their siblings or the dogs, now can we? But we know this grandparent name-calling is just a reminder of the true blessing it is to have grandparents so close by.
However, for this mama, these slip-ups carry deeper meaning. There is more at the root of that name than what is seen on the surface.
Above ground, onlookers see a healthy, blossoming tree of a family. But in our lives, the roots that support that tree are beautiful and tangled. God used them to develop this family, and the hard, dirty work that took place in that soil saved this family.
When my mom became a grandmother, one who longed to see her faraway grandbabies living halfway across the country, I doubt the events that unfolded were anything she expected or prepared for. But on one deceptively sunny day during an extended family reunion at a beach halfway between our two states, she found herself bringing a terrified daughter and two young grandchildren home with her. She became part of a rescue mission that took 18 long, agonizing months to finalize, beginning a journey of freedom from a dangerous past.
You see, a mother never stops being a mother. And when her children have children, the word “grand” is simply included because of the magnitude by which her mothering is multiplied.
“Grand” is certainly at the root of my mother.
It’s the way she opened her home to three who’d become homeless.
It’s the diapers she changed and the picky toddler meals she prepped when those days were well in the past.
It’s the pain she felt while remaining strong for her daughter, seeing her daughter in pain while trying to be strong for her kids.
It’s the wall marks, wood-floor scratches, and carpet stains of play that now mark her once spotless home.
It’s the extreme, unrequited financial support, the exhausting emotional encouragement, and the countless hours of conversations full of spiritual wisdom and guidance.
It’s the protection she helped provide and the battles she helped fight to keep us safe.
It’s the way she selflessly took on childcare duties so this former stay-at-home mom
could return to work.
It’s the scripture she wrote on cards and tucked in places around the house, including Psalm 121 displayed by the kitchen sink.
It’s the hand-rolled dumplings, the decorated cookies, and the leftover pie crust “stickies” she patiently made with her two little helpers.
It’s doing the disgusting job of emptying my drain tube post-tumor-removal surgery and the midnight wake-up calls to help me get to the bathroom, while simultaneously caring for her grandbabies, who I could not safely lift for months.
It’s the months that turned into years of interruption to her golden twilight retirement phase with my dad.
It’s the fact that she doesn’t see any of these actions as sacrifices but as gifts from the Lord.
It’s the prayers she prayed for my healing and the prayers she prayed for my future.
It’s the way she now loves and cares for my husband and his children, and in the way she continues to support her daughters and grandchildren, both near and far.
Those kinds of roots run deep in a grand way. This family tree stands tall because of the foundation of faith, hope, and love, where those roots took hold. My kids have had the unique privilege of not only living near their grandmother but living with her for a few years. And they bear the fruit of that sweet time.
So, I’ll proudly be “Grana-I-mean-Mama” until I become a grandma myself. Bring on the grandbabies because I’ll be ready. I’ve learned from the best. When the storms of life come—and I’ve discovered that they do come—I’m thankful to be a part of this firmly planted tree. May its roots run even deeper and be more obvious than the roots of my overdue-for-a-color hair.
by Leslee Madsen 
by Ashley Daniels 
