When Grandmama Pierce, at the ripe age of 83, announced to her family one quiet morning that she was gonna learn water-color painting, everybody assumed that she had finally gone crazy. One, they couldn’t fathom how she was ever gonna hold a paint brush steady with her constantly-twitching fingers. But mostly, it was because of the glaring fact that she had always ridiculed art as a hobby all through her life.
If anybody cared enough to ask her why this now, she’d coolly say, “Because Jesus said so himself in my dream, didn’t he now?!”
From then on, Grandmama Pierce would prop herself in front of their Windmill every single day religiously, working away at her easel little by little. A tiny shadow one day, a plank of wood the other. By the end of five months, she had finished the whole structure except for a single sail.
That night she called her youngest daughter Elise to her side, held her hands tight and sobbed. “I now know why He wanted me to do this”, she rasped. “I made you give up art school because I didn’t think it was the right choice for you. Oh…what a terrible parent I’ve been!!” But Elise said it didn’t matter now and comforted her mother to sleep.
When a cyclone ripped through the village the next day, all that was left of the windmill was a single sail, the one that Grandmama never painted.
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