As a fiction author, people often ask me where the
inspiration for my stories comes from. I love to write about women who
struggle, who overcome adversity through grace, whose lives are transformed by
an encounter with the living God—imperfect people on a journey to being made
perfect by Christ, though their circumstances may not change. The
characters in my books, so far, have come from my imagination. But one
day I will write the compelling story of one such person who was very real in
my life—my Nonna.
My
maternal grandmother Pierina, celebrating in heaven, has been with Jesus for
fifty-seven years. She was a true survivor—a woman who experienced being left
behind when, as a young bride, her husband sailed for America seeking a better
life for his family. After his leaving, she gave birth for the first
time, and then endured a tragic mishap in which her beautiful firstborn infant
was severely burned. She travelled across the sea to an unknown place
with only her scarred daughter at her side. In her new home she faced a
life of religious persecution, as well as long-term personal illness. Yet
she was a woman whose devotion to the Lord never wavered.
One of the joys of my life is
visiting the little northern Italian village, nestled among olive groves high
up in the Apennine Mountains, where my maternal grandparents were born, grew
up, and married before emigrating to America. A short lane connects their
two families’ farmhouses. In between them stands a small, vacant vine-clad
house of ancient, mellowed stone where my grandparents lived as newlyweds. How
full my heart felt as I first walked over that threshold! I pictured them
as a young couple in the first blush of matrimony, with all their hopes and
dreams…before their brave, separate journey across a wide ocean to a strange
land where all was unknown. Within those aged walls, did they speak of their
fears as they prepared to leave their homeland, certain they’d never see their
parents again? What kind of courage did that require? What words did they use
to comfort and reassure one another? I wondered. I could see, in my mind’s eye,
my grandmother stirring a pot of freshly handmade pasta as my grandfather
stoked the fire—their last meal together before parting. I could even hear the
crackling of the firewood, smell the slight woodsmoke…
But life
for my grandmother would be much different than that idyllic picture. After
stepping on American soil at Ellis Island in 1923, she would make her way,
pioneer-like, to the Chicago area, joining her husband and settling in among
extended family. A mother of three daughters, life during the Great
Depression would be difficult. She would be invited to a prayer meeting
in the home of a friend, where she would be introduced to a new spiritual
reality, discovering a life she’d never thought possible, through a dynamic,
personal relationship with Christ. The joy of the Lord she would know
would come at a great price: being ostracized by her family of a different
faith. She humbly poured out her love on them and on my unbelieving
grandfather, even though her prayer time would have to be done behind the
locked bathroom door, her devoted study of God’s word secretly enjoyed in the
coal cellar, threatened when her Bible was burned repeatedly, her church
attendance in clandestine fashion. A medical mistake meant she would
suffer physically for the rest of her life. Yet—yet—she knew the inexplicable
peace of God, and was a bold witness and shining example of a godly woman who
clung to her faith despite great adversity. She shared what little she had,
feeding homeless strangers as she told them how much Jesus loved them.
Years later, after becoming a
widow, she lived with my family until her death. My early childhood
memories of Nonna are colored with hearing her fervent prayers for the least
and the lost during her daily devotion time—always in Italian, always out loud,
now—and her singing worship choruses in that lovely language. These
images remain with me, along with a few rustic artifacts, which I was delighted
to bring back with me from my visits to that little stone house on the family
farm in Italy. Now I treasure and display them in my own home, because
they connect me with that place and time. My grandmother’s Italian Bible
sits on my desk. But what I treasure most is my rich spiritual heritage
from Nonna, the first Christ-follower in my lineage. I envision her now,
in heaven singing with the angels…
Come bello
camminare/con Gesu, nostro signore...
“How beautiful to walk with Jesus, our
Savior…”
There was much that
was not beautiful in Nonna’s life, but her profound joy despite her
circumstances continues to inspire me. I have come to realize that, here at my
keyboard, she is a part of everything I write. My desire to tell the
redemption story in my books is a fruit of her legacy in me. Perhaps,
because of what she endured, I am more deeply touched by the plight of the
countless women across the globe who live in fear and bondage. Perhaps,
by God's grace, as I strive to make known their plight, as I work to expand the
feminine voice with my words, Nonna's soft voice, in her small circle of
influence, can become louder and larger in me. The strength of her walk lets me
know that I can be strong, her courage shows me I can be bold. How she
lived encourages me to try to live in that same kind of faithfulness to
God through the struggles of my life, reflecting the love of Jesus, to give
like He gave, to be a woman of the Word even when it’s challenging. To
relentlessly pursue a godliness that will spill over into my writing, telling
the beauty of walking with Jesus, even when life is hard.
