My grandmother (left) and mother at home in Champaign.

Nona’s visit—Finding Connections in Simple Moments

In the rich, black soil of Champaign, Illinois, my grandmother found a connection to something primal and eternal.

Rich, Black, Fertile Soil

She wasn’t just visiting from Greece; she was immersing herself in a world both foreign and fascinating. One memory, in particular, captures the quiet wonder of her visit. We stood together outside our house, on the side of a windowed verandah where flowers grew. It was a sunny day with a vivid blue sky. Nona, as I called her, bent down to touch the soil and marveled at its abundance, scooping it up into her hand as though it were extremely precious. She pensively held the soil tightly for a long moment, and then let it slowly spill back through her open fingers, savoring its richness. That moment seemed to touch her, connecting her to something both elemental and eternal. It was the richness of the soil, which emerged after a glacier’s approach and retreat in the far distant past, that captivated her imagination.

Family love and Life’s Simple Joys

Her love for the soil mirrored the care she brought to our family and the joy she found in life’s simple pleasures, like sharing a meal or marveling at the world around her.

Her love for life extended beyond the soil to the moments we shared indoors, like playing Monopoly together. She would invariably let me win and laugh uproariously, something my mother disapproved of.

Everything was new for her, and she had a particular fondness for people-watching at the mall. Her favorite activity, which was mine too, was getting a treat at McDonald’s. Sandwiches back then were huge, thick, juicy, and decadent. There was no concern about calorie intake or what constituted healthy eating—they were simply enjoyed. Another cherished place for us was Aunt Sonya’s, a breakfast spot renowned for its pancakes.

My grandmother’s amazement extended to observing the size of people; she would count them and jot the numbers in her journal. This fascination stemmed from her experiences after the second world war and the Greek civil war, when food scarcity led to pervasive thinness. My mother remembers seeing children with rounded bellies and outstretched hands, a sight that left an indelible mark. Our Greek family would send photographs to relatives abroad, commenting on their newfound attractiveness, though it was a false beauty, induced by lack and deprivation.

The Lost Ring

One memorable day during her visit, my grandmother’s gold ring slipped off her finger and disappeared down the kitchen sink. She was desperate, and I wanted to help. I found a wire in the toolbox, bent it to create a small hook, and spent about two hours digging in the sink. Eventually, I managed to retrieve the ring. When I finally held her ring up high above the sink saying ‘Nona, I found it,’ the relief and gratitude on her face was unforgettable—it was as though I had unearthed a treasure as precious as the memories we were creating together.  The worry lines on her face disappeared replaced with clear relief. Her happiness was palpable, and she praised my patience—a trait I would come to later rely on deeply in my chaplaincy work.

The Well of Patience

That moment of patient persistence with my grandmother’s ring became a metaphor for the work I would later embrace.

Now, as a chaplain at a nursing home, I draw on the same ‘well’ of patience. Many of the residents are quite old and some cannot communicate verbally. What can one do in such circumstances? Be patient and offer a ministry of presence. It is a powerful way to ‘dig’ for spiritual ‘gold’ and build meaningful, heartfelt connections with the residents.

Moments of Breakthrough

I remember a breakthrough moment with one resident. I asked, ‘Can you move your finger if you like classical music?’ The resident moved his finger, indicating yes. It was a significant moment of communication, a tiny yet profound victory in the realm of human connection and care. I was privately elated.

Presence, patience and quiet joy

Reflecting on my grandmother’s visit, I realize how those simple, shared experiences have profoundly shaped my approach to life and work. From marveling at fertile soil to patiently retrieving lost treasures, these moments teach us about the value of presence, patience, and the quiet joy of small attainments.

Our interactions, whether with family or those we care for, are opportunities to connect, understand, and bring comfort. These moments teach us that the simplest acts—holding soil, sharing a meal, or offering presence—are profound. They remind us that patience and connection are the quiet gold of life, shaping how we care for and uplift one another.

In both soil and spirit, patience and presence reveal life’s quiet gold, reminding us to care deeply, connect fully, and hold fast to the simple joys that shape our lives.

Luba Rascheff is a part-time chaplain studying psychotherapy who obtained certification from the Transformation Academy as a Spiritual Life Coach. The name of her signature coaching program is Take it to the Next Level. Discover more here.