SO GOD MADE A NANA
WRITTEN FOR GLORIA (NANA NANA) ALLEN: JUNE 6TH 1928 - MAY 8TH 2026
And on the eighth day, God looked down on this weary, aching world and said, “It needs a little more tenderness. More patience. More warmth around the kitchen table. Someone who can hold a family together with threads nobody can see.”
So God made a Nana.
God said, “I need somebody willing to wake before the sun, long before her body wants to, just to make breakfast for sleepy children. Somebody to pour coffee and read the Good Book before anyone else stirs. Somebody who can stretch a dollar, stretch a meal, stretch her own strength farther than anybody thought possible.”
“I need somebody willing to sit through games in folding chairs, through dance recitals and graduations, hard seasons and long days, and just be happy she was there. Somebody who claps the loudest even when she’s tired. Somebody who remembers birthdays, keeps old report cards, and saves drawings that don’t look like much to anybody else, but look like treasure to her.”
So God made a Nana.
God said, “I need somebody who can turn a house into a refuge. Somebody whose front door and refrigerator somehow always stay open. Somebody who says, ‘Are you hungry?’ when what she really means is, ‘I love you.’ Somebody strong enough to bury heartbreak without letting the children feel the weight of it. Somebody who will pray quietly for people who never even know they’re being prayed for.”
“I need somebody who can carry sorrow without becoming bitter. Somebody who has seen funerals and hospital rooms and long nights and still somehow believes tomorrow is worth showing up for. Somebody who can lose people she loves and still teach the rest of us how to laugh.”
So God made a Nana.
God said, “I need somebody willing to wear the same old sweater for twenty years because spending money on herself never mattered much to her. Somebody who would rather give than receive. Somebody who thinks the best seat in the house is wherever the grandbabies are.”
“I need somebody who can tell stories that grow sweeter every time they’re told. Somebody who knows exactly how everybody likes their food. Somebody who keeps yarn in her purse and wisdom in her heart. Somebody who can make even ordinary days feel important just because she was there.”
God said, “I need somebody who understands that love is not built through grand speeches, but through repeated sacrifices. Through packed lunches, singing happy birthday over the phone, and thrifting at yard sales looking for little things she thinks somebody else might love. Somebody willing to hold a newborn baby and love that child more than she loves herself.”
So God made a Nana.
“I need somebody who can make a grandchild feel safe just by walking into the room. Somebody whose hugs somehow slow the world down for a moment. Somebody who can look at a grown man or woman and still somehow see the child they once were.”
God said, “I need somebody who knows how to keep a family’s memories alive. Somebody who remembers recipes nobody ever wrote down. Somebody who tells stories about people long gone so they never fully forgotten. Somebody who becomes the keeper of names, photographs, and little pieces of history that would otherwise be lost.”
So God made a Nana.
“I need somebody who can sit in silence with hurting people because wisdom eventually learns that not every wound needs words. Somebody who knows that presence itself can be healing. Somebody who has cried enough tears in life to recognize pain in another person before they even speak.”
God said, “I need somebody who ages gracefully, not because growing old is easy, but because she keeps choosing love in spite of the years. Somebody whose hands wrinkle but still feel like home. Somebody whose body slows down while her legacy keeps moving forward through children, grandchildren, and generations she may never even live to see. Somebody whose absence will leave a silence so deep her family will hear it for years.”
So God made a Nana.
And God looked down and saw a woman who gave more than she took. A woman who carried generations on her back without asking for applause. A woman who loved deeply, forgave freely, endured quietly, and held a family together through tenderness, laughter, stories, and love.
A woman whose fingerprints were left on countless lives through ordinary moments nobody thought to call extraordinary at the time. Tiny acts of love that, over nearly a century, became the foundation stones of an entire family.
And God smiled as He saw the woman who would one day be and said, “That’ll do.”
