First Things First Part 6

August 2, 2026

A wonderful woman recently reminded me what comes first.

When she was a pig-tailed little girl, she spent a great deal of time with her grandfather, Paw Paw, who lived out in the country. He had a nickname for her—one he had made up himself: Grabble Tail. No one knew where the name came from, but it belonged to her because he had given it to her. And he never stopped calling her by it. She often spent the night at his house, and when she was about nine years old, she began “cooking” for him during her visits. One day she put chicken pot pies in the oven, then ran outside to play.

When she came back, the pies were shriveled, hard, and nearly ruined. But her grandfather told her to serve them anyway. Then he ate every bite and declared they were the best chicken pot pies he had ever tasted. To that little girl, her grandfather was rich. She even told her friends so. “How rich?” they asked.

“He has the biggest can of peanut butter that was ever made,” she told them. And to her, it was true. The can of peanut butter in his kitchen was wider and deeper than anything she had ever seen in a store. To a child, it looked like treasure. And to spoon as much as you wanted out of the peanut butter was the best thing!

Only later did she learn that the enormous can of peanut butter came from a government commodities program for people with low incomes. As she grew older, she had to come to terms with the fact that her grandfather had not been as rich as she had imagined. In fact, he had been poor. But then she said something beautiful: “Looking back, I see that he really was rich. He was rich in caring. Rich in love. Rich in his ability to enjoy the simple things of life.”

Then she added a curious and touching memory.

When she was sixteen, her grandfather became very ill and was nearing death. He called for her—his Grabble Tail—and of course she went to him. She sat by his bedside, but when he looked at her, he said he wanted Grabble Tail, not her. She told him, “Paw Paw, I am Grabble Tail.” But in his weakened state, he could not believe it. The young woman sitting beside him did not look like the pig-tailed little girl he was searching for. She wished she could somehow change back into that child for him, but she could not.

Only later did she understand. He was not simply asking for a younger version of her. He was reaching for the little girl who had brought out his soul. She returned to his bedside several times after that, and he did know her again. He called her his Grabble Tail. Now my friend has grandchildren of her own, and she says they bring out her soul in a way no one else can. They call forth something tender, playful, generous, and deeply alive in her. They remind her of the kind of richness that cannot be measured. And they remind me, too, of what comes first.

Before achievement, before possessions, before being right, before being important, there is love. There is the person who sees us, delights in us, and receives even our burned chicken pot pies as if they were a feast. At the end of life, we will not likely ask for our résumé, our bank account, or our proudest accomplishments. Maybe we will ask for the ones who brought out our soul and by whatever name we called them.

Spiritual Practice and Inquiry

Who are the people who bring out your soul? What is awakened in you when you are with them? Why might you need them near you in your ending days?

Prayer

Dear God,

As I hear my friend’s story, I am reminded again of what comes first. Love comes first. The soul comes first. The people who awaken us to both come first.

Amen