I came across the notes I had written down about Gram as I prepared to say a few words at her funeral this past January. It was tough to know exactly what to say, because she had been my lifelong mother, and we had shared so much through the years...
"Gram often relayed that she had wanted to be a teacher when she grew up, but God had called her to be a pastor's wife instead. What impressed me most about Gram was that she truly was the teacher she had always wanted to be, though not in a classroom.
She took me in when I was only eight months old. She taught me how to read and write, and how to tie my shoes. She even taught us girls at Boylston Home that we could learn to like our vegetables. More than the things she sat down to teach us, were the ways that her life helped us to learn lessons. By her life, she taught us things like courage, loyalty, trust, joy, and contentment. The most important lesson she taught us by her way of life was what it meant to love the Lord with all of one's life, heart and soul. She also taught us verses. She knew that the verses she quoted to us would remain in our hearts, even when she could no longer be with us. She taught us to pray, just as she taught us who Jesus was.
Even as she turned 98, she taught me that our spirits are not confined to our earthly bodies. Gram's spirit would soar to lofty heights in prayer, looking forward to the day when she would see Jesus face to face, even as she was confined to sit in her chair day after day.
Finally, Gram taught me how to let go toward the end as she would often speak with her eyes closed and her heart open. She spoke often of heaven. She talked of reunions. She taught me to hope for the day when we would be together again.
Though Gram was a very dear pastor's wife, she was the best teacher I ever had, and I will miss her terribly. May her lessons stay with us all as we continue forward in our own journeys."
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
In Loving Memory of Gram
Nearly a year ago, the first seeds for this blog were planted in my heart by Gram. As I wrote in my first post, Gram told me, "We must get the word out about God's love and share Him with others. That's why we're here!"
So much has changed since I first sat down to type at this same computer, praying that God would somehow work through Gram and myself as vessels for His use. The house, room, computer, chair, and probably even my wardrobe is unchanged, but Gram has gone on to her Eternal Home as is now praising the Lord face to face. I have grown as the experiences of love and loss have molded me into a more thoughtful and appreciative person. There have been nights when I have awakened, not knowing whether the noise I heard was Gram needing my help and then realized in the next instant that she is in Glory. I still love her. I continue to miss her. And yet, I realize the baton has been passed. It is my turn to run the race that is set before me, keeping my eyes on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith. I am humbled that God chose me, among others, to be the ones who would take the baton from her.
Though time marches forward and days turn to memories quicker than we may want them to, Gram's theme remains central to my heart. She knew, at ninety-seven years old, that she and I were here to generously share God's love with others. It was her purpose, and it set my soul on fire. As I go through the rest of my life, it is my prayer that God will work in me and through me to continue on the path He chose for me the day Gram shared the joy of her existence. "That's why we're here!"
As a result of Gram's blog, I am also writing others, which are listed in the "about me" section. We all know Who these blogs are really about, though, don't we? I will continue to share thoughts and memories here, as well as some of Gram's own writing.
My newest blog is:
www.healingthelocustyears.blogspot.com
Though so much has changed in just a year's time, one promise remains steadfast:
Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever!
Thank you so much for letting me share my "Little Gram" with you!
So much has changed since I first sat down to type at this same computer, praying that God would somehow work through Gram and myself as vessels for His use. The house, room, computer, chair, and probably even my wardrobe is unchanged, but Gram has gone on to her Eternal Home as is now praising the Lord face to face. I have grown as the experiences of love and loss have molded me into a more thoughtful and appreciative person. There have been nights when I have awakened, not knowing whether the noise I heard was Gram needing my help and then realized in the next instant that she is in Glory. I still love her. I continue to miss her. And yet, I realize the baton has been passed. It is my turn to run the race that is set before me, keeping my eyes on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith. I am humbled that God chose me, among others, to be the ones who would take the baton from her.
Though time marches forward and days turn to memories quicker than we may want them to, Gram's theme remains central to my heart. She knew, at ninety-seven years old, that she and I were here to generously share God's love with others. It was her purpose, and it set my soul on fire. As I go through the rest of my life, it is my prayer that God will work in me and through me to continue on the path He chose for me the day Gram shared the joy of her existence. "That's why we're here!"
As a result of Gram's blog, I am also writing others, which are listed in the "about me" section. We all know Who these blogs are really about, though, don't we? I will continue to share thoughts and memories here, as well as some of Gram's own writing.
My newest blog is:
www.healingthelocustyears.blogspot.com
Though so much has changed in just a year's time, one promise remains steadfast:
Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever!
Thank you so much for letting me share my "Little Gram" with you!
God Can Use That!
I just love my friend, Kathie. She and I get together for a weekly "prayer and share". Panicking, I told her when Guideposts called to let me know a photographer was coming for the photo shoot for my story. It seemed like the worst possible time for this!
I was in the middle of a physical battle that I seemed to be losing. Last summer, I received radiation to destroy my thyroid in an effort to put an end to a 15-plus year battle with Graves Disease. The thyroid affects the metabolism, along with virtually everything else in a person's body. Half my hair fell out. I packed on 40 pounds, even though the doctors kept adjusting my synthetic thyroid medicine, trying to find just the right dose. I had lost my job because I had what was called a Thyroid Storm, had to be put on heart pills to fend off a heart attack, and was rushed to the hospital three times, with a resting heart rate of nearly 200 beats per minute.
Though I came home to care for Gram, I was literally broke. I came home with the clothes on my back, and found that the meager belongings I had left here in NH were ruined in a basement flood.
After my radiation treatment, I began losing strength in the right side of my body. There were some days I could barely walk. I blamed everything on the radiation until I received an MRI. Referred to a neurologist, I was told there were several "spots" on my brain. The eventual diagnosis is Multiple Sclerosis, though there is really no difinitive test. The root cause of the Graves Disease, the MS, and the miscarriages is Autoimmune Disease. A phenomenon in which the body attacks itself.
I confided all this in Kathie, whining, "Why now, when I am struggling with all of this, my hair is still falling out in clumps, and I feel so fat?"
"God can use that!" she exclaimed with excitement.
Then, Kathie did something amazing. She gave me some clothes to wear for the "big day". She remained positive, where I was discouraged. She told me, "Everyone needs a girlfriend in times like these", dropping a huge bag of clothes on the living room floor.
Late at night, I would lie in my bed praying, "Please, God. Please, please, please find a way to make it possible for me to get my hair done. I also need a manicure. And some jewelry. You know I don't even have the money to grab something at the Dollar Store down the street. I'm so embarrassed. Every woman wants to feel pretty in a picture, and this picture is HUGE for me."
I did pray every night as the photo shoot loomed in the horizon. There were no gift baskets dropped down from heaven, and no rich uncle came forward. I determined in my heart that God must have a reason for me to go forward without the things I had so desperately prayed for. It could be that someone, somewhere might be able to relate to the thin-haired, chubby, plain, middle-aged lady that I was. And I clung to Kathie's certainty that, "God can use that!"
The day the photographer called to say he was coming an hour early, my daughter, Shelli, my son's girlfriend, Kay, and I giggled and tore around the house trying to neaten up and slap make-up on my face. Kay brought over a colorful sweater, Shelli artfully applied eye shadow, and I fumbled with Kay's hair straightener. About five hundred frames later, the photographer left.
Guideposts came in the mail the other day. I waited for it like a little kid at Christmas. I was still walking through the door after work as my son, Danny announced, "Mom, your magazine came, and they sooo "photo-shopped" you!"
Passing the magazine around, the kids and I poured over the photos. Did I look like that thin-haired, chubby, plain, middle-aged woman I was afraid of? Yes, I did, but my attention was drawn to the image of another woman on the pages, standing next to her husband, smiling.
She had white hair, no jewelry, no make-up, and was wearing a dress I had seen her in a million times before. She was my Gram, and she was lovely.
Suddenly, everything crashed into perspective as I realized that Gram's life was a thing of beauty. Flashy jewelry and a perfect manicure would have looked out of place on her snowy white skin. She had always been "just" Gram, yet to me, she was one of the most attractive women I have ever known.
When all was said and done, it all worked out the way it should have. The way God, in His wisdom, had planned it. I learned to be thankful for the opportunity to share my Gram with others, and her beauty was evident on each page. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
I was in the middle of a physical battle that I seemed to be losing. Last summer, I received radiation to destroy my thyroid in an effort to put an end to a 15-plus year battle with Graves Disease. The thyroid affects the metabolism, along with virtually everything else in a person's body. Half my hair fell out. I packed on 40 pounds, even though the doctors kept adjusting my synthetic thyroid medicine, trying to find just the right dose. I had lost my job because I had what was called a Thyroid Storm, had to be put on heart pills to fend off a heart attack, and was rushed to the hospital three times, with a resting heart rate of nearly 200 beats per minute.
Though I came home to care for Gram, I was literally broke. I came home with the clothes on my back, and found that the meager belongings I had left here in NH were ruined in a basement flood.
After my radiation treatment, I began losing strength in the right side of my body. There were some days I could barely walk. I blamed everything on the radiation until I received an MRI. Referred to a neurologist, I was told there were several "spots" on my brain. The eventual diagnosis is Multiple Sclerosis, though there is really no difinitive test. The root cause of the Graves Disease, the MS, and the miscarriages is Autoimmune Disease. A phenomenon in which the body attacks itself.
I confided all this in Kathie, whining, "Why now, when I am struggling with all of this, my hair is still falling out in clumps, and I feel so fat?"
"God can use that!" she exclaimed with excitement.
Then, Kathie did something amazing. She gave me some clothes to wear for the "big day". She remained positive, where I was discouraged. She told me, "Everyone needs a girlfriend in times like these", dropping a huge bag of clothes on the living room floor.
Late at night, I would lie in my bed praying, "Please, God. Please, please, please find a way to make it possible for me to get my hair done. I also need a manicure. And some jewelry. You know I don't even have the money to grab something at the Dollar Store down the street. I'm so embarrassed. Every woman wants to feel pretty in a picture, and this picture is HUGE for me."
I did pray every night as the photo shoot loomed in the horizon. There were no gift baskets dropped down from heaven, and no rich uncle came forward. I determined in my heart that God must have a reason for me to go forward without the things I had so desperately prayed for. It could be that someone, somewhere might be able to relate to the thin-haired, chubby, plain, middle-aged lady that I was. And I clung to Kathie's certainty that, "God can use that!"
The day the photographer called to say he was coming an hour early, my daughter, Shelli, my son's girlfriend, Kay, and I giggled and tore around the house trying to neaten up and slap make-up on my face. Kay brought over a colorful sweater, Shelli artfully applied eye shadow, and I fumbled with Kay's hair straightener. About five hundred frames later, the photographer left.
Guideposts came in the mail the other day. I waited for it like a little kid at Christmas. I was still walking through the door after work as my son, Danny announced, "Mom, your magazine came, and they sooo "photo-shopped" you!"
Passing the magazine around, the kids and I poured over the photos. Did I look like that thin-haired, chubby, plain, middle-aged woman I was afraid of? Yes, I did, but my attention was drawn to the image of another woman on the pages, standing next to her husband, smiling.
She had white hair, no jewelry, no make-up, and was wearing a dress I had seen her in a million times before. She was my Gram, and she was lovely.
Suddenly, everything crashed into perspective as I realized that Gram's life was a thing of beauty. Flashy jewelry and a perfect manicure would have looked out of place on her snowy white skin. She had always been "just" Gram, yet to me, she was one of the most attractive women I have ever known.
When all was said and done, it all worked out the way it should have. The way God, in His wisdom, had planned it. I learned to be thankful for the opportunity to share my Gram with others, and her beauty was evident on each page. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
A Mother's Day poem
I was listening to a minister preaching about God's design for Christian mothers yesterday, and I found a poem he had quoted by John Stiles. Though the poem is obviously written by a man, I embraced it as a tribute by a child to a loving mother. I would like to share it here, in memory and appreciation for the life and sacrificial love of Gram, the mother of my heart.
I have worshiped in churches and chapels. I have prayed in the busy street.
I have sought my God and have found Him where the waves of His ocean beat.
I have knealt in the silent forest in the shade of some ancient tree,
But the dearest of all my altars was at my mother's knee.
I have listened to God in His temple. I have caught His voice in the crowd.
I have heard Him speak where the breakers were booming long and loud,
Where the winds play soft in the tree tops, my God has talked to me,
But I have never heard Him clearer than I did at my mother's knee.
The things in my life that are worthy were born in my mother's breast,
And breathed into mine by the wonder of the love her life expressed,
The years that have brought me to manhood have taken her far from me,
But memory keeps me from straying too far from my mother's knee.
God, make me the man of her vision and purge me of selfishness.
God, keep me true to her standards and help me to live to bless.
God, hallow the holy impress of the days that used to be,
And keep me a pilgrim forever to the shrine at my mother's knee.
Gram's prayers often included the request, "Bless us and make us a blessing". This Mother's Day, I pray that I will never forget the blessings I received by Gram's life and that I will, by the grace of God, go on to be a blessing to future generations.
I have worshiped in churches and chapels. I have prayed in the busy street.
I have sought my God and have found Him where the waves of His ocean beat.
I have knealt in the silent forest in the shade of some ancient tree,
But the dearest of all my altars was at my mother's knee.
I have listened to God in His temple. I have caught His voice in the crowd.
I have heard Him speak where the breakers were booming long and loud,
Where the winds play soft in the tree tops, my God has talked to me,
But I have never heard Him clearer than I did at my mother's knee.
The things in my life that are worthy were born in my mother's breast,
And breathed into mine by the wonder of the love her life expressed,
The years that have brought me to manhood have taken her far from me,
But memory keeps me from straying too far from my mother's knee.
God, make me the man of her vision and purge me of selfishness.
God, keep me true to her standards and help me to live to bless.
God, hallow the holy impress of the days that used to be,
And keep me a pilgrim forever to the shrine at my mother's knee.
Gram's prayers often included the request, "Bless us and make us a blessing". This Mother's Day, I pray that I will never forget the blessings I received by Gram's life and that I will, by the grace of God, go on to be a blessing to future generations.
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Tribute (from 2000)
I came across this poem I had written for my little Gram ten years ago. I was a foster parent, myself, at the time. I thought I would share it now:
A Tribute (by Elizabeth Biggar Kelly)
The stairs seemed a little steeper as she carried the babe
Up the flight and to the room where gently she laid
Her down in her crib, then kissed her and prayed
Thanking God that through her vessel, His love He conveyed
Her white hair she let down and put her feet up at last
She prayed for the future and remembered the past
"Thou promised strength for today and surely Thou hast
been faithful from the first moment unto the last"
She looked at her husband and thanked God for one
Who had a passion to love and care for the young
He was valiant, yet tender, both funny and strong
Yes, theirs was a team she was glad to be on
These children they loved, from the youngest to old
Each came with mistrust and wounds from the cold
Day that brought them there needing her hand to hold
And harboring pain that could never be told
Sleep for tonight would be fleeting, at best
Soon there'd be breakfast to make and girls to get dressed
Then the house would buzz like a busy bee's nest
Her heart would be full, her life was so blessed!
Then she and the baby would begin the day
The house would be quiet, the dishes away
They would sing and read and sit down to play
She couldn't have known how close they would stay
For through the years as the little girl grew
She watched the old woman, and in her heart knew
She was living a life that was giving and true
And her heart whispered softly, "I want to be like you"
The young girl grew older and life hardened her heart
It was tough and mistrusting except for the part
That was kept safe from the rage and hurt's fiery dart
The love from the woman would never depart
Soon the girl was grown with her own busy home
She gave to her children, her daughters and sons
Those things she had learned and the love she had known
From the woman who held her when she felt alone
The vision remains in the girl's heart to this day
As she kisses boo-boo's and wipes tears away
From sweet, strange little faces who suffer and pay
For mistakes made by big people, and those who don't stay
The stairs seem a little steeper as she carries the babe
up the flight and to the room where gently she lays
Him down in his crib, then kisses him and prays
Thanking God that through her vessel, His love He conveys
"Thank you, Gram, for touching so many lives. I love you."
A Tribute (by Elizabeth Biggar Kelly)
The stairs seemed a little steeper as she carried the babe
Up the flight and to the room where gently she laid
Her down in her crib, then kissed her and prayed
Thanking God that through her vessel, His love He conveyed
Her white hair she let down and put her feet up at last
She prayed for the future and remembered the past
"Thou promised strength for today and surely Thou hast
been faithful from the first moment unto the last"
She looked at her husband and thanked God for one
Who had a passion to love and care for the young
He was valiant, yet tender, both funny and strong
Yes, theirs was a team she was glad to be on
These children they loved, from the youngest to old
Each came with mistrust and wounds from the cold
Day that brought them there needing her hand to hold
And harboring pain that could never be told
Sleep for tonight would be fleeting, at best
Soon there'd be breakfast to make and girls to get dressed
Then the house would buzz like a busy bee's nest
Her heart would be full, her life was so blessed!
Then she and the baby would begin the day
The house would be quiet, the dishes away
They would sing and read and sit down to play
She couldn't have known how close they would stay
For through the years as the little girl grew
She watched the old woman, and in her heart knew
She was living a life that was giving and true
And her heart whispered softly, "I want to be like you"
The young girl grew older and life hardened her heart
It was tough and mistrusting except for the part
That was kept safe from the rage and hurt's fiery dart
The love from the woman would never depart
Soon the girl was grown with her own busy home
She gave to her children, her daughters and sons
Those things she had learned and the love she had known
From the woman who held her when she felt alone
The vision remains in the girl's heart to this day
As she kisses boo-boo's and wipes tears away
From sweet, strange little faces who suffer and pay
For mistakes made by big people, and those who don't stay
The stairs seem a little steeper as she carries the babe
up the flight and to the room where gently she lays
Him down in his crib, then kisses him and prays
Thanking God that through her vessel, His love He conveys
"Thank you, Gram, for touching so many lives. I love you."
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Without Fault, Before the Throne of God
Minerva G. Beal
October 16, 1911 - January 8, 2010
On the morning of January 8, 2010, Gram's spirit broke free from her earthly body and soared away to Glory. I can only imagine the rapture, the joy, the freedom she experienced as she was able to run, yes, run into the arms of her Savior, her mother, her husband and daughter. I imagine a tentative step toward the son who had left earth as a little baby. Maybe a step forward, and then, perhaps he strode toward her and embraced her, saying, "Mother, I've waited so long!" Yes, the wait was finally over. Sisters, brother, friends, loved ones. And her Lord Jesus Christ. I have no doubt that she fell at his feet and worshiped Him, thanking Him for his faithfulness and lovingkindness, for she did that daily by faith, when she was here on earth.
I know I will have to wait for my own time to come when I can thank her for all she has done. I would like to write her a little "letter" here, though she already knew how much she meant. I told her often.
Gram...you were my Mama from as far back as I can remember. You were loving, tender and gentle. You prayed with me and for me. My tiny hands would touch your soft face as we would sit together in a chair as life swirled around us. I would stare into your eyes as you held me close and told me about Jesus. As I grew I watched you do your hair in the morning. You would talk to me and tell me things. I would follow you around that big house as you did laundry, cooked, talked on the phone and entertained visitors. I would sit with you in church, knowing you would give me a mint after the service. I loved your face, I loved your heart, and I loved you because you loved me, and in my heart, you were my mother. Thank you, Gram, for wanting me to be your baby.
I grew up, as babies do, and I knew you were getting older. As a young woman I came to visit you almost daily to help you around the house. You always had a to-do list ready, but we really spent hours and hours talking about the past, present and future. The day would fly by, and we would look at the clock, wondering where the time went. Thank you, Gram for telling me your stories.
Time marched on, and I lived my own life and did my own thing. Whenever we spoke, you reminded me that you prayed for me daily. I always left with peace, a verse and assurance that you never forgot me. Even as recent as last year, you quoted a verse to me that changed my life: (II Chronicles 7:14) If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. I pondered that verse for a few weeks, and threw myself on the mercy of the Lord. I had come back to my first Love, and called home to let you know it all started when you gave me that scripture verse. My message was passed on to you, and then I received a call asking if I would be willing to come back as your caregiver. I was more than willing, and so I came back as your daughter. Thank you, Gram, for consistently pointing me toward Christ.
As I moved back home, sleeping in the bedroom of my youth, I would thank the Lord that he had brought me back to you. The most important time of day for us was in the quietness of your bedroom, having devotions and praying together. On January 7, the evening before you passed away, we read from the Daily Light. The last paragraph I was ever able to read to you said, "The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in his love, He will joy over thee with singing" Zephaniah 3:17. Then we prayed together. I was able to record your prayer on my cell phone that night, something I had never done before. You prayed, in that poetic way that you always had, with each word dressed in the love you had for your Savior:
Our Heavenly Father,
We thank Thee,
We know that Thou art available, Lord,
Willing to hear us if we are to call upon Thee.
Let us be faithful in calling, receiving Thy answers,
And in letting Thee speak to us according to Thy will.
We thank Thee for all things good that come from Thy Hand.
In Jesus' name, Amen.
The next morning, you were gone:
Gone From My Sight
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone
at my side says: "There, she is gone!"
there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout;
"Here she comes!"
by Henry van Dyke (1852 - 1933)
I love you little Gram. Until we meet again..."Love is for keeps!"
Now Unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen
(Jude 24, 25)
Thursday, December 31, 2009
A Benediction
Today, the last day of 2009, I am reminded of Gram's husband - my foster dad, whom I affectionately called "Grampy". Today, December 31, is Grampy's birthday. He was born on his own mother's birthday in 1912. Grampy passed away on November 26, 1995, yet his life and his words live on in many hearts. Today, as I reflect on this past year, and look toward the new year, I would like to write some thoughts I have about my dear old "Grampy".
Grampy was a preacher and a minister for over fifty years. His passion and zeal for the Lord was only matched by his compassion and love for God's people - both the saved and the unsaved. He was a man's man, loved the outdoors. As a child, I would spend hours with him on his tractor - I would sit in the bucket in the back as he moved rocks and filled in the marsh out behind the house. During those times, we didn't speak - we didn't have to. It was enough for me to be with him, loving every moment. I still remember the day when he told me I could call him "Grampy". Because I was his foster child, I knew I didn't have the right to be a part of his family, but he gave me the right.
Life as a foster child is a lonely sort of life, especially when your parents just give you away. My mother had been approached at least once in my childhood to let me go for adoption, but for some reason, she refused, though she never visited me, or even called or wrote. I lived at the home for girls until the age of seven, but people in my school would always call it "the orphanage". When I told them my parents weren't dead, they would ask why my parents didn't want me. I could never answer that. Mothers' and Fathers' Days would come and go, and I would guiltily hide the homemade cards I would make at church because they were for "Mrs." and "Mr.", not mom and dad. I heard about someone who had a "face only a mother could love", and that cemented in my mind that my face was even uglier than that because my mother didn't even want to see it. It was hard. I used to think that if I was adopted, I could at least pretend that I really and truly belonged to a family instead of seeming like a ghost child who needed to go to a sitter's when my foster family had an appointment for a family group photo. When my father died, I was not mentioned as his child in his obituary. When Grampy died, I was not mentioned as his grandchild in his obituary. In my immature grasp of life, I felt I belonged to no one, and no one belonged to me.
As I look back on Grampy's life, I realize that all who came into his presence felt that they were very important to him. All of my feelings of insignificance just melted away as he would swoop me up into his arms after preaching as a substitute in an unknown congregation, and he would bellow, "THIS is Elizabeth! She came to us when she was eight months old, and we've loved her ever since!" What an introduction - I felt better than family at those times. Grampy chose to be my "daddy". He could have walked away, and had a very good opportunity to do so shortly after my sisters and I were dropped off at the home for girls, because my parents were not paying any support for us. Instead, he told the board of directors, "If they go, I go", and worked out a payment system out of his own pocket to keep us with him, and each other.
So today, as I remember Grampy's birthday, and celebrate his memory, I recall the benediction he used often at the end of his church services. Yes, it is a benediction, fit for closing out this year, but it is also a prayer for 2010, and my prayer for my children, my loved ones, and friends.
"The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: the Lord make His face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace." (Numbers 6:24 - 26)
"Dear Heavenly, Holy Father, thank you for your comfort and your love throughout our lives. Thank you also for the showers of rain that you send to parched, thirsty souls, as clouds loom overhead. Thank you for the gift of my Gram and Grampy, who showed me that love can bloom in spectacular flower gardens, planted in the shade of majestic family trees, and that both trees and flowers are blessed with the same Living Water from the Father of us all.
Amen"
Grampy was a preacher and a minister for over fifty years. His passion and zeal for the Lord was only matched by his compassion and love for God's people - both the saved and the unsaved. He was a man's man, loved the outdoors. As a child, I would spend hours with him on his tractor - I would sit in the bucket in the back as he moved rocks and filled in the marsh out behind the house. During those times, we didn't speak - we didn't have to. It was enough for me to be with him, loving every moment. I still remember the day when he told me I could call him "Grampy". Because I was his foster child, I knew I didn't have the right to be a part of his family, but he gave me the right.
Life as a foster child is a lonely sort of life, especially when your parents just give you away. My mother had been approached at least once in my childhood to let me go for adoption, but for some reason, she refused, though she never visited me, or even called or wrote. I lived at the home for girls until the age of seven, but people in my school would always call it "the orphanage". When I told them my parents weren't dead, they would ask why my parents didn't want me. I could never answer that. Mothers' and Fathers' Days would come and go, and I would guiltily hide the homemade cards I would make at church because they were for "Mrs." and "Mr.", not mom and dad. I heard about someone who had a "face only a mother could love", and that cemented in my mind that my face was even uglier than that because my mother didn't even want to see it. It was hard. I used to think that if I was adopted, I could at least pretend that I really and truly belonged to a family instead of seeming like a ghost child who needed to go to a sitter's when my foster family had an appointment for a family group photo. When my father died, I was not mentioned as his child in his obituary. When Grampy died, I was not mentioned as his grandchild in his obituary. In my immature grasp of life, I felt I belonged to no one, and no one belonged to me.
As I look back on Grampy's life, I realize that all who came into his presence felt that they were very important to him. All of my feelings of insignificance just melted away as he would swoop me up into his arms after preaching as a substitute in an unknown congregation, and he would bellow, "THIS is Elizabeth! She came to us when she was eight months old, and we've loved her ever since!" What an introduction - I felt better than family at those times. Grampy chose to be my "daddy". He could have walked away, and had a very good opportunity to do so shortly after my sisters and I were dropped off at the home for girls, because my parents were not paying any support for us. Instead, he told the board of directors, "If they go, I go", and worked out a payment system out of his own pocket to keep us with him, and each other.
So today, as I remember Grampy's birthday, and celebrate his memory, I recall the benediction he used often at the end of his church services. Yes, it is a benediction, fit for closing out this year, but it is also a prayer for 2010, and my prayer for my children, my loved ones, and friends.
"The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: the Lord make His face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace." (Numbers 6:24 - 26)
"Dear Heavenly, Holy Father, thank you for your comfort and your love throughout our lives. Thank you also for the showers of rain that you send to parched, thirsty souls, as clouds loom overhead. Thank you for the gift of my Gram and Grampy, who showed me that love can bloom in spectacular flower gardens, planted in the shade of majestic family trees, and that both trees and flowers are blessed with the same Living Water from the Father of us all.
Amen"
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