Most writers are inherently selfish with the space their words occupy - they do not like to share. Today, however, I am pleased to share some words written by my daughter, Elizabeth (who happened to be named after her great-grandmother). I share not just because she is my daughter but because I believe they are poignant and powerful words. They spoke to my heart and reminded me how tender her heart is. I pray her words speak to you as well.
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It’s
Christmas time again. I’m sitting on my bed wrapped up in a quilt while
the radio sings, “And so I'm offering
this simple phrase, to kids from 1 to 92, all though it's been said many times,
many ways, Merry Christmas to you.. I remember always having problems
with that song when I was a kid. I was worried that the guy singing it wasn’t
wishing a “Merry Christmas” to people over 92, and I had great-grandparents who
were over 92.
My
great-grandparents, or Grandma and Grandpa as everyone called them, were some
of the most special people I had the privilege of knowing. Their presence
was an integral part of the fabric of my childhood. I was blessed to know them
as long as I did. I spent many hours at their house when I was growing up. I
can still remember going to their house every Friday night for dinner with all
of the family who lived nearby. We would put all the leaves in their kitchen
table then gather around. Grandpa was always at the head of the table. Dinner
itself varied from week to week--sometimes pizza, others KFC, and others my dad
would grill hamburgers and hot dogs. The conversations those nights would vary,
but some of the same general topics would come up--religion, politics, world
events, things going on at school or church, almost anything and everything
under the sun. Many hours were spent around that table laughing and
talking. Friday nights became the highlight of my week and I never wanted
to miss out.
Grandma
was a retired school teacher, and would always be teaching me things, even up
to her last days. I can still remember the trick that she taught me to remember
my 9’s multiplication facts. Grandma also loved to cook. My brother and I would
help her cut up hot dogs to put on our frozen pizza and add lots of extra
cheese. Even though I don’t remember it, I have been told by my parents
that we would also help Grandma put broccoli on our pizzas. My mom
cleaned house for them, and while she cleaned upstairs, we would go downstairs
and play and watch TV--usually things like “Mr. Roger's Neighborhood”, “The Big
Comfy Couch”, “Between the Lions”, and whatever else might have been airing on
PBS at the time. Spending time at Grandma and Grandpa’s house was in integral
piece of my childhood.
Grandma
also spent many hours at her sewing machine putting together blocks to make
quilts. Everyone in our family has at least one quilt, if not more, made by
Grandma. When I was in second or third grade, Grandma was diagnosed with a form
of leukemia. By this point, she and grandpa had both lost much of their independence
and required walkers to get around their house. I can remember her having to go
to the hospital every so often to get blood transfusions. I was old enough then
to understand that Grandma was sick, but I didn’t fully understand what was
making her sick. The summer before my fourth grade year, Grandma died. My mom
told me that Grandma was probably up there playing basketball with Jesus, which
made me smile even though I was sad. Our church was packed when we celebrated
her life at her memorial service, everyone that knew Grandma came.
I’m sure
Grandma’s death must have been hard on Grandpa, but he continued on. After over
sixty years of marriage, I can’t imagine losing your spouse not being hard. It
wasn’t long after Grandma died that Grandpa became wheelchair bound. One of the
things I remember about Grandpa was his love of Jesus. He would tell anyone and
everyone about his personal Savior Jesus Christ. Before Grandma died, he wrote
his own gospel tract and everywhere that the two of them went he would leave copies
of the tract. I remember going along once when my mom took them to a doctor’s
appointment and Grandpa left several of his tracts on the table in the waiting
room. Every morning he and Grandma would read their Bibles together and would
pray for people--they had a very long list of people that they prayed for
daily. After Grandma died he still read his Bible every morning but also
started going through the phone book and would send each and every person a
letter explaining what he was doing, enclosing a tract, and then prayed for the
person who he was sending the letter to. Because he was home-bound, this was
his way of spreading the gospel. Grandpa’s health continued going downhill,
like everyone in their 90's. When his daughter, my grandma, and I would go grocery
shopping for him, there were a couple of things he would always want us to buy
for him--Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches, braunschweiger, and sharp cheddar
cheese. When looking at his diet, it is amazing that he lived as long as
he did. He died December of my freshman year of high school. That
Christmas was especially sad. We held his memorial service just two days before
Christmas.
Like
everyone who has ever lost a loved one, Christmas time is hard without them.
Yes, time helps, but their memories are always there. Most years for Christmas,
I would receive a quilt Grandma had made. To this day, I still sleep under the
quilts Grandma gave me. As we approach this special time of year, let us not
forget the memories of those who came before us and continue to make new
memories with those that we love.
