Tag: Grandma

The Book My Grandma Gave Me

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Everybody else had gone to town, but she was happy she had stayed home. She glanced around the farmhouse. The floor was swept, the breakfast dishes done, the house tidied. Now her own fun could begin! 

She went to the one bookshelf in the house. Built into the writing desk, this shelf held all the books her family owned. Of course, it wasn’t hard to find the one book she wanted – the one with the light grey cover. 

After wiping her hands on her skirt to make sure they were clean, she slid the book from the shelf, and, carrying it in two hands, went outside. 

A smokey-grey farm cat scuttled in front of her as she stepped out the door. Many days she would have followed the cat, but not this time.

She settled in the sun-warmed grass near a scraggly tree. Here enough of a breeze blew to keep her comfortable even in the summer weather.

She opened the book. She knew just where she wanted to start reading…

This is how I imagine my grandmother as a girl, enjoying the book she passed down to me. What book was that? The Best Loved Poems of the American People.

There’s something special about poetry. As Betty Stam put it,

“Don’t you love the common words

     In usage all the time:

Words that paint a master-piece,

     Words that beat a rhyme,

Words that sing a melody,

     Words that leap and run,

Words that sway a multitude,

     Or stir the heart of one?…”[1]

Some of the best loved poems of not only the American people but of people the world over are poems that tell a story. Here are a few that you might enjoy whether you are 9 years old or 99.

  • The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere by Longfellow
  • The Children’s Hour by Longfellow
  • Rain in Summer by Longfellow
  • The Touch of the Master’s Hand by Myra Brooks Welch
  • The Wedding Gift by Minna Irving
  • The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell
  • Snow-Bound by Whittier

Yes, I do love “Words that paint a master-piece/Words that beat a rhyme”. and, Grandma, I’m glad you do, too. Thank you for sharing not only your book of poems with me but also the book-worth of stories from your life. Happy Birthday with love!

A Book Journal: A How-To Post

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Have you ever picked up a book and realized that you’d read it before but couldn’t really remember what it was about? I’ve found that keeping a “book journal” can be very handy, especially if you like to read a lot and don’t have the best memory! Also, I got started “book journaling” because I heard something like, “A good way to educate yourself is to read widely and write about what you read.” With that in mind, here are a few of my tips on keeping a book journal.

Generally, I’ve written two pages per book that I read. (If you don’t want to write that much, by all means don’t or just use a journal with small pages!) 

In each entry, I would include the following information:

  1. The title and author of the book (This comes first at the top of the page so I can easily look it up later.)  
  2. The date (I usually put when I’m writing the review, but you might want to put when you read the book.)
  3. My general reaction to the book (liked it, loved it, not my favorite, etc.)
  4. A short list of the main characters with a snippet about each
  5. A brief plot summary (more or less)
  6. My thoughts – that is, “I liked such and such…” or “This quote made me think about…” or “I would recommend this book for such and such age range.”

If you want more of an idea, here’s a glimpse at one of my book journal entries.

Teddy’s Button Amy LeFeuvre

May 21, 2013

This morning I finished reading another Lamplighter book, Teddy’s Button by Amy LeFeuvre. It is officially my favorite Lamplighter book, and I think will remain so for a long time.

Main Characters

Teddy (Theodore) Platt – a bright young boy with blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes who longs to honor and follow in the footsteps of his father who died as a soldier. The only item of his father’s that Teddy possesses is a cherished button from his coat.

The Rector, Mr. Upton – a godly man who shows Teddy what it means to be a soldier in the Lord’s Army [under His banner of love].

Mrs. John Platt – Teddy’s mother who loves her son in spite of his mischievous ways and prays that he would be a good soldier for the Lord.

Nancy – a sailor’s daughter who is at first Teddy’s “enemy”, but, by God’s grace working in both her and T., she comes to know Jesus, too, and to start quelling her tempestuous spirit.

Plot Summary

Teddy Platt wants to be a soldier in the Queen’s army just like his father was. His inspiration comes from a button off his father’s uniform, and he loves to tell its story. However, to be a good soldier he reasons that he must have an enemy. The new girl in town, who despises Teddy’s button and is a sailor’s daughter, seems the obvious choice. Thankfully, a thoughtful rector takes the time to show Teddy how much better it is to be a good soldier of King Jesus, waving His banner of love. Once Teddy “enlists”, he embarks on a journey full of battles with a foe much more troubling than Nancy.

My Thoughts

Mrs. L____ actually inspired me to read Teddy’s Button with a comment she made months ago. She said she thinks that this little book is the best she’s found for explaining sanctification to children. I think she’s right….Personally, I found it richly encouraging and instructive and challenging. There are so many grown-ups I would like to have read it. Maybe I can loan it to Grandma Hammer at least….

There you go! Maybe you would do your own book journal in an entirely different style. What would you change? I hope this post gives you a little inspiration to get the ink flowing into your own book journal however you choose to do it. Also, maybe you’ll be inspired to check out Teddy’s Button. Happily, I did get to loan it to Grandma Hammer, and I’m thankful for the memory of her saying she liked it. 

A Grief Novembered

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I’m discovering that grief goes through seasons. That makes sense since it’s intertwined into life, right?

And November is when the frills fade and grief settles down to overcast, bare realities. Note I didn’t say bad realities. The realities are just bare, stripped of the things that hide them or give them a rosy glow at other times of the year.

Today it has been nine months since Grandma passed away. So much has happened that I’d like to tell her about. If I could write her a letter, it would go something like this…

Dear Grandma,

I’ve been missing you more lately. I didn’t know that it would work like that – that I would miss you more later than at first. Maybe it’s because I’ve realized you won’t be here for Thanksgiving pie and I won’t be trying to figure out what to get you for Christmas. A lot of what I miss is getting to chat with you. Whether on the way to church or over our quiches and scones at that little coffee shop or here at home, we did a fair amount of chatting, didn’t we?

I’d like to be able to tell you about the changes in my life. Best of all is the new precious grandbaby. Tiny toes, always-moving hands, sleepy chirps, and kiss-me-please chubby cheeks! It really is true that babies grow so fast. Beyond that, you would love my new group of students. They’re exceptional, and I’m not just biased. I’m learning more about teaching and Spanish. Then there’s my writers’ group. I could probably make a book of stories about the different authors. You’d like reading some of their books. It would be a great way to find some you actually hadn’t read yet! Of course, I’d like to tell you about my own projects like how I’ve been tweaking that one last story I got to read to you and am also working on a new one. The new story involves pies…I guess that won’t surprise you. Then there are little things like how we repainted the bathroom. You might wonder about the combination of “watery” and “lei flower” paint, but, once you hear how it makes me think of the land of alohas and well-loved tales that take place there, you’ll laugh and decide it was a good – or at least ok – idea.

Speaking of laughing, I miss your clever ways of saying things. When you were alone, did you spend time just thinking up what to say to bring smiles to our faces? Some of your growing-up stories were pretty funny, too. You made life as one of seven kids in a pastor’s family sound pretty grand even with the hard times you faced. I’d like to hear those stories again and get to ask you more questions. There are things I never thought to ask you before that now I wish I knew.

It would be great to get your input on some of the decisions I’m working through. Like should we move to Norway and become reindeer ranchers or should we move to Ecuador and live in a house like Swiss Family Robinson? Ok, just kidding! The point is, our family tended to value your judgment on the big things, and I feel a little lost without it sometimes. I also miss asking you to pray for me, hearing you say you will and knowing I could count on it. Not that I don’t have other people who pray for me – it’s just not the same somehow…

That reminds me of something that came up at one of my writers’ meetings. In talking about our audiences, the thought popped up that generally young people today don’t have older mentors in their lives. I realized that that wasn’t true of me. How blessed I have been to have older people like you in my life. People with the time to listen, to laugh, to think and to pray. That’s definitely something to be thankful for, isn’t it?…

I guess that’s what happens when grief – and life – gets “Novembered”: we realize the things that really matter. With the extras blown away, we see, yes, what we’ve lost but also what we’ve been given and for what we can be truly thankful…even through the tears. 

Passed-Down Partialities: People, Poems, Pianos & Pies

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Not so long ago in a land not too far away, there lived a little girl named Ruthie. She lived on a farm with her father, mother and sisters. They didn’t have much in the way of things, but they were surrounded by generally kind neighbors. Ruthie relished the parties for birthdays and the celebrations for national holidays. She also cared for the neighbors’ children when a helping hand was needed. Along the way, one thing was for sure: Ruthie learned to love people. 

As Ruthie grew up, she discovered another love: music. Finally, she had the opportunity to take a handful of music lessons. That gave her the courage to play both the piano and organ for church!

While she loved people and music, Ruthie also enjoyed time by herself. She didn’t even mind being the one to stay home and clean! (Every family needs a little Dutch-ness, perhaps?) However, she also enjoyed a good story. Her family didn’t have many books, but she read The Best Loved Poems of the American People. Perhaps the rhythm of the words struck a chord with her music-loving heart. At any rate, she kept that book for decades to come.

Even after grown-up Ruth left her small hometown, her partialities perpetuated. People, pianos and poems continued to be parts of her life. She also carried sweet memories with her. Remember those parties with the neighbors? Ruth couldn’t help but share the stories, especially about the pies! Mrs. Cacak always baked such wonderful pies! As Ruth traveled far and wide, maybe pie became like a taste of home.

Lo and behold, one day Ruth found that she had become a grandma! Where had the years gone? Well, whether on purpose or not, Ruth passed down her partialities to the next generation. She showered the new little people in her life with love and showed them how to love other children. Once they started taking piano lessons, she played and sang along, imparting her interest in hymns. She shared her book of poems. And, lastly, she offered the stories of her childhood, including the palate-pleasing pies.

Have you ever wondered over how God weaves our lives together? Isn’t it amazing how He even carries on the work from generation to generation? I think Ruth’s story is a good illustration.

You see, I am one of Ruth’s granddaughters. Her passed-down partialities have had a huge impact on my life. I hope to carry on her love for people, especially children. If she hadn’t played piano in church, I might not have either! It was with her Best Loved Poems of the American People  that I spent happy hours, and now I post about poems on my blog. And if she hadn’t shared sweet memories with me, I may not have been as inspired to bake pies a-plenty.

This is why younger people like me need older people like my grandma. They give us perspective and pass down passions and pastimes. And, from what I’ve seen, older folks need us young chicks to remind them that their decisions affect others and they need to be thoughtful about what they value. Certainly, there are many other things – even beginning with “p” – that Grandma could have invested in and that could have made my life much different. So if you’re an older person, please consider your ways well and seek out someone with whom to share your gifts. And if you’re a younger person, watch for what you can learn from the older people in your life. Won’t it be wonderful to see what God’s masterpiece looks like someday when we get to see His woven work?

Thank you, Grandma, for passing down these things to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the cherry and raspberry pie I was able to make for your birthday! You know the secret ingredient, don’t you? Love.

Grandma's Birthday Pie

Raspberry Ramblings

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Ah-hah! There was another bright red berry. Alice’s pink-stained fingers plucked it and placed it – point up – in the wooden crate in her other hand. Through the bushes, she caught a glimpse of her nine-year-old brother’s face. Tattle-tale red spots stood out on his chin.

“Maurice! Quit eating the berries!” Alice squawked. 

“It was just a squishy one! And I’m hungry.”

Alice sighed. She glanced over her shoulder. They were only three rows into the raspberry patch. It seemed like they had a hundred to go. Two of her older sisters were working their way through from the patch’s other side. At first, that had seemed like a good idea. Now Alice wasn’t so sure. “Well, just make sure you only eat the squishy ones,” she reminded. 

Alice and Maurice kept going for a few minutes. Then Maurice said, “I’m hot.”

“I’d tell you to quit complaining, but I’m hot, too. I’d sure like to be fishing right now.”

Suddenly, Alice found herself in the shade of a big shadow. Even before she looked up, she smiled. She knew that shadow. 

“How’s it going here?” Alice and Maurice’s sixteen-year-old brother Dan asked as he stopped next to them.

“We’re hot,” Alice said.

“And hungry,” Maurice added.

“Hungry? How many pancakes did you eat for breakfast?” Dan reached over the raspberry canes and ruffled Maurice’s hair. “Well,” Dan got a berry box from the little wagon next to Alice, “why don’t I help you two out for a while?”

“That’d be swell!” the twosome chimed. 

“I’ll go ahead of you, Maurice. You can get the berries that I miss.” He winked at Alice as he stepped over the row and started picking.  

Alice grinned. If she had to pick a favorite out of her six brothers and sisters, she was pretty sure it would be Dan.

While they kept picking, Dan reported on the baby animals he had cared for that morning, and they laughed when he told about the wobbly lambs and the crazy chickens.

Just then, Alice spotted red farther in than she usually had to reach. Her small hand wriggled through the brambles, trying to avoid the prickly points, but when she pulled her hand out two small scratches showed where the canes had gotten the best of her.

“Why did God have to make raspberry bushes with thorns on them?” she asked.

Dan answered from the other side of the row, “I don’t think I know the exact answer, but I’d say it’s because of sin.”

“Like Dad says?” Maurice asked.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “And like the Bible says. But, you know, a lot of things in life are like raspberries. If you aren’t willing to work to get them, and maybe suffer a little, you might miss out on something really sweet.”

Alice pressed her lips together as she reached for another deeply-hung berry. This time she didn’t even look for scratches. Still, she sighed, “I used to like berry-picking, but we’ve been out here every day this week, and I’m tired of it.”

“Me too,” Maurice agreed. “Hey, but Dan’s here, and he doesn’t even have to be!” 

“That’s ‘cause he’s Dan, and he’s just plain nice,” Alice said.

Dan laughed. “Well, it is true that sometimes you just do things because you love people. Just think about how nice it is that we can actually sell these for money – “

“Even with the Depression going on,” Alice added.

“Right. And how Mom and Dad appreciate it that you’re helping,” Dan continued. “They do a lot for us after all.”

Alice pursed her lips and thought on that as they kept picking.

After a while, Dan straightened up. “I hate to say this, but I’ve got to go into town.”

Alice started to say she wished she could go with him but changed her mind. “All right. Thanks for the help!”

“Hey, thanks for your help, Stump,” Dan said, patting her head. “You, too, Maurice.”

Alice wrinkled her nose, Dan was the only person who could still call her “Stump” and get away with it.

“Tell you what, if you keep working on these, I’ll take you fishing on Saturday. How does that sound?”

“Really, Dan?” Alice’s blue eyes danced.

“Sure thing! If it’s raining, we’ll come up with something else. And, Maurice, if you can tell Mom that you haven’t eaten any of the sell-able berries from now till suppertime, I’ll have a treat from town for you.”

“Hmmm,” Maurice thought. “I’d really like that.”

“It’s a deal then. I’ll bring something for you, too, Stump.” He winked at Alice again and then went off on his long legs.

This scene is from my imagination, but it’s based on real-life stories. I’m interrupting my series on the War for Independence because today is a special day. Today would have been my Grandma Alice’s birthday. 

Grandma often recounted to us how painstaking raspberry picking seemed in her childhood as she and her siblings had to carefully place each berry – point up – in a box. However, she was grateful for the raspberries because they were one of the few crops her minister-farmer’s family could sell for money during the Great Depression. She also shared how her older brother Dan watched out for her, and that she really did have to endure the nickname “Stump”. (That’s another story for another time.) Her love of fishing continued into her grandmothering years. 

With those details, I imagined the above exchanges and actions. I could imagine further on that Grandma never forgot Dan’s words about reaching for the raspberries and doing things out of love for others. As Alice grew up, much of her life reflected those two themes. She sacrificed many times both to attain a goal and for family and friends. Her kind words, funny jokes and rambles down Remembrance Lane sweetened up lives like raspberries on vanilla ice cream. 

The thing is that we can’t have real love for others anymore than we can single-handedly make raspberries grow! If the ability to identify and give others-first love comes from the field of a human heart, it will shrivel up eventually. It needs a deeper root so to speak. As Grandma learned along the way, that Root is the God of love, Jesus (I John 4:8, 2 Corinthians 13:11, John 15:12). Awesomely, He’s also the One Who makes raspberries grow! (Colossians 1:16-17, Genesis 1)

So next time you’re rambling down a raspberry row or relishing a raspberry cobbler, maybe it would be a good time to reflect on God’s love for us and to recognize the sweet gifts He has given us – like Grandmas and raspberries. They may only be with us for a season, but the memories they give us continue to offer a harvest. 

Endings

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Titling my very first blog post “Endings” seems odd, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t this be about beginnings?

Well, you see, two weeks ago when I had planned to launch A Storyful Life, I found myself at a special ending instead. It was Valentine’s Day – “The perfect day for beginning a blog,” my head said. It was indeed the “perfect day” for me to do something special, but it didn’t involve this blog. It was better. In fact, I was given a Valentine’s gift I will cherish for all my Valentine’s Days to come.

That Valentine’s morning I got to read Psalms aloud and hold my Grandmother’s hand as she stepped into eternity. I couldn’t have planned to be there. It was so peaceful. All it took was one exhale, and her earthly life came to an end.

So that’s why I sit here starting something new and yet contemplating endings. And really Grandma is the “just fine” – as she would say – way to start this blog because she truly had a storyful life.

What is a storyful life? A storyful life is defined (in the 2015 Kristen’s Dictionary) as follows:

a storyful life (n.) an existence enlivened by lovely letters, wise words and terrific tales; a journey through time enriched by knowing the Author of All Time, the Lord Jesus Christ, and wondering over the work He is weaving every day.

Grandma’s life became richer, sweeter and fuller with the books she read, the letters she wrote and received, and the adventures she lived, especially as she grew in seeing herself as a part of God’s story. Best of all, she didn’t keep her treasure trove to herself. Oh, no! She shared her bounty with many, making other lives richer, sweeter and fuller. And like the stories we love best, Grandma’s story has a thoroughly happy ending: At long last, she is with the Valentine of her soul, Jesus, and, by His grace, the Valentine of 58 years of her life, Grandpa.

Today I can look back on Grandma’s storyful life and see how tales tied together to transform her life tapestry into a heaven-bound masterpiece. But for me and anyone reading this blog, there are sagas unfinished, rows not woven. Oh, the possibilities abound! And yet, with all the unknowns, I know enough of what my ending will be like to look forward to it. I hope you can, too.

That is what A Storyful Life is for: enjoying the journey from beginning to end while telling the tales, marveling over the mysteries, pondering poems and lovingly crafting letters. You’ll likely encounter snippets from Grandma woven in along the way. When we come to the end, I hope and pray that from reading any words woven with warmth here your life might grow a bit more “storyful” as well.

And maybe we’ll find that our endings can actually flow into beginnings. For Grandma, her earthly life came to an end, but that was the beginning of a her whole new life. As the ending of “Amazing Grace” puts it:

“When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’ve first begun.”