Memories | Grandma's Ramblings

Every year, as fall comes around, I think of this man that brought such love to my daughters. Since their father had died in an accident, they needed the love and care that this “grandpa” brought. His birthday was this month and after 35 years, I still miss him.

What makes a man a Grandpa?

(This is a repost from a few years ago. But every year when school starts, my mind goes back to that day.)

Memories!

Every year when fall comes and I see the kids going off to school, my mind goes back to the day my first born went to kindergarten – and I have to smile!

It was a bittersweet moment years ago, but I still remember as if it were yesterday – the day my first born left the security of our home and ventured into the big world outside, going to kindergarten. How happy I was that she was growing and developing, learning to read, count and color inside the lines. But I knew I would always miss the joy of those few precious years when her world revolved around me.

Although we lived just a few blocks from the school, all the streets in our subdivision were dead end streets and the only way to school was to walk along a busy highway. For safety purposes, a school bus picked up all the kids in the subdivision. I was terrified of my little angel riding the bus and had nightmares that she would get off at the wrong street and be lost.

To ensure that did not happen, I spent several days driving her to school and back to our house, pointing out houses, trees and other landmarks that appeared just before our street. Day after day we drove the bus route and I would point out the signs that would indicate she was approaching our street. Finally, I had her point out the landmarks, and only after she had correctly recognized our street a dozen times was I satisfied that it would be safe to let her ride the bus.

The big day arrived and I walked with her to the bus stop and made sure she was safely on the bus. The morning seemed to drag, but finally it was noon and time for my little girl to return. I sat on the front porch where I could see the bus when it stopped and waited anxiously to hear all about her first day of school. The bus pulled up to our street; the door opened and one by one I watched as the kids stepped off the bus. About a dozen kids exited the bus, but there was no sign of my daughter. The door closed and the bus driver drove off.

Panic set in! Where was my daughter? Had she already got off the bus and was she now wandering lost down another street in the subdivision? Was she still on the bus and, if so, would she exit on another street and be lost? What if someone kidnapped her? I grabbed my purse, jumped in my car and started to drive after the bus. By the time I pulled out on the highway, there was no sign of the bus.

Not knowing what route the bus took after it passed our house, I raced to the school. Running into the office, I frantically told them my daughter had not gotten off the bus at our street. They instructed me to go home because the bus driver would probably take her there when she discovered the little girl was still on the bus at the end of the route. Still frantic, I hurried back home to find my little girl sitting on the porch

Disappointed that all our practicing the last few weeks had obviously not worked, I suggested we get in the car and drive the bus route again so that she would know where our street was. “But Mommy,” she said, “I knew where our street was.” When I asked her why she had stayed on the bus if she recognized our street, she gave me a big smile and said, “I wanted to see where the other kids lived.”

This was the beginning of my daughter’s interest in the world outside our home; and her interest in the other kids, where they lived, what their lives were like only increased as she grew. Even today when school starts, she still is curious about where the other kids live. That interest in other kids led her to a career as a kindergarten and first grade teacher.

She has grown far beyond me and my little world, but every year when I see school children waiting at the bus stop, I think of that morning long ago and I smile.

Another old song I grew up singing and playing. I always loved the song – but it must be played lively. A few times I heard it sung almost like a funeral song.

No! Victory in Jesus requires a hand clapping, joy filling rendition.

This is an old, old hymn. When I visited retirement centers and/or nursing homes to play for them, this was the number one requested song. The older generation that loved this song is quickly passing away.

There is a silly joke associated with this song. A little boy came home from church and told his mother he knew God’s name. When his mother asked what it was, he said, “Andy.”

“How do you know that?”

“We sang a song today in church about God. Andy walks with me and Andy talks with me.”

While that gives me a laugh, I love the thought that God walks with me and talks with me. Many times in my life, I have been strengthened and encouraged by God’s presence.

Today my husband and I celebrate forty years full of life.

Between our blended families: six children, 18 grandchildren, 11 great grandchildren, and 1 great-grandchild.

We have been pastors, music ministers, missionaries.

The street where we lived in Iloilo City, Philippines. When it rained we walked through several inches of water to get to our house.

We celebrated our first anniversary walking the streets of New York with Teen Challenge sharing the gospel with drug addicts and people living on the streets.

The team we worked with each day going out on the streets of the city to talk to those living on the streets and to the many drug addicts we found. Quite an eye opener.

We have played over 1500 games of Scrabble. 🙂

We take our Scrabble games seriously…. Paul keeps our scores. We have records from 2008.

We have enjoyed reading books, watching documentaries, and spending hours discussing American history. We have planted countless hostas and flowers.

We had over 200 hostas as well as roses, lilies of the flower, columbine and much, much more in our home in Illinois.

We have driven down innumerable roads just to see where they led. Everywhere we have lived, we have ministered to the elderly in assistant living facilities and nursing homes. Sometimes conducting religious services but also many times just providing some songs from their childhood and early adult times. Sharing a meal or playing a game with them.

Our life has led us through several moves and in our retirement years we find ourselves in a small town in mid-Michigan.

Moving as we have; we have friends and family all over the country. (We have children, grandchildren in Maryland, Missouri, Texas, Illinois, West Virginia, Georgia, New York, Tennessee, North Carolina and Michigan.) Often, we miss some of our old friends and our family, but as we near the end of our own lives, we think of all the friends we have made and think what a reunion day it will be in heaven!

We have survived heart attack, cancer, colon resection, knee replacement and brain bleed.

But we have also rejoiced at graduations, weddings, births and enjoyed watching grandchildren grow up and become adults with their own families.

Looking forward to more years together as God gives us. And we know that whether we have many more or just a few – the ride has been wonderful!!!

This is “our” song. When my husband and I planned our wedding, we knew this song had to be a part of our ceremony.

My husband’s first marriage had ended when his wife basically walked out not only on the marriage, but also the children. He had gone through some tough years as he struggled to rebuild a life on his own and tried to make a home for his two youngest children still at home.

My first husband had been accidentally killed and I experienced not only sorrow but had to deal with my daughters’ trauma as they had been the ones to find him lying underneath the car that had fallen on him.

When God brought us together and made us a family, gave us a chance for happiness again, we truly agreed with the words of this song:

“All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.”

On our wedding day!

Strength to make it through the pain, sorrow and discouragement. Peace in those moments when hope seemed all gone. Even financial help as we both struggled with loss of income divorce and death brought.

Sunday we celebrate 40 years of marriage. Today this song means even more. God has truly been faithful to us!!!

After 40 years a little older but still very much in love and very grateful to God!

Although it has been years since I have attended a little country church, I thank God my parents took me to church every Sunday. To this day the week is just not the same if I have to miss Sunday morning at church.

I have not found the church to be perfect, but I have found it a place where imperfect people can gather and seek forgiveness and guidance.

“A church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” ~ Abigail Van Buren

Check out my post from a few years ago on the Little Country Church I first attended.

Camp meeting, type of outdoor revival meeting that was held on the American frontier during the 19th century by various Protestant denominations. Camp meetings filled an ecclesiastical and spiritual need in the unchurched settlements as the population moved west. Their origin is obscure, but historians have generally credited James McGready (c. 1760–1817), a Presbyterian, with inaugurating the first typical camp meetings in 1799–1801 in Logan county, Kentucky….Britannica

Growing up in southern Illinois one of the highlights of the summer was camp meeting time. In the beginning of these meetings in the 1700’s and 1800’s they would construct a temporary building out of posts driven into the ground. Additional posts would be added to form a roof which was completed with cut branches or bundles of hay. Benches were made of rough logs often with no backing and there was sawdust on the dirt floors.

By the time I attended camp meeting in the 50’s our building was made of concrete blocks and we had solid concrete floors. Still open-sided with no air conditioning but we had comfortable chairs to sit in.

Brush arbor buildings Our more “modern” building

There were cabins families could rent and a place for RV’s or tents.

Every morning, we would gather for a Bible study at 10 a.m. Afterwards friends would scatter for lunch. Some would have a fire outside their cabin and grill hotdogs or hamburgers. Others had kitchens in their RV’s where they would fix a nice meal and then bring it out on a picnic table to share with friends. There was also a cafeteria on the grounds for those who came just for the day.

In the afternoon there was worship time with lots of special music and a sermon, usually by one of the pastors in the state-wide denomination. Afterward most would find a shade tree or a hammock and rest while the children play on the swing sets.

Evening would find us gathered again in the tabernacle for more worship and a sermon, this time by a well-known evangelist or national official of the denomination.

Great preaching and singing, lots of good food and a chance to just connect again with friends from around the state. A great week we looked forward to every year.

Times have changed. The old building has been torn down and the campgrounds sold. It is now a KOA campground. While the old camp meeting would run from Sunday to Sunday it is now just a three-day event held at one of the mega churches in the state. No one gathers around a campfire to share a meal and children do not run and play while the old folks take a nap in the hammock. There is still good preaching and music, but the sense of camaraderie is gone.

The music has changed also. Where there was always a piano with a few guitars, drums and brass horns, now it is lots of guitars and drums with a keyboard. The large choirs that were made up of anyone who wished to sing have been replaced by a “praise and worship” team of skilled musicians.

While I had not been to an old fashioned camp meeting in years, moving to Michigan I was surprised to find that they still have some campgrounds holding camp meeting.

This past week I went to the Ola Campgrounds. Situated just outside Ashley and a few miles north of St Johns, it was like stepping back in time.

This camp meeting was established 106 years ago. Their facebook page says “Ola Holiness Association was established in 1918. It is a interdenominational camp with the purpose for people to have a fresh encounter with the Holy Spirit. Everyone welcome!!”

Attending the services this week brought back a lot of childhood memories. There was an old upright piano. There were hymnbooks on the back of the pews. The sides of the building were open, and fans were running to keep us cool. No contemporary music – all old songs my grandmother sang.

While there were modern bathrooms, they were not in the main building, I had to walk through the field to a separate building where there was also a kitchen for fellowship and food after the service.

To be honest, I am not sure I would really want to go back to the week-long camp meetings. I like my comfortable bed and air conditioning too much. While I love the old hymns, our contemporary music is also a blessing. But for two or three evenings, it was nice to “step back in time” and worship the “old fashioned way.”

For my followers who have experienced camp meeting in the 50’s, here’s an old song you will recognize. Hope you enjoy it!

I posted this a few years ago, but as today memories come back, thought I would share it again. Today I choose to remember the gift my Dad gave me – an important gift. “Thank you Dad.”

This was a question asked at a recent Bible study I attended.  Sitting at a table with eight other women, we went around our table, each woman sharing how prayer did or did not play a role in her family as a child.

As I shared my story of the very important part prayer played, I realized how blessed I was.  Prayer was a very significant part of my home life.  We prayed before each meal.  Those prayers were not memorized or short “Thank you for our food” kind of prayers.  Each family member took their turn in praying for a meal and the prayers were spontaneous – from the heart prayers.  At bedtime we all gathered in our living room, knelt down by the couch or a chair and our Dad would lead us in a prayer.  Any time I was not feeling well or had a problem at school, Dad’s solution was prayer.  We did go to see a doctor when sick, but prayer always came first.

Being the youngest in the family, my first prayer at mealtime was a memorized prayer.

God is good, God is great!

And we thank Him for our food!  Amen

At mealtime I would pray my simple prayer first, then another member of my family would say an “adult” prayer.  Shortly after I turned five, my Dad decided I no longer needed to pray that childish prayer, but could just take my turn with the rest of the family praying at mealtime.  However, he did not explain that to me.  We sat down to eat and Dad called on my oldest sister to say the prayer.  She prayed and everyone began eating.  After a few minutes Mom noticed I was not eating and wanted to know what was wrong.  “I didn’t get to pray” was my response.  How could I eat my meal without thanking God for it?  After Dad explained that I did not have to personally pray for the meal before I could eat and that going forward I could take my turn and pray a “real” prayer rather than the memorized one, I was content.

As a child, he was my hero!  I thought he could walk on water and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.  He not only taught me the importance of prayer, but he gave me a love for God’s Word.  My earliest memories are of Dad, after a hard day’s work, sitting at the kitchen table reading the Bible.  Along with prayer, reading and studying the Bible was a high priority with him.  He taught me how to use a Bible dictionary, a concordance and commentaries.

When I turned 14 my father made a 180 degree turn in his life.  He deserted my mother, my sister and me and turned his back on all he had taught me.  Refusing to pay any child support and showing no affection for me, he broke my heart.  My hero died.  As I entered the world of teenagers and then a young adult, one of my greatest desires was to regain a close relationship with my Dad.  But sadly, it never happened.  He remained very critical of me and everything I did.  Every visit I had with him seemed to end up with me either crying or running out of his house in anger.  How I longed for him to say he loved me or to give me a word of praise.  But sadly, it never happened.

A few years ago my father died.  I had long ago forgiven him for deserting me, had long ago forgiven him for his unkind treatment to me.  So when he died, I thought all would be okay.  Surprisingly, I found myself filled with the greatest anger I had every known.  I felt hatred for him.

I struggled with this and prayed for deliverance from this pain.  How could I feel more anger when he was dead than when he was alive?  How could I feel hatred for him when I never felt that emotion when he was alive?  After many months of soul-searching and prayer, I realized that as long as he was alive, I had hope that we would somehow become close again.  That one day I would visit him and hear him say that he loved me or that he was proud of me.  But now, that would never happen.

After months of prayer, I’m grateful that the anger and hatred subsided in my heart.  But all that was left was a sense of great loss and sadness that the memories of my father were not pleasant ones.

But then, I attended the Bible study on prayer and listened to myself tell how my father taught me the importance of prayer.  What a great gift he gave me!  Although my memories of my dad when I was a teenager and later, an adult, were not pleasant ones, and I never received the love and approval from him that I so desired, I do owe him a great debt.   He taught me one of the most important lessons a person can know – that God loves me and He hears me when I pray.

So – I have a great inheritance for which I am thankful.  It’s my choice to cling to those memories and be grateful!