Jesus, sing along with me, "Precious Memories, how they linger . . ."
Jesus, do you remember
where you slept when you were a boy and later as a man? Can you picture it in your mind, remember all the details of that place? The sights, the sounds, the smells, the feel of your blankets and lumps where you lay?
I went to my grandmother's last
night as I lay in my bed at home, nestled under a quilt grandma Maurine made for my
high school graduation.
My inner eye and I
roamed around in my grandmother's basement where we slept as kids
during our Christmas break (two weeks) from school and during our
summer break (one month) and then upstairs in her second bedroom when
I was sixteen. Do you remember that Jesus? I felt so grown up as I
was allowed to visit my grandparents by myself and to travel to Dodge City, Kansas by train
where they picked me up. Thank you for being with me, protecting me
along the way. My mother never said anything, but I'm sure she was
anxious until I made it there and they assured her I was okay when we
called her from their house. I was excited and homesick all at the same time.
I miss grandma and Papa.
Jesus, do you remember when I called him that? He was Papa until I
think I was in high school and felt I was too old for such a childish
name for him. I miss being able to visit them, but last night, I
pushed past my emotions and looked around the rooms in my memory while I lay
snugly under my quilt.
Will you come along with me as I remember
grandma's basement? It was a wide open space, except for
where the stairs came down into the third end of the room. Grandma had grandpa build a
little storage room under the stairs and shelves on the left side of the stair wall for her pretties. She would rotate them as she got tired of looking at them or when the seasons or holidays changed. On the right side of the stairs there were
the white metal cupboards they removed from the kitchen in the old
house before it was sold and moved into town.
Grandma told me they
began housekeeping in a 2-room house, which was still standing the
last time I was down at the farm, then they purchased a two story house
in Elkhart, Kansas and moved it to their farm in the 1940s. On the plains of the Oklahoma panhandle and southwestern Kansas where wood for building was scarce, my mom said it was a common practice to remove whole buildings to a new site. After 20
years of living in that house, Grandpa decided to have a 2-bedroom
ranch house built over a basement in 1962-63, thinking it would be
easier for Grandma to keep house.
Do
you remember Jesus, that Grandma loved that old house as much I did? I don't know why she loved it, but I did
because it was full of interesting nooks and crannies. It had a lot of character.
As
I lay in bed, I swept my mind's eye around the room, feeling cozy and
loved under my quilt. Beside me a few feet away, was Grandpa's office
desk and chair. We kids loved that chair, do you remember why Jesus?
We loved to sit in that wooden arts and crafts chair and spin each
other just for the fun of it until mom would yell down the stairs and
chase us out-of-doors to play. On the left side of Grandpa's desk was
a bookcase where he kept his farm books mostly. After awhile, Grandpa
brought home a huge metal safe to keep their photos and accounting
books in. It was on the wall on the right side of the desk.
Remember
the old living room furniture Grandma brought over from the old house
– her scratchy old beige sofa, a braided area rug, an old
blanket trunk, an old wooden kitchen chair with the black vinyl
covered seat that wasn't fastened down and a end table arranged in a
circle? In the corner, sat her old round oak dining room table. I
loved that hefty pedestal table on huge claw feet and rollers as it
could be pushed out from the wall a little if needed so all of us
kids could crowd around (there was four of us and usually two or more
cousins) to play games on it. Often times, when a blizzard blew in
or it was rainy, we would play "house" down there. It was
cool down there in the summer and warm in the winter.
Then
there was the three double iron beds that we each slept in. One was mom's squeaky bed from when she was a girl. My
sisters usually claimed that one, but my brother refused to sleep
with me after he said I kicked him out of bed several times in a row
in my sleep. Jesus, knowing my brother, he was probably being onery
to me and I kicked him out in self-defense, but since I was asleep, I
don't remember it. Jesus, did you have any pesky little brothers?
I remember the way the
basement smelled, dusty. None of the basement walls or the floor was
painted or sealed, so when we left, Grandma would cover the beds with
plastic sheeting because that fine Oklahoma dirt would sift in
through the basement windows, two on each wall whenever a storm would
stir up.
Jesus, I felt so grown up
as I lay in the upstairs bed in between the crisp white sheets where
my parents usually slept when we came down during the Christmas holidays. Dad
would take his two-week vacation time then and we would drive to our
grandparents, usually during the night so that we kids slept on the
way down in the back of the station wagon that mom and dad made up
into a bed. Two at the top of the mattress and two at the bottom,
with our legs and stocking feet meeting somewhere in the middle under
the quilt. Sometimes I would just lay there, looking up at your beautiful night sky
as the car rolled down the highway (eight hours one way). The sky
didn't change much, but lower down, the telephone poles would flash
by, one after the other. Thank you, Jesus, for that
conjunction of Mars and Jupiter. There was much speculation that this
was the star the wise men saw that year. Thank you for that precious
memory.
Jesus, remember that
new oak bedroom set that Grandma purchased in town when she moved into the new house for the second
bedroom? The double bed was stationed under an aluminum drapery-framed
window. Instead of opening from the bottom as our windows at home
did, these slid open from the side. They were a wonder. My grandparents had
air-conditioning, but sometimes they would shut it off during the night
and open the windows to let in the fresh night-time breezes through the screen. Their
air was dry, not humid like where we lived. The windows were shut before the
heat of the day began.
The walls were painted
white and the trim around the windows and doors were stained oak to
match the bedroom furniture. Opposite the bed on the right side, was
another window that looked toward the back of the house where the
cement patio was. I always wanted a covered concrete patio like
theirs. Their back door was constantly in use, unlike the formal front door. Thank you, Jesus, for providing a home for my family with a small covered concrete
porch.
Across the room, at the
end of the bed, was the clothes closet and the exit door to the
hallway. There was a beige carpet on the floor that led out to the
hallway. And, facing me, as I curled up in the bed, was the oak
bureau with mirror. As a good hostess, grandma kept two drawers empty
so visitors would have some place to stash their stuff and a closet
full of hangers. I can remember waking up at the crack of dawn and
watching the sun come up, sometimes falling back to sleep until I
heard my grandparents stirring in their bedroom. Once, grandpa,
laughing, came to shake me awake. I guess I was talking in my sleep
about horses! Jesus, the things I did in my sleep! I was rather
embarrassed! LOL! Jesus, did you do anything funny in your sleep?
Jesus, I want to tell you thank you for
allowing me to have a relationship with my grandparents. Many of my
friend's grandparents lived too far away or some had died before they were born, so they didn't know what they were missing. Grandma Maurine and I were close like this (holding two fingers up side by side); she was my best bud and a
kindred spirit. All through my growing up years we corresponded by
letter throughout the year.
Do you remember, Jesus,
when my grandparents asked you to come into their hearts, to wash
them whiter than snow? I bet your angels were rejoicing in heaven the
day they did.
Grandma Maurine met Papa
at a campmeeting in Topeka, KS. I don't recall how my paternal
grandmother met my grandfather, but they were married in a pastor's
home before Sunday School began. I expect that's why I'm a believer
today, because they influenced my parents and thus me to follow
Christ.
Remember Timothy, Jesus?
He had a godly grandmother too. It says so in 2 Timothy 1:5 -- "I
have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your
grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am
persuaded, now lives in you also." Paul told him to guard the
good deposit, all the good reading from the scriptures he received
from his grandmother and his mother, from infancy up, and Paul's
discipleship in evangelism.
I thank you Jesus, for
the precious memories of my grandparents. See you in heaven,
Grandma Maurine and Papa John. Until then. . .
