I
love my Daddy. Even though he is gone
from this earth, Father’s Day is a perfect time to reflect on how much he still
influences me. But, this is a post for Grandfathers:
Just because your grandkids are two generations behind you, and you may not
understand anything they say or do, and you may think they don’t listen to a word
you speak, your love and inspiration can still impact a life. Take mine for instance.
Life
was quite good for me in the grandfather department. By the time I came along, he already had many
grandchildren, but I was his youngest and therefore his absolute favorite. (Just ask any of them.) Even though he passed before I turned 18, my
paternal grandfather Ernest Lester Luce definitely helped shape me.
Grandpa
Luce had an incredible garden where he grew and canned just about anything that
would sprout from the ground. I have yet
to taste fig preserves even close to his, though I try every chance I get. He must have been in his late fifties when I
was born, far past the “raising babies” stage in those days, but my parents
were hard-working, very young and needed help.
So, he and Grandma provided free preschool daycare (and sometimes
nightcare.) I learned many things at his
knee, including how to play the card game Solitaire all day long (drove my
Grandma crazy), and wonderful rhymes, songs and hymns. I got indoctrinated into garden etiquette at
an early age, but just couldn’t grasp the concept of walking between the rows,
not on the rows. Yet, he never got angry
with me for tromping on his newly planted seeds. After all, I was his favorite.
Grandpa
Luce also had a wondrous tool shed with a very distinctive earthy aroma I
dearly loved, but I was not allowed to visit alone for fear of sharp blades and
such. My most vivid memory of that
little tin building involves a day of gardening together, when in a weak
moment, he granted entry on a quest for miniature aluminum pans to create mud
pies - my specialty at the time. First,
there was the faint but unmistakable sound; and then I rushed in on a frenzied
search-and-rescue-mission-impossible, becoming breathlessly elated to find,
behind the shovels, in a dark corner, there they were: KITTENS!
Giddy with joy and excitement, I tripped over myself to squeal the good
news to Grandpa. Of course, his advice
was to look and not touch, and of course, all I could do was touch and hold and
cuddle and pet. And when I developed
ringworm on my arm, never once did he scold “I told you so”.
But,
it was on the return drive from an out of town family visit that my Grandpa
Luce imparted to me his most lasting impression. The car flipped twice and landed on its side,
trapping all three of us. An unconscious
10-year-old buried under debris
in the back seat, I remained undiscovered by rescuers
for awhile; but when I came to, the sound I heard gave me pure comfort while waiting to be freed from the wreckage. It
was a beautiful baritone voice, the same one my father inherited, singing through
shock and pain, “I’ll fly away, oh glory,
I’ll fly away!” In my heart, I knew at
that moment that our trust in God would protect us and everything would be okay.
My
Grandfather influenced in me a strong Christian commitment, just by being
strong in his own commitment, just by loving and nurturing me, just by singing
out his faith when I needed to hear it most. Thank God for Grandfathers, and Happy Father’s Day.
