Granddaddy’s Girl

Recently I told you how life was for me in my maternal grandparents farmhouse. My Daddy’s parents lived down the road from them until moving back to Kentucky after Granddaddy retired. My Grandmother was a strict, proper Southern lady. Men wore suit coats to the dinner table, which was always in the dining room. Hands and faces were washed, shirts tucked in, and we walked, not ran, to her table. She gave me my love for reading and canasta. Every Christmas she made candy and eggnog. (I don’t remember the eggnog but Mom says it was delicious.) Her meringue pies were piled high with artistic swirls. Grandmother had soft hands that smelled of Jergens lotion, that cherry almond. When we prayed she always held my hand.

Granddaddy was my hero. He was Lock Master at Dam 43 and loved me deeply. It was reciprocated. A family story tells of my 6 foot Granddaddy squatting down picking peas in the hot sun with me hanging onto his back. He had trouble telling me no. Occasionally he would let me go to the Dam with him. Keeping a watchful eye he made certain I never wandered to the river. Sometimes he would take my hand and tell me we were riding a boat to the next Dam and catching another back. What fun! I blew the whistle, waved at people on the shore, and had a grand adventure. He was soft spoken and did not say much, but when he did we all listened.

That side of my family has a total of five grandchildren so it was much different than my Mother’s. My cousins lived two hours away, and I couldn’t see them each week. That doesn’t mean we aren’t close. I love all three of them. My youngest cousin is like a little sister, a treasure. The boys are great, too, and my aunt! You will meet her later. I was the first grandchild so I spent a lot of time alone with my grandparents growing up.

I remember spending a Saturday night with them when I was young. We played games, sat on the porch, had snacks, and made a pallet beside their bed for me to sleep. Waking up I could smell bacon wafting in from the kitchen along with the aroma of coffee. Sun was streaming in through the windows and birds were chirping. I heard the slow steady footsteps of Granddaddy on the hardwood floor as he came in to wake me. I asked “do we hafta go to church today?” knowing he would say no and wonder what I wanted to do. He thought for a minutes, went to his nightstand and came back with his Bible. He thumbed through it and read a verse “As for me and my house we will serve the Lord.” Then asked me what kind of house I thought his was. “Brick” I replied. He chucked and said “One that serves the Lord. Now get up.”

Think about who you serve when you want to sleep in or go on an adventure instead of worship.  What is really more important?  Who should get that hour?  Does your house serve the Lord?  Do you?

“But if serving the LORD seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve…..but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.”   Joshua 24:15 NIV