I'm watching things grow

In honor of the great green day, I’m making corned beef, just like my grandmother used to cook for our family. The nostalgic smells have me thinking about legacy and what a blessing my grandparents, especially my grandmothers are in my life. Not just childhood memories, the things they’ve passed on to me, practical and spiritual, that I see everyday. Regular Bible study. Scripture memory. Love for and loyalty to their families, especially their husbands. The universally appropriate advice, “take a minute away to read a book - you’ll feel better.” I am blessed, my children are blessed by their lives.

I see this blessing in Gwennan right now. Her four-year-old brain is processing the complexity of God in ways that astound and encourage me.

Just last night while we were praying, she says, “Dad, I mean God,” then her head pops up. “Oh, I have two dads! You, Daddy, and God is my dad.” Bows her head again, “God-dad...”

My heart is still smiling at that recognition. Especially on the heels of this conversation...

The house is quiet while the two little ones sleep. Gwennan is up from her nap early helping me in the kitchen. “Mother, when does God stop looking at people?” 

I’m caught off guard for a moment, “Are you talking about our prayer, ‘the Lord turn his face toward you?’” 

“Yes. When does God stop looking at people?” 

We embark on a long discussion about common grace (in 4 yo terms) and heaven and hell and who goes where, when they go, how we know we are children of God. She receives it all with her deeply thoughtful expression and sums it up, “Because I have a new heart, God never stops looking at me.”

She understands better than I do somedays.

I think to quiz her and ask, “What is the place God’s children go when their bodies die?” 

“Heaven.”

“Good. And what is the place people go when they don’t love God?”

“Hilton.”

“Nope. That’s the neighborhood we’re moving to.”

“Oh... hell.”

As I’m sure it was for my grandmothers and mother before me, the greatest blessing in my life is watching my little ones turn their faces to the God who always looks at them. Seeing the truth we daily repeat take root and grow. Witnessing the people you love best in the world learn to love the One you love best. Grace upon grace.

On Cleaning out my Grandparent's Apartment

My grandparents' home tells of six continents of world travel - Pakistan, New Guinea, Kenya, Chile, Switzerland, India {the full list warrants its own post}. And from all these places, the accompanying souvenirs. Items that I love for their craftsmanship, made by artists in villages who took precious time to create beauty amongst hostility. A collection of eye-catching pieces, almost lost to the next amazing eye-catching piece.

They used it all.  Sugar bowls and jewelry cases and pencil holders. No piece was so 'precious' that it must remain wrapped in tissue paper, ferreted away in a drawer where no one could see it. Chips happened. Cracks and glue. Just life. All this functional art used, seen, touched every day. The craftsmen might be more pleased to see it cracked and loved, then wrapped and saved and never enjoyed. The art isn't intended to last forever. It is intended to bring joy and beauty every day.

I see myself in their home. Where my esthetic originated. Grandmother's pendants. Granddad's African mammal art. Inlayed wood trays. Not just me - big one's obsession with elephants and giraffes is genetic. We just have Kenya in our blood, handed down through my great grandfather who wanted more than anything to see Africa. I'm the fourth generation to make the pilgrimage to the grasslands. Scraped by on mac n' cheese for a year in college to save for the trip. I had to go. And I had to go back as soon as the plane lifted from the Kenyan tarmac.

{Child memories are funny things. Of all the pieces in my grandparents' bedroom, the piece I remember: Figment, the Imaginary Dragon - a stuffed toy from Epcot. Why did my child brain latch onto that? It still sits in their bedroom. I laugh.}

My most valued treasure from my grandparents - Grandmother's Bible. That Bible sits with my mom's and mine. A legacy of faith - the plumb line of my family. This is what I want to carry home for my girls. This is what lasts. Afternoons spent on vinyl deck chairs practicing the 23rd Psalm and the catechism with Grandmother. Her faith taught to this younger woman to be carried on for generations. One day, I hope big one and small one add their Bibles to the pile and thank the Lord for generations of His grace.

Never mind bank accounts and collections, net worth. Faith is the inheritance, the only inheritance that lasts.

Thank you Lord for your faithfulness throughout generations. You do not forget your people. You do not leave them hopeless and alone. You uphold us with your righteous right hand and grace our grandchildren. Praise the Lord!