On my last visit to the rock house, Mom directed to me a card table stacked with papers and photos. She said I could have any of it I wanted to keep, that most of it had been duplicated somewhere else and it was headed for the recycle bin. Everyone else who had come for a last tour had already sifted through and kept what they wanted.
It took me a couple of hours to go through the piles. It was all familiar, and yes, I already had duplicates of some of it. One folder grabbed my attention, though. It was the master copy of a notebook my Grandma had made for her grandchildren. She photocopied one of those fill-in-the-blank template books with writing prompts to complete. She had filled it all in, personalized for each of her 14 grandchildren, and gifted it to us in 1990.
I was 13. We had been living with her for a year. Sure it was cool that I lived in Grandma's big, fancy rock house. My friends always wanted to know what it looked like inside. Yes, the cookie jar was never empty. But I regret that I completely missed the opportunity to harvest her wisdom, to listen to her stories, to tell her my own problems, to ask her advice. I was young and didn't know better, self-absorbed and arrogant, thinking adults were clueless and couldn't possibly add any value to my circumstances.
My copy of the notebook piled up with other keepsakes and moved to a few new houses over the years. I don't remember ever reading it. At least, when I started reading the pages this time, it was very new. Maybe it was seeing her original handwriting, or the years that added value, or my own experience as a mom wanting to impart meaning to my children. Whatever the reason, her words were much weightier, more personal, valuable, significant.
"We still remember when you...'all were together at home and it is so hard to be alone now that Grandpa is gone.'
"I am happy that we all...'have so many good times to remember. I hope that Grandpa and I have taught you all good things to remember.'
"I think our family is special because...'we all love each other so much and are all friends.'
"I was proud of...'the way my family could work and play together. I was proud that I had learned to oil paint when all the children were in college and away from home.'
"I was always sorry I didn't...'travel more and get Grandpa to go with me, but he didn't like to travel as much as I did.'
"I felt very strongly about...'my family and home, and would not leave if I thought someone at home needed me.'
"I've changed my mind, and now I think...'women should have some time to do what they want to do, once in a while. Don't wait until you are too old to go and do things.'
"My wish for the future is...'that all my family, children and grandchildren, will stay friends. I want them to know each other and be able to play and work together. I hope and pray that they are all Christians and love the Lord Jesus Christ. May we be able to all be together often. May none have to go to war. May we all be proud of the name Grandpa gave us and keep it clean and good. God bless each of you. I love you all.'"
It is encouraging to me as a mom to read her words. I never would have cherished them as a teen. And this is another reminder that learning is a lifelong journey, not to be demanded immediately. What I didn't grasp then, I am starting to understand now. And it is the same for my children. They can't fathom the depths of emotion those words stir, and I can't make them understand. I can't demand that they value the blessing of grandparents nearby. I can't force them to cherish every story. I can't guarantee they won't take it completely for granted. It will only be their own years and experiences that will prove these values in their hearts. Like those who have hoed this row before me, it is mine to sow the seeds and wait patiently for the harvest, trusting the yield to Him who is able to give much more than I could ask or imagine.
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