A Month of Thanksgiving~He'd Be Proud and Thankful

When I was making wedding plans, my Dad said, "You're getting married? You can't even make a pot of rice, but you're getting married?"

I certainly wasn't Susie Homemaker when I walked down that aisle. I've learned much along the way.

And learning to cook was a delightful way to prove my Dad wrong. Whenever he'd come visit us, I would thoughtfully prepare the menu, making sure it included comfort foods he'd love. You couldn't have given me a million dollars for the times I heard him say, "Mmm. That was good. I'll take more of that." No. His compliments were priceless, and it pleased my heart to know I had given him a bit of joy at the supper table.

I made my first homemade pie on Sunday. Apple, of course. It turned out wonderfully. I surprised myself, and I couldn't help thinking of my Dad and how much I wish he could have tasted this little wonder. I think he would have been proud...and maybe even have given me some tips.

There are lots of things I'm sure my Dad worried about when it came to my life. His enthusiasm waned a bit more with each baby announcement. Would I be ok? Would we all be ok? Could we manage?

But I know my Dad's biggest concerns were whether we'd faithfully be part of a church. Whether we'd stay grounded in the Word. Whether we'd honor Him with our lives. And that concern didn't come from a man who lived perfectly. It came from the heart of a man who knew well the struggle of doing what we don't want to do and not doing what we should.

Today is his birthday, and it's a good gift to have memories of my Dad around my dinner table. Memories of him playing chess with Ink and Jake. Memories of his laugh. Memories of his leaning over his Bible with a lighted magnifying glass just so He could read the Word each day. How sweet to have used that very tool last night to get a splinter out of Little's Bit's foot.

It's tempting to romanticize our memories of a loved one who is no longer with us. But for some of us, waxing sentimental over the past only diminishes the amazing power of the Gospel. My dad was a great sinner who needed a great, great Savior. He saw up close that horrifying truth that our hearts are desperately wicked, and unless the Holy Spirit opens our eyes and changes our hearts, we are hopeless creatures.

Yes. I'd love to have my Dad around my table one more time, to have him taste the work of my hands and a gift from my heart, to hear him say, "That's good." But what would be even more beautiful is to have him sit with us and see how good the Lord has been to us, how He has kept us, kept us living upon His grace moment by moment, kept us faithfully walking in His ways and in repentance, kept us in the love and fear of Him as He shows us we can do none of this on our own.

I think he'd be proud, and I know he'd be thankful.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.

With love,
Trisha

How to Make Grandma Smile

Her Hand in His

It's been almost two years ago since I rushed to Virginia to see my Dad before he died. He had never met Jedediah, so my sense of urgency to just get to the hospital was overwhelming. I remember trying to contain myself as I waltzed pass the nurses' station into his room. (I knew they'd be coming after me.)

That first meeting was brief, but brief was better than nothing. Jedediah touched my Dad's arm, and that was good. A connection had been made, and though he won't remember it, the story is part of him.

My Mama's here now, and she's held Elijah for the first time, and he's wrapped his younger, tinier fingers around her older, fragile ones. One generation grasping another. 

"Nobody can do for little children what grandparents do. Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust over the lives of little children."
~Alex Haley