This being November, I would like to spend the month giving thanks for the many blessings in my life. My father recently handed on to me some pretty decent bumper-sticker wisdom. It went something like this;
If tomorrow you had only those things which you thanked God for today, what would you wake up to?
I think I will start by giving thanks for
the ones who gave my parents life. Thank God for my grandparents. I am thankful for the many joys I shared with my them in my youth and for their friendship today as I raise my own children. What I am most thankful for is their devotion to prayer and that they taught my parents how to pray. The gift of prayerful Grandparents is truly the gift that keeps on giving; bearing fruit in every generation.
As a child I spent many hours with my father's mother; visiting her most days in my preschool years, sick days in elementary school, weekdays after school, Sundays after Mass, Holidays and over-nights whenever I could negotiate them. Gram had her spot at the dining table where all her prayer cards, books and rosaries received her constant attention through out the day.
I remember her helping me to commit to memory The Lord's Prayer and introducing me to St. Anthony. It sounded a little crazy when she told me to ask St. Anthony to help me find a little ring which she had given me and which had promptly gone missing. But I thought it was worth a shot. I remember kneeling on her kitchen floor thinking, "Okay... so... St. Anthony.... could you please help me find my ring...." then, not knowing what to do next, I rested on the floor with my head turned to one side when suddenly my eyes focused on the ring lying amid the dust bunnies under gramma's fridge. Letting out a joyful shriek, I shot my little hand beneath the refrigerator, sprang to my feet with ring in hand and ran to my grandma to give her the miraculous news!
There are too many memories like this to recount for you in a blog, but one more seems important enough to require sharing. As I went through difficulties with friends in grade school, my grandmother would tell me that the children being cruel were just jealous. She taught me to befriend the children who have no friends and that no one was better than anyone else. When I clarified to her that I was sure that the other kids were not
just jealous and that
I was the kid without any friends, she gave me some very special advice, which at the time was difficult but which to this day I treasure. She reminded me that Our Lord was rejected and mistreated and even left friendless in his most distressing hour. She told me to offer up my hurt and to share it with Christ. I couldn't fully understand what that meant then, but I am so grateful for her wisdom and the graces it has produced.
My favorite memories with my mother's parents take place in the winter. The little Idaho town they lived in received feet and feet of snow when we would visit for Christmas. Any of my adult friends who know my cautious nature would be surprised to see me as a child out in the snow covered fields doing what my mom's folks call
Rippin'; riding snow mobiles at what felt to me like top speed, but which I'm sure wasn't, or riding an inner-tube or sled tied by rope to the back of one. All the cousins and Aunts and Uncles, and of course my very youthful grandparents would tare-it-up all day long, return to gramma's house for a meal and head back out and go
Rippin' again.
The snow was so plentiful at my grandparents' house in the winters that Grandpa would hardly have to shovel much to make a snow pile continuous with the roof of their garage, and that was our sledding hill. Later we would dig ice tunnels into the sledding hill to form the coolest fort ever. My mother's family is a playful one and holidays with them are enjoyed to the rhythm of eat play, eat until the wee hours.
My father's father entered into rest when I was only five years old, but I have many fond memories of him and the benefit of his instructing my own father. I remember Grandpa repeatedly reading to me the same two books of mother-goose I always asked for. My favorite poem was of the little girl with the little curl in the middle of her forehead. Whenever I would ask him to take me to the park he would say, "What are grandpa's for?" In the summer he would pretend to argue with me about whether dandelions were weeds or flowers and the correct pronunciation of the words garbage and garage. His legacy certainly lives on in my father and my Uncle Tim. On sleep-overs, I remember my grandpa putting on one of his two robes; red or blue, pouring himself a tall glass of buttermilk filled literally to the brim and pulling the rocking chair closer to the TV to watch
space, spooks and spies as he referred to his favorite genres.
Some of my grandparents have passed and with some we continue to make new memories. My mother's parents love to shower my children with the same affections I remember receiving as a child. My grandpa sends them personalized books with their names inserted as characters. Grandma has been known to make a surprise trip out to see us. Sometimes I think the trip comes as a surprise to her as well.
Whether present physically or in spirit, I thank God for the gift that my grandparents are to me. I know that my departed grandparents are interceding for me now before Almighty God, while those living persevere in prayer for me on Earth.
If you have a fond memory of your grandparents for which you would like to give thanks, please share it as a comment below.
