Grandmother's Treasures
By Gail Gallagher

As a little girl, my favorite times were those moments spent sitting at the feet of my grandmother as she rocked in her favorite chair. I loved looking up at her as she looked down at me with that special smile and those twinkling eyes. Those were the times that forever bonds were born.

She loved to drift into her long ago world and I would join her as I closed my eyes and let her world become mine. It was almost as if I had lived her life with her as she reached back to her precious treasure box of memories.

She told of the sun beating down on her little blonde head as she stumbled barefoot between the rows of cotton. She dragged her lumpy burlap bag of cotton behind her and wished for a cold drink of water. She brushed her hair back from her face with her dusty sleeve as she squinted in the sunlight.

As she talked it was clear to me—even as a child—that she gathered more than cotton during those long hot summer days. She gathered a multitude of learning experiences in persistence and endurance that would carry her through many difficult times.

She talked of the long and difficult winters and how hard her fathers worked to keep the farm producing crops so the family of twelve could eat. Rain or shine, he was in the fields. Sick or in good health, he was in the fields. The ground had to be prepared in the winter months so seed could be planted, so mouths could be fed.

My grandma told of the cold harsh winter days when Grandpa chose to stay inside. He would sit in front of the fire and repair the family's shoes or mend one of the old kitchen chairs.

Whenever her father caught up with work at home, or when he saw the need of a neighbor, he went to lend a helping hand by chopping wood or repairing on the old schoolhouse.

Grandma loved the evenings after supper when her dad read the Bible to all the family and they would sing hymns well into the night. When everyone had gone to bed for the night, her dad got out his tattered leather journal and recorded the day's activities.

Grandma shared the painful times as well. Like the time her older teenage brother died of a fever or when there was very little money and they went to bed hungry some nights. But she grew in the hard times, learning to lean on the Father and on his word.

Grandma's treasures may not have meant much to anyone else, but to me, they were precious gems of love and hope that she entrusted to me. I often think about the treasures I'm passing on to my grandchildren. How will God use my life to bless theirs? Will they find hope and assurance in the ways God has carried me through the good times and the painful times in my life?

Perhaps this treasure chest of stories, of memories, of faith is one of the greatest gifts we will ever give our grandchildren.

Image ©SXC.hu