When my grandfather died at 99, my mother and I began to prepare his home to be sold. He and my grandmother, who had predeceased him by 20 years, made it their sweet home in the 1930’s and that flourishing property on the corner by the bay was the hub and heart of our family. Saddened by the unthinkable conclusion of a beloved generation, mom and I headed down to the homestead to work.
Like many people from that era, Jim and Eva kept everything. The house was neat and orderly and each and every cabinet and closet was chock full of neat and orderly piles, boxes and envelopes. Fabric, letters, dishes, Bible studies and notes, financial accounts, embroidered handkerchiefs, grandchildren’s art, photos, clothes, Mason jars (350), every model of iron from the 30’s to the 90’s. It began as a daunting task and became a great cathartic blessing of love, rich memories and even an occasional unearthing of a puzzle piece which, to my surprise, mended a hollow, wanting place in my heart.
I took breaks on the sunny back porch where Grammy used to sing to the mockingbirds in the hedge. I let my puppy run the length of Pop Pop’s field, her paws stirring up long ago rows of bushy lima beans and bright red dabs of juicy strawberries. I stood in the dark, cool cave of the barn and observed his tools hanging still from the rafters, the exhausted pile of burlap collecting so much dust.
In life and even in death and loss, God fills me with peace, assurance, joy and immense, impossible love. His gifts are always waiting to be discovered. He loves me so.
You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever. Psalm 16:11
Meeting God at the Park 