Learning from the past

When my dad died almost 5 years ago one of the treasures I inherited was a journal my grandfather had written. Why it took me these 5 years to open the cover I have no idea. I sat one cold winter Saturday and read the whole thing. The words are poignant at times, factual at others. It takes him several years of writing, he was good enough to date the entries, to tell his story. Grandpa talks about his twin brother Clayton who apparently had cerebral palsy. There was no special school or social programs to aid in his development, just a family who loved and cared for Clayton the best they could, and his was a life well lived. Grandpa explores the question of why he was fine and Clayton was not, what was God's plan in that? The answers are as beautiful as the heart that asks the questions.

Grandpa had three wives in his 80 some years on earth. He loved them all dearly and trusted that God sent the perfect woman to him at each stage of his life. What a testament.

Maybe more intriguing than the actual words on the page are the gaps and the handwriting. The script that becomes less clear over the years. His writing became his work after he could no longer manage the apartment complex where he lived. The telling gap in entries as he dealt with Bernice's leukemia and her eventual death says that he was giving all he could elsewhere, the journal would have to wait.

I'm delighted to have this handwritten history of the days he was here on earth. Lessons to be learned. Paper and ink don't go the way of lost computer files and changing technology. It's a challenge to me to leave a history, something that will be meaningful to future readers. That requires living a life worthy of our high calling.