Grandma's Rocking Chair

Last night my mother-in-law gently fell asleep in my great grandmother’s rocking chair. She sweetly nodded while we sat on the floor at her feet, playing Canasta with her grandchildren and great grandchildren. The fire place hummed softly as rain drummed the roof; the dog took three turns and nestled in the wool blanket at my side. It’s been a day of ponderings. The rocking chair has rough spots my father’s dog gnawed when she was a wee puppy. Now Bonnie dog has grown, run many a mile, and gone on to happy hunting grounds after an ancient age. The stack of old photos nearby has a picture of my great grandmother Hettie, in this same chair, rocking. On the doorframe I’ve hung one of the quilts she created. Nearby is her old foot treddle Singer.

On the piano is the old gramaphone, with the thick ancient records of the roaring twenties. My grand-children sometimes put them on and try to dance the way they imagine my grandma danced. Depression glass, grand father’s old books, ads for farm machine parts in English and Zitterling from the turn of the century, and little envelopes for Benevolent Collections stuck in the 1883 family Bible all speak of the pilgrimage of generations mingled in this household.

How rich we are! Not materially, but in heritage. From each side of the family well worn Bibles, in several languages have been gathered here. Maps grace our walls of the places generations have journeyed, seeking to share the Treasure of Truth found in the Living Word. Together we seek to flesh out the reality of Psalm 84: 5-7 “Blessed are they whose strength is in You; they in whose heart are the highways passing through the valley of sufferings; they make it a well-spring; yea, the early rain covers it with blessings. They go from strength, until every one of them appears before God in Zion.”

Grandma wakes refreshed in her rocker, her rosy cheeks chipper. Our game wraps up and the kids tally the score. Uncle Phil drains his coffee, ready to head out in the wind and rain, taking Grandma home. We gather for evening prayers and realize again how blessed we are, holding hands across four generations, and lifting praise together.

UncategorizedMalachi