August 1, 2024
Many of you know this to be true — “the older I get, the more I look back in time with fondness.” Sure, I miss the “good old days” spent with childhood friends and all the shenanigans we did (oh the stories); but mostly, I long for the days I had with my grandparents.
My mom’s parents were farmers who were born, raised, and passed away in their hometown of Blooming Prairie (MN). My grandpa, Olaf Gerhard, passed away in the same house his grandfather built in the 1850’s. Of his grandchildren, I am the baby, (the youngest of eight).
By the time I came around, grandpa had been retired for many years. As he aged, so had the barn, so much so that it was off-limits because it was just too dangerous to play in. (Of course, that didn’t stop me from sneaking in occasionally). Grandpa H passed away in July 1981. It seems like both just yesterday, but also a lifetime ago. I see his face reflecting back at me from my brother, Bruce.
Both grandma and grandpa loved their garden. They would take me on walks through it, and together we’d pick kohlrabi, carrots, and other fresh veggies for dinner. (Maybe that’s why Kohlrabi is among my favorites to this day)— not because of its taste or texture, but because it reminds me of them.
Besides their love of the simple life, grandma and grandpa demonstrated their love for the Lord. It was more action than words, and the silent witness that I remember —their worn bibles sat on the end tables; the occasions going to church; and the gentle prayers echoed down through time in the voice of my mother, teaching me how to pray.
My dad’s parents — oh my goodness, where do I begin? Grandma Claire was the best baker in the whole world. I bet she’s up in heaven right now making Jesus a fresh blueberry pie, with handpicked wild berries from the forests surrounding Lake Kabetogama. Grandma’s 100% scratch pies were the perfect ending to a dinner of her goulash and fried, fresh walleye (that grandpa caught earlier that day).
Grandpa didn’t take me fishing often because I was just too squirrely to sit still in the boat; so, I stayed back at the cabin with grandma. She taught me how to play cards and dominos and made us butter sandwiches for lunch. Most importantly, she just spent time with me, making me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered to her.
If grandpa ever rubbed two words together, I wouldn’t have heard them. I honestly don’t think I heard him say more than 100 words in my entire life. But he didn’t need words. Like Grandma Claire, he treated me as though I was the only grandchild that mattered. Every night while at the cabin, he would make a chocolate shake for just the two of us — our special treat together.
Grandpa passed-away while I was out to sea; I never had a chance to say goodbye. I did get to say goodbye to grandma though. She was frail and should’ve passed earlier than she did. For some reason, I think she was afraid to die; perhaps she believed she wasn’t good enough. That was the German in her, I think.
Grandma couldn’t communicate well in her final months, not verbally anyway. She lay in her bed, wasting away. The last day I saw her was hard, yet… memorable.
I’ll never forget the day. Danielle and I were home for Christmas on a two-week leave. Now for context, a year earlier, Danielle miscarried our first child. So… not knowing what to say to Grandma, I urged her to just let go (and to go see Jesus). “Besides,” I told her, “You have a job to do. You need to go to heaven and raise my little boy. His name is Colby,” I said. I then continued, “You need to go to heaven and raise him, just as you raised me and my dad before me.” And just then, a surprise of all surprises —grandma grunted and somehow uttered Colby’s name. She shocked us all.
The nurse couldn’t believe it. Danielle and I were awestruck as tears flowed from our eyes. We knew that was our moment to say our goodbyes. I kissed her on the forehead, and then we began our journey back to Maine. Upon our arrival, we called our folks to check in. During that call, my dad shared the news that grandma had passed away. She died in peace — a gift, my father said, he cherishes every day.
I’m tearing up as I tell you these stories. Why? Because I now understand why King Solomon penned this noteworthy truth:
In a few days, perhaps even this week, our grandson, Bishop Warrick Almas, will make his entrance in the world. Danielle and I will soon gleefully join, perhaps, the grandest club on earth. We’re beyond excited! It’s our turn to pass on the legacy that’s been given to us.
We may not see our grandson until Christmas, but we cannot wait to hold him and look at his beautiful face. Maybe I’ll see reflections of Gerhard or Elva, or Art or Claire in him. My guess, though, is I’ll see a reflection of our Lord and God who created Bishop, just as the Lord created you and made you to be in his likeness too.
I can’t wait to make Bishop chocolate shakes and teach him to play cribbage. I can’t wait to teach him how to make Lefse and perhaps to take photographs of the Milky Way. And I can’t wait to share with Bishop how proud I am of his mama, and tell him all the wonderful stories of his great-grandparents (and their parents too).
I imagine that the crown Solomon wrote about is filled with jewels, and those jewels have names written on them. Art and Claire, and Gerhard and Elva wore their crowns, and those crowns each had eight jewels —inscribed with the names of my cousins and me. Somewhere, someplace, there’s a crown out there with other jewels, and one of those jewels has a name inscribed upon it; and that name is yours.
You are (or were) a jewel in your grandparents’ crown, just as your grandchildren (if you have them) are jewels in the crown God gave you. As jewels, we are all infinitely precious to our grandparents, and even more precious to the Lord. What a legacy the Lord God began so many millennia ago, with countless generations of grandparents all wearing crowns with jewels, shining brightly for the world to see.
I hope Bishop shines out for the whole world to see; and I pray most importantly, he shines out for Jesus as does his mother and father, and grandparents before him.
I can only hope I’ll be as good as a grandparent as were Gerhard & Elva, and Arthur & Claire. And I hope, one day, when Bishop is my age and I’m long, long gone, that he too will wear the crown of the aged and join the grandest club in the world.
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