Tag Archives: family

Never Too Late

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The call came late in the evening on March 18, 2018. “Your Dad doesn’t have much longer. You had better come, before it’s too late.”

Hanging up the phone, I knew it was already too late. Too late to hold his hand, too late to hug his neck, too late to say I love you, too late to say good-bye.

It’s too late to sit at the kitchen table and drink a cup of coffee with Dad, while he recalled some long-lost adventure from his youth.

It’s too late for me to answer the casual questions he asks me each time I go out to visit: “Is Ron in the hay field?” “How are the kids?” “Did you plant a garden this year?”

It’s too late to hear Dad chuckle at something one of us would say. Dad had a great sense of humor, and I appreciated every smile, every raised eyebrow and the nod of agreement that I shared with him.

It’s too late to hear him call out to me and Mom to “be careless” as we walk out the door to go on an occasional errand. And then he would say that was what the ‘ole man down the road used to tell him, and I would smile realizing that he was the ‘ole man down the road now.

It’s too late to… It’s just too late.

That’s the sad part of life; saying good-bye and never having another chance to do the day-to-day, unappreciated, seemingly unimportant relational interacting with each other. The little things that we take for granted or the things that go unnoticed, until it’s no longer there.

There’s no way to prepare for it; there’s no way we know what we’ll miss about a person. After someone is gone, it’s too late. It’s too late for me and Dad to share any more memories together. It’s too late; the time we had together has ended.

Yes, it’s so true; for now our time together has ended and it’s too late to make new memories. However, I know the Creator of time-God-and nothing is ever too late for Him.

It’s never too late for God to mend my broken heart. It’s never too late for God to fill me with His peace that surpasses all understanding. It’s never too late for me to rest upon the hope that has been given.

Death isn’t the end; not for Christians. If you trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, you are promised eternal life.

“O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?”
…Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory
through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
1 Corinthians 15:55-57

When I was 21 years old, I made the decision to know God and to accept His provision for eternal life. Dad also made that decision.

Although our time runs out this side of life, it’s never too late for Christians.

Jesus has prepared a place for us who choose Him as our Lord. When a Christian’s life is over here on earth, our spirits are transported to that place that Jesus has prepared. (John 16)

Dad and I will never meet again on this side of glory, but one day we will both be together, kneeling at the feet of Christ; worshiping the Father for His goodness and mercy; living eternally with the One who created us all. In Heaven, it’s never too late.

The Path

My Dad was strong and faithful, loyal and true.
The path he walked was followed by few.
He shared his path with his loving wife,
Together they walked 63 years of life.

Upon this path I’ve been allowed to track,
All the memories he’d share from way, way back.
On solid ground he walked from day-to-day,
Never straying from the path that before him lay.

He was as strong as a bull and as harmless as a bunny,
But the best thing about him; he was so darn funny.
There was never a time he didn’t make me laugh.
And I enjoyed each moment we spent on his path.

In recent years noticing his path growing dim,
I knew like all good things; it would come to an end.
He continued his walk through this world unknown,
Until he was guided to his heavenly home.

As I looked back upon the path he had walked,
I was grateful for each and every shared talk.
When my path ends, I’ll see him on Heaven’s bright shore
And we’ll meet once again for evermore.

–cindraenloe

I love you Dad, with all my heart

Grandma Lorene

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(From 2016)

A few weeks ago, my Grandma Lorene passed into Heaven. She had accepted Christ as her Lord and Savior when she was a young mother, and she exemplified true Christianity throughout her life. She was the matriarch of the family, and the foundation upon which we all grew upon. She was kind, wise, loving, caring…

I know it sounds like I’m romanticizing my grandmother’s memory, but she was truly all these things and much more.

She was the oldest of 11 children, grew up during the depression and had a fairly rough childhood. She married at an early age, so she and her mother were having children at the same time, and they became close friends.

Grandma Lorene and Grandpa Dee lived in a small town in south Missouri, and they did their part to populate it. They had 6 children, 17 grandchildren, 60 great-grandchildren, 60 great-great-grandchildren, and 2 great-great-great-grandchildren. (That would have been 11% of the population, if all of us were living there.)

She and my grandfather were solid people. They not only raised their six children, during the 30’s and 40’s, but many, many people have shared fond memories of being in their 2-story craftsman home. Their doors were always open to everyone: friends, playmates, less fortunate neighbors, family members, and even hobos that rode the train into town—Grandma never turned anyone away. They had so little, but shared so much.

They had a large front yard, right in the middle of town, and it was always full of children running and playing and jumping off of the big front porch. Recently, I overheard my aunts and my uncle recalling the games they used to play in that front yard; it was the same games my cousins and I had played, too. My favorite game was “steal the flag” (although the 4th generation calls it “capture the flag”).

I think my favorite memories recalled by my mother and her sisters and brother are the times when Grandma Lorene would sing. She sang often to us grandchildren; mostly songs about Jesus and His promises. But they remember times when they would all gather around in the small living room with their friends and cousins, when the weather was too bad to go out and play

“Mother and Daddy,” my mother recalls fondly, “gathered us all into the living room and they would sing songs to us. Daddy only had a couple of songs that he would sing, but Mother sang song after song.”

Recently, I was blessed to spend some precious time with my mother, her sisters, and their brother, and the girls sang me a few of the ballads my grandmother used to sing to them. One sister would start a song, and then the others would begin to sing along—it was a sweet, sweet testament to my grandmother.

Grandpa Dee passed a few years ago, and some time later, my Grandma Lorene had gone to live with her oldest daughter. However, due to failing health, Grandma Lorene had gone into a nursing home. Her children were faithful in tending to her. Those who lived close would go every day, and those who lived hours away would come every week.

Several times I have witnessed the staff in the nursing home commending them for the attention and time they were giving to their Mother, and each time one of them would say, “Mother has always been there for us, how could we not be here now for her.” And then story after story would be told about her being there with each of them at some important, life-changing event.

She spent eight months in the nursing home before she was taken to the hospital, due to congestive heart failure. And in true fashion of a woman who loved and was loved, the family began to gather around her—speaking words of love and encouragement.

She spent her last days in the hospital—surrounded by those who loved her most. One of my aunts brought in a CD player, and the room was filled with beautiful, Southern Gospel songs about God and His glory.

As visitors came in and out of the room, the sadness of seeing Grandma at this stage of life was quickly replaced with the joy of a memory each one had shared with this precious woman.

My mother had been driving down and spending the day at the hospital for almost three weeks. Every day when she would leave, she didn’t know if that would be the last time or not…it got very hard for her, and the others. Day after day, they watched their precious mother struggle with being in this world, and looking towards the next. They knew when she passed from this earth that God had a place prepared for her in Glory, but it’s hard to watch life ebb from someone you love so much. However, the assurance that there is a place where loved ones will be united and pain and sorrow will not follow is such a blessing to us who are left behind.

As we gathered in Grandma Lorene’s room that last day, we could tell she was getting weaker. Heavenly music was softly playing in the background as each of us whispered our last goodbye, or one more I love you, into her ear.

The day stretched on into early evening, and we lingered hoping that her spirit would be released, so she could be at rest. We began playing specific songs that encouraged us, and that we hoped would encourage Grandma: “Sheltered in the Arms of God”, “Take My Hand, Precious Lord”, “Supper Time”… We sang softly with each song, as we sat with her, praying for her, kissing her, loving her; we knew she was only a prayer away from leaving us.

And then a song by Vince Gill was playing next to her pillow, and we softly sang along—“Go Rest High On That Mountain”<<click to listen

“Go rest high on that mountain,

[Mother] your work on earth is done

Go to Heaven a shoutin’

Love for the Father and the Son

…Go to Heaven a shoutin’

Love for the Father and the Son…

As the music softly faded into the last hushed tone, a quiet calm fell upon the room; and all who were there saw Grandma Lorene take her last breath in this life, as her spirit was released into eternal life.

Grandma Lorene lived a full life; she was just a few days short of turning 97 years-old. She was devoted to her family; was a friend to all whom she met; served in the church through many aspects—especially teaching Sunday school; but most of all she lived her life under the direction of the Holy Spirit. The Bible says that people are known by the fruits they bear, and she produced a lot of spiritual fruit.

She was loved deeply by us all, and she will be greatly missed. But we have this hope, that when she left her temporary dwelling (her body), she was in her eternal dwelling place with God. (2 Corinthians 5)

She fought a good fight,

She finished her course,

She kept the faith:

And there is laid up for her a crown of righteousness,

Which the Lord the righteous Judge, has given her…

(paraphrased from 2 Timothy 4:7-8)

Grandma Lorene was a true servant of our Lord, Jesus Christ. She was well-known for her singing– while she was busy about her business, to any child who was fortunate to hear, and for a time as a song leader in her church. This song,  “Momma’s Teaching Angels How to Sing” <<click here>> reminds me of Grandma Lorene. I often listen to it when she crosses my memory.

The Myers Girls

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“Well, look! There’s the Myers Girls.”

I heard it over and over again, when I took my mom to her hometown for her 60th high school reunion this year. Every place we went, someone would excitedly call out,

“Well, look! There’s the Myers girls.”

And with each joyous call came a myriad of smiles, hugs, and hellos.

The Myers girls, as they are so fondly called, are my mother and her four sisters. They all are 2 years apart, except for the youngest who allowed a little red-headed boy to sneak into the family before she came along.

the Myers girls hs reunion_cropped

Although the little red-headed boy (who now stands over 6 ft. tall) was, and still is, adored by his sisters, it’s the sisters themselves who have formed a life-long bond that has withstood the test of time throughout the last 80 years.

Living in a small town in rural Missouri, Pa Dee and Grandma Lorene raised their 6 children, along with half the town, in a 2 story craftsman, that had a wrap around front porch and a humongous front yard.

Everyone in town knew the family; in fact, if you weren’t related to them, then you were for sure a close neighbor, classmate, or well-known acquaintance.

As with other families, they’ve rejoiced together through marriage ceremonies, child rearing, holiday celebrations, and personal accomplishments. They have comforted each other during life’s hardest moments: the death of their “Daddy” (as he was lovingly referred to), the passing of a spouse, and the untimely death of a child.

“Before you were born”, as the saying goes, the Myers girls roamed the streets, played on the volleyball team, drank Coca Cola at the drugstore, worked in the cap factory, and danced to “the oldies” on the jukebox. At one time or another, they have all been involved in activities that have formed their hometown.

To hear them talk, they knew everybody and everybody’s cousin. They are the gatekeepers and historians of their little rural town, connecting the dots between one generation and the next. They remember the history of their town, and the lifestyle that seems to have sadly disappeared, and share it with us youngsters who are lucky enough to enjoy time with these precious ladies.Gramm nursing home

Although three of them have made other towns their home, their hometown will always be Winona, MO. They return yearly to attend the family reunion and the alumni reunion, and occasionally they meet together on sadder occasions, such as a funeral. But regularly, they get together and visit their 96 year-old Mother and occasionally go on day trips just…to talk to laugh to share

 

So if you’re ever in southern Missouri and you see 5 lil’ ol’ gray-headed ladies with matching shirts traipsing around town, combing through the cemeteries, or wandering around WalMart, give ’em a shout out, because it’s probably going to be

The Myers Girls.

the Myers girls_cropped2

 

 

 

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Life With A Knight

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Once upon a time

 

2bdf0-dreamstime_xs_castle

There was a certain peacefulness in the air, the rustle of the autumn leaves, the damp smell of a recent shower, and the gentle breeze wafting through her graying hair. Although it had not always been this way, at

this very moment, she was content. Life’s vanishing moments played in the recesses of her memories. She found herself smiling at the remembrances of her beautiful children, and a small tear escaped down her cheek. Quiet laughter exhaled through her lips thinking of all the impractical moments they also had shared. There had been wearisome times, of course, but they didn’t matter anymore, and were always quickly forgotten.

But as she reclined in the Meadow of Time Past, there were other memories that would never be forgotten, these memories were of the Knight. Not a large champion, as some would think of a knight, but a common man of high character and moral tenacity. And although her Knight no longer possessed the strength of a horse or the agility of a lion, his other striking traits remained. The way his blue eyes pierced deep into her soul, knowing what must be said or done to heal her troubled heart; or the way he continually stood before her, protecting her from impending danger. The Knight was a man of truth, morality, and grit. There were no others like him in the land, aside from his posterity.

She always felt safe when he was near. As they battled the giants, the dragons, and fought through the dangers that surrounded them, he led the way. The Knight always had his sword drawn. Even at times of peace when she would ask him to put it into his sheath, he would never give in to her insistent pleas, knowing that danger always lurked nearby.

Day after day, the Knight’s calloused hand would close around the dainty hand of the Lady, as they battled up the hill. Together they faced giants, dragons, and evil authorities. There were times of celebration, tragedy, and even abandonment, but they always faced these times together and their hearts became as one. He, leading the way, wielded his sword at all danger, and she was safely protected in his shadow.  And now, nearing the end of the battle, she knew the Knight had done his job well. She was confident that one day when he stood before his Lord, he would hear him say, “Well done, thy good and faithful servant.”

 

shield

Although I am not foolish enough to think that my life is perfect and that my husband is my knight in shining armor, I am wise enough to know that I have a great family and a great husband. He’s not perfect, but neither am I, but we have become perfect for each other.

But since today is our 38th anniversary, I wanted to let The Farmer know that I do appreciate his leadership in our family. And no, we haven’t fought any literal giants, dragons, or evil authorities (well maybe evil authorities), but we have fought against the Giants of Debt, Doubt, and Despair. And continually slay the dragons named Sickness, Indecision, and Busyness.

But together, and with God’s guidance, and the sword of Wisdom, we have survived. We have throttled the statistical dragon of divorce and infidelity, we have killed the giant of non-communication, and we have nourished the meadows of Love, Contentment, and Family.

 

Happy Anniversary, Farmer!

 

 

I Miss You In The Ordinary

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Recently, my mother-in-law passed away after a short bout with cancer. Up to that point in her life, she had always been healthy. At age 86, she didn’t take any medications, and she would walk 2 miles a day—Monday through Friday (on Saturday if the weather was really pleasant).

Often her daughters would come over and walk with her, and she would always encourage me to walk with her, also. Being her next-door neighbor was a good enough reason to do it, but I always had an excuse: I was too busy, too tired, too grumpy, too lazy (probably the real reason). At one point I justified not walking with her because I didn’t want to get too attached to her.

Judge me if you must, but this reasoning came after her sister had passed away. For years, every morning between 7:00 and 7:30, she and her sister would call each other just to talk and check up on one another. After her sister passed, I saw the pain and loneliness that my mother-in-law had felt for her sibling, and I made a conscience decision that I didn’t want to suffer that.

Knowing that she was a bit older than I, I assumed she would go before me and I was preparing myself emotionally (some psychologist out there can work on that if they need to). But when I began to reason within myself, I saw this for what it was…just another excuse (a twisted one perhaps).

Eventually, I began to walk daily with her. She encouraged me, prodded me on, and took it easy on me those first few days while I adjusted to her walking pace. Actually, she was just recovering from a cold that she had harbored for several weeks, so she was only walking one mile a day in the beginning, and I was able to keep up with her (wow, that’s pretty sad, since I’m 43 years younger)

After several months of walking, talking, griping, and laughing together, she found out that she had a very aggressive form of cancer and was given 4 to 6 months to live. But like everything else she faced in life, she stayed strong, faithful, and level-headed. She got her house in order and began telling her kids how she wanted everything done. She planned out her own funeral, took care of all of her financial business, pretty much decided who was going to get what, and assured us all that she would be okay, because she had accepted Christ as her Savior and she knew her final destination (although we already knew this, because it showed in her everyday life).

My mother-in-law was many things; loving, giving, faithful, energetic, stubborn and proud. When she became too weak to walk with me, she still encouraged (and threatened) me to keep on walking for my health. And I did, mainly because there was a need for someone to stop in each day and help her with some meds (it kept me accountable).

She was a strong woman and wasn’t used to being helped out. But eventually, the cancer made it impossible for her to be by herself. We kids began taking turns staying with her, and my fear of becoming too close became my reality. We spent weeks doing ordinary stuff for her; talking with her, reminiscing with her, eating with her, watching TV with her, and just being with her.

And now I find myself missing her in the ordinary—when I walk past her house, Sunday afternoons, eating candy bars and drinking sodas, watching Matlock, and a hundred other things that became daily routines. So many things, that I couldn’t begin to list, and no one else would understand, because they are just my memories.

 

gramma
I Miss You in the Ordinary
I see you in the ordinary,
In the things that happen day-to-day.
I see you in the ordinary
As I’m walking along life’s way.
 
I miss you in the ordinary,
In the things I daily do.
I remember you in the ordinary,
And realize how much I miss you.

In the commonplace of living
You have affected all of my days.
I miss you in the ordinary-
I miss your extraordinary ways.
 
 
 
“Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.”
Psalm 51:10


The Re-Arrangement

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“Mom! I can’t believe this! How could you?”
I hear my daughter’s panicked questions coming from the other room.
“What happened? Why did you do this? You’ve got to put it back!”
Rolling my eyes and laying down my laptop, I get up and go into the kitchen, knowing what the problem is before I even walk into the room. There I see my 16 year-old daughter standing with all the kitchen cabinet doors flung open. The bewildered look on her face and the hands flailing about her head, tell me she is not happy with what she sees.
When she notices that she has my attention, the shrills begin again, “What have you done? This is no good, no good at all! You can’t keep changing the cabinets. The cups don’t go near the plastic bowls, and all the plates are suppose to be on the same shelf! Please tell me you haven’t changed the stuff in the drawers. Aagh! You moved the silverware! Change it back! Change it back!”
Oh, brother, I think to myself, and then reassuring her I say, “It’s fine. I just moved around some things to make it more convenient for me.” Rolling her eyes, she takes her Oreo and leaves the room. This is a familiar episode we go through any time I decide to rearrange the cabinets, or the furniture, or if I turn the kitchen table in a different direction. My kids act like I have committed some heinous crime. What’s that about?
Is their childhood so unstable that they have to hold on to every steady fixture or utensil that has ever crossed their paths? I don’t believe it is. We have lived in the same place for 25 years, we’ve been going to the same church for 10 years, their Dad has had the same job for 35 years, and they’ve attended home school all of their life with me, their stay-at-home mom, as their teacher. How much more steady could their lives be?
Regardless, this is my kitchen; I do all of the cooking and most of the cleaning. The only time my kids like to come into the kitchen is when I am fixing them something to eat and they are waiting on me to fill their plates.
I used to be more sympathetic. I didn’t want to damage them in some way that would cause them to fail in life. But now seven of my nine kids are grown, and I decided it really doesn’t matter how careful you are with their psyche, they all turn out a little screwy anyway. (hee, hee… oh wait, maybe I am the problem)
I’m just kidding on that point. I know that parents are responsible for some of their children’s idiosyncrasies (hopefully, we are their biggest influence, after all). And I think it’s obvious to this self-proclaimed doctor of psychology, that children are affected by change. However, when that change is done in my domain, they need to be able to accept it.
I do not go into their bedrooms and make them change them to suit me. There are some requirements of keeping a half-decent room, but other than that, they are free to arrange and rearrange their rooms any way they would like.

Maybe I should inform them that if they want to help more in the kitchen, then I would allow them to have an input into the way it’s arranged or not rearranged. But since that’s not going to happen, I will continue to move things around the way I like them. And I’m sure they will continue to complain about where things are…or aren’t. 

Being A Sister

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I find it therapeutic to write anything and everything that comes into my head. If it interests me, I will save it and at times go back through my random notes and reread them. I always mark my original works, because often when I reread what I’ve written, it all seems new to me again.
Recently I was going through a list labeled, “Things I know Something About”—very original, I know. The list included things like being a mom, being a wife, being a daughter, being a Christian, but one label was glaringly missing—being a sister. Was it because I didn’t remember that I was a sister, (which could happen) or has that been a relationship that had not been cultivated in too many years? This needed some pondering.

I am a sister in more than one way. I am a Christian sister to all who share my faith. I also have two sisters from my husband’s side of the family. We are sisters by law. And for a time, a dear cousin lived with my family through some rough teenage years and she became my sister by choice. But there is one sister that I didn’t choose, and she isn’t a part of a family of religious friends, nor did she come with a package in a legal covenant.

This sister is the sister that God chose for me. She is the one that was there before I was a glimmer in my momma’s eye. My first friend, my first playmate, and probably my first antagonist (although I, being the youngest, was most likely the antagonizer). Being the only two sisters, we shared many things including a bed, a room, and a brother.

Growing up, we were very different in our personalities and appearance. She was the pretty little blond girl with blue eyes, and I had brown hair and green eyes. She was more serious, I was a goof off. She was older, I was younger (still am and always will be—there I go antagonizing again!). But we had a lot of similarities, too. We both enjoyed spending vacations with our grandparents; we both know how important family is; and we both love sweets! J However, as time would dictate, we drifted apart over the years; busy with our own families, being responsible to our own duties as wife and mother, setting and accomplishing our separate goals. Nevertheless, as it should be with sisters, no matter how much time we spend apart, whenever we get together, it’s like time has stood still. Those first bonds we made together will last forever. I love you, Sister!

The Porch Light

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Coming home to a cold, dark, empty house is such a sad feeling. I’ve never liked it. Even if all of us were coming home together, I wanted a light to be burning some place in the house to welcome us home. When my children began to go places without me, I would always leave the front porch light on and the door unlocked. As they began driving, I would leave the front porch light on, the door unlocked, and wait up for them. Now that some of them have moved out and have their own homes, if they leave after dark, I stand by the door and wait until their tail lights go up and over the big hill and go out of sight before I turn off the porch light,

Fortunately for me, as each one grew up and moved away (as it should be J), there would be another teenager to leave the porch light on for. But with the passing of time and my increasing age, I found I couldn’t keep the same hours as my last teenager (son #4), and would sometimes go to bed before he got home. But during the night some time, I would wake up, see the porch light was off, know the door was locked, and he was home safely.
Recently, son #4 was married. After we got home from the wedding celebration, I began to lock up the house and turn off the lights, walking over to the front door, I reached up to turn on the front porch light and realized I didn’t need to leave it on.
“Leave it on,” I said to Myself.
“There’s no reason to”, Myself answered. “He’s on his honeymoon, I don’t think he’ll be coming in tonight.”
“But just in case there’s an emergency”, replied I, knowing that there wouldn’t be.
“Well, maybe just for a little while”, Myself gave in.
But eventually, I had to go back and turn off the light and lock the door. I was surprised at the sudden feeling of loneliness that was brought about by this simple ritual of turning off the porch light. Although this signifies another chapter closing on Enloe Farms, there are still lots of stories to be lived out, talked about, and retold around our dinner table.

Just a note, I still have 2 teenagers at home, but they have to be home before dark! J


The Porch Light
The porch light shining through the night
Reminds me of God’s shining Light
That brings about some wayward soul
Who is lost in the world so dark and cold.
I leave the light burning on the porch
So none of my children will be caught in the lurch
The light breaks through the darkness dim
And guides them home to me again.

Guilty Motivation

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That Mom-in-law!
That Mom-in-law!
I do not like to walk at all!
Would you, could you walk each day?
Would you walk a mile half way?
Would you walk if I ask nice?
Would you walk if I ask twice?
I could not, would not walk each day.
I could not, would not walk…no way!
Could you, would you, we’ll have fun
Come on, come on, we won’t run!
I could not, would not have much fun.
But call me over when you are done.
We’ll work on the computer or make a card,
But walking two miles is way too hard!

Okay, well that’s my introduction to what I’m writing about, with a nod to my favorite author, Dr. Suess.

For years, my Mother-in-law has been walking 2+ miles a day. No matter what the temperature is outside, she is usually walking—Monday thru Friday. She is very determined to live a long and healthy life, and so far she has succeeded…she was fourscore and six in February.

I, on the other hand, do not consider exercise to be my friend—and it shows. So why would I want to get off my couch, tug on my tennis shoes, go out to walk up and down the road for 2 miles every day?

…because it’s the right thing to do.

The Bible says (eww! I hate it when I find Scripture that points to my sin)…
“To him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.” James 1:17

There are many good reasons why I should be walking:

  • It’s good for my circulation

  • It makes my heart stronger

  • It increase my lung capacity

  • I need the discipline

  • Because my Mother-in-law needs a walking partner

  • I need to lose weight

  • To encourage others (maybe)

So these are my motivators. These things give me good reason to tug on my tennis shoes, and walk out the door, and go up and down the road. And these things are important, but I must say, I believe my biggest driving factor is knowing that my walking partner is 30 years my senior, (Oh my! When I write it out it’s even more startling then when I think it!) and if she can do it, then I should be able to…probably…right?

My Grandma (Still) Rocks!

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My most precious memories growing up are the times I spent at my Grandma Lorene and Grandpa Dee’s house. They, along with most of my Mother’s family, lived in a small rural town that has just lately risen to the 4-digit mark in population. The town is small enough that everyone knows everyone else, and most of them are related.

My grandparents reared their six children (with a lot of visiting cousins and friends) in a 2-story house that sat on a huge plot of ground just spitting distance from the town’s square. The front yard was twice as big as the average yards today. Any time the grandkids were all there, we would be playing “steal-the-flag”. There were other games of kickball, volleyball, badminton, croquet, and every other game imaginable to a yard full of kids. We would sit under the apple tree eating the little green sour apples that fell to the ground, and ride our bikes up and down the sidewalk or all over town (that’s when towns were safe).

We could go on a walk by ourselves and we did often. We could walk up to the drugstore, the general store, and down to the ball field. We crossed the bridge that went over the creek and we climbed into the old theatre that was falling down. It had water in the basement and we climbed over the broken boards and rummaged through the rubble. I can’t believe we didn’t uncover a snake or fall into the water!

Our Christmases were spent with them (one year Santa Claus had to come to our house early, because my brother, my sister, and I got bikes for Christmas and Santa Claus couldn’t deliver them to my grandparent’s house). I remember sledding down the big hill in front of their house, which was actually the main road, and then coming in for homemade hot chocolate that burned my tongue so badly I couldn’t taste for two days.

But my most precious memory is the front porch. Grandma and Grandpa’s front porch reached all away across the front of their great big house and then wrapped around the whole side of the house. It was great! They had room for two swings and lots of chairs. But the swing is what I always sat in…with Grandma.

Grandparents home in Winona, MO
Myers home, Winona, MO

Grandma would sit in the swing and rock back and forth, back and forth, in a leisurely, methodical manner. And if we were fortunate, she would sing to us. She would sing songs that taught us about the Savior, and songs that would praise the Father, and sometimes some cute little ditty that she learned when she was a little girl.

All through my adult life, those recollections have been seeded in my memory, and when we built our front porch, the first thing we added was a swing. As I rock back and forth, I think of the sweet memories of childhood, wishing my Grandmother could come and rock with me. And though that wish may never come to fruition, when our grandchildren come to play in our great big yard and sit on our porch that stretches across the front of our house and eat the pears that drop to the ground from our pear trees, I find solace in knowing that I am blessed to continue the legacy that I received from my Grandma Lorene.

Recently I had a chance to visit my Grandmother at my Aunt’s house where she lives. I walked in and sat beside her in a two-seated glider. After a moment, she began to rock back and forth, back and forth…what memories! Sitting beside her, we rocked the afternoon away, talking, laughing, and just spending time together.

At 94 years old, my Grandmother still Rocks!

Me and Gr Lorene
Grandma Lorene and me