Monday, November 28, 2005


This is a write up I couldn't help but post. Dustin's Grampa is turning ninety soon and Dustin's mom is having all the kids and grand kids write something special about him for a scrapbook. I stumbled across Dustin's message in our emails. Made me cry and I want to share it with you.

I've learned most from Grampa in the last few years.
When we lived in Three Hills we got to see a lot of
him and Grandma and I loved going for meals there, you
know, fresh bread and honey, fresh veggies from the
garden. I loved going into the backyard and picking
off juicy raspberries and strawberries and of course
peas in the pod, so divine. I spent a lot of time in
their basement goofing off with Jer and Danielle. Jer
and I left dozens of little plastic discs all over the
house. We had guns that flung them, ricocheting off
walls and wedging themselves in between cusions and
under rugs to never be seen again.
I loved that stove, so big and at night, so scary.
And then there was their TV that never had anything
on. My favorite shows were Astro Boy and Hercules, a
lot of time was spent wishing something was on while
watching something ridiculously boring while soft
murmurs of adult chatter could be heard through the
floor. Then of course, mom or dad would call us up to
join in the conversation. I would quickly be on
Grandpa's lap playing with that clunky massager he had
for his knee.
As I got older I loved to hear Grampa and Grama's
stories. I would sit snuggled tight to Grampa's
shoulder, his hand warm on my knee, giving a tight
squeeze now and then. I still love that. In my eyes,
Grampa is a gentleman, a weathered cowboy, a fearless
evangelist, a quiet listening soul, a shaky voice, a
shaky hand, a strong and sure man.
I love his laugh and how he quietly watches us
grandkids in all our buffoonary with a content smile
on his face. His stories are my greatest memories, to
hear moments in his life when he has seen God's
character so clearly, when he has been completely
afraid and dreadfully sad, and when victory was
celebrated and souls saved all hold treasure to
cherish. One of those treasures I have clung so
tightly to lately is this:
We were all sitting in Mom and Dad's living room, I
think it was Christy and I, Mom and Dad, Danielle and
Brad and Grampa. Grampa was telling us about some
trials he has faced, tough times so rough and rugged
he cried as he talked. Friends had been lost, hearts
broken. Grampa's eye's shone through the tears as he
thanked God for the tough times. We all prayed and
cried together, feeling so strong despite realizing
how weak we are and how frightening the world is.
Grampa wiped the tears away and told us of Cree friend
that used to encourage him through trials by saying,
"A tree grows the strongest through winter.". Grampa
has gone through so many winters and we all see how
strong and sure he is. But it is that honest weakness
that reveals Christ so strongly to me. I will always
be puffed with pride to say, "Harold Roberts, yeah, he
is MY Grampa.".


Stephanie said...

That's awesome Christy, and Dustin of course. You both are such great writers and it's a delight to read.

karen said...

That post reminded me of my Opi. We are really so blessed to have had that kind of man in our lives, aren't we?