Spring is Here!🌷

Grandpa Reed

     

     The scent of roses filled my senses and I stood there amazed and wondering how it was possible. I had picked up the plastic bag to grab something underneath it and was shocked to find that I was smelling what was inside. The plastic bag contained a single dried rose from my grandfather's funeral. I have opened that box dozens of times in the two years since his passing. But I have never smelled the roses like I did the other day. 

     It stills baffles me that I could smell anything from it considering it was tightly sealed and dried for such a period of time. And yet, there I was inhaling its lovely perfume. Grandpa. I'm named after my Grandpa Jesse, a name that means 'blessing' and 'wealth'. 

     My grandpa was a short man, the "runt of his family" as I've heard my mother say. He had a rough childhood, experiencing the loss of his mother at a young age. He and most of his siblings were separated for many years. From what I understand, he grew up on a farm with a man who wasn't so kind and the man's wife, and only experienced a sixth grade education. At some point in his childhood, he fell out of a cherry tree and it left him with a permanent stutter.

     But despite all these things my grandpa made a life for himself and his family. He got custody of his two oldest children in a time when it was rare for a man to do so. He also had two more children with his second wife, my grandmother Jean. They had a house built.  My grandmother still lives there. And my grandfather worked many years at a local factory before having retiring.

     As children we spent plenty of time at their home. We would watch cartoons with Grandpa and he would laugh and laugh. I remember shelling peas with Grandma and snapping beans. My grandparents always had a garden and my grandpa's favorite thing was to slice a tomato real thick and coat it in salt before digging into it with a fork. Never mind that he shouldn't have with his heart. It made him happy so he did it anyway, along with eating Grandma's fried chicken and the occasional Oreo. 

     My grandfather wasn't the most emotionally available man. I don't think that mattered to any of us grandkids though. He made us laugh. He cheated at cards. He told stories. Oh, the stories! You never really knew how true his stories were. I remember one about how he fed a chicken the same piece of corn over and over again. He claimed he tied the kernel to a string and drug it along the ground until the chicken ate it. He'd give the string a yank, thus dislodging the corn from the chicken's throat, only to do it again. Then there was the one about how he dipped the hair of a girl sitting in front of him at school in an ink well. Now that one I believe (Grandpa was ornery)!

     All that being said, I miss my grandpa. I miss his laugh and his voice. I miss his stories, even if they probably weren't entirely true. I miss watching "The Price is Right" with him. I miss his stutter and how his skin turned red in the sun (he always said he was a quarter Cherokee). I miss the silly dated 'swish' in his hair that I'm pretty sure he held in place with half a pound of pomade. I also miss his stubbornness.

     Maybe it was more than stubbornness. Maybe it was resilience, because with all he'd faced he made a life for himself. He had made a family. He'd left a legacy. He never told us that you had to keep pushing, to keep fighting in life. He just lived it. He took the yuck and the disappointment and he got up and did something. He fought for what he wanted. He didn't take 'no' for an answer. And he did it all with a smile. He didn't have to put it into words.

     From Grandpa I have learned that when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When you want something you work for it. You believe in Jesus. And finally, nothing is better than a fresh garden tomato and a good story.

     So I leave you with this . . .

     2 Corinthians 2:15-16 (NIV)

     "For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task?"

     'Aroma' can also mean a smell or a perfume. Just like when I picked up those roses and their scent, their essence, still could be sensed, our lives leave an aroma. We leave something behind. Are we leaving something good? Are we leaving Jesus for people to sense, for it to awaken something in them? I hope I am. I hope my life, my relationships, and even my writing leave an aroma, a scent. I hope it's one that honors Jesus.

Love,

J <3