"Children's children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children are their fathers.." Proverbs 17:6 KJV
Season of Faith Poem VII
Grandad was my rock.
Fifty years later,
the void he left is still felt.
He cast a long shadow, and his hands,
my gosh! His hands were like those of a giant,
but then in my mind, he was a giant of a man.
His lessons were pure; his life was simple,
He carried the worker's New Testament
In his well-worn shirt pocket
and on nearly every page,
with a pencil, he had underlined
his favorite verses.
Grandfather was slow to anger, quick to praise.
Especially God, for the crops that did flourish,
making sweet his small victory over the land.
Sweet like the peppermint candy in his
sweater-vest pocket to take when I asked, "Please."
The things he taught, his father had taught.
So, I made mental notes, hearing the words he prayed
and seeing after each supplication
he smiled a lot and said, Thank you, God."
I know today that so many of the
steppingstones that paved my way,
were placed by his hands, one by one,
as the years, he shared verse after verse
prayer after prayer and smile after smile,
Today, I, too, thank God!
I can carry on Grandad's simple life.
Placing that same bible, now very worn,
in my shirt pocket, my inheritance, his Legacy.
And every one of my eight grandchildren knows
they can reach in my sweater-vest pocket
and can take a peppermint candy,
when they look with those precious eyes.
And ask, "Please."
My world is so complete on those occasions,
when I get to read them a verse or two
and tell them about my grandfather,
and the God that he knew,
and that they know too.
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