The Grip.

That's my Grandpa, my Grandma and cousin Hans. Picture lifted from Uncle Ron's Facebook.


It was 1986, early May and I was walking up the road from the school bus. I took the long way that went past Hannah's trailer and had almost reached our driveway. I trudged on that long walk, as I dodged the puddles of May in my good shoes. My Grandfather's Ford Escort came slowly up the road behind me, he too dodging the puddles. As always, he stopped the car to say hello. Usually, we chatted briefly and he kept on driving to his house at the end of the road. On this day, I opened the door, hopped in and sat in the passenger seat.

I had been wanting to talk to him for a week or so.

Awkwardly, without segue, I blurted, "Grandpa, I want to be part of the assembly." You would think I would be eager to ask, but no, it was torturous because I was such an introvert. Did I mention awkward? His precious face crumbled, tears sprang and he clamped a huge hand down on my knee and said "Ah well! Do you dear?" A question that he didn't really need an answer to. I do not remember what was said or done after but I know that I felt like jumping, leaping and running all the way to my house. A huge load had been lifted off my shoulders and whatever I had feared in asking had never materialized.

Grandpa called my uncle Freddy and by the end of the week I was being interviewed in Grandpa's living room. I think it was Mother's Day that I first joined the other christians as they remembered the Lord.

Sometimes it does you good to remember your beginnings.
Even if it's a vice grip on your knee. What I would give to feel that vice grip again. Can I get an amen?