From when I was two until I was twenty-two, I visited my grandmother for two weeks at the beginning of summer. I hope you remember the story as to why I called her “Grandpa” instead of Grandma or Nana or any other suitable “grand” name. However, if you still need to read the original explanation, this will aid you.
Grandpa’s first-born grandson, my brother, lived in the same town as five generations of grandmothers on both sides of his family and only one living grandfather. As a three-year-old boy, it was confusing when he yelled “Grandma,” and six grandmothers ran to him.
He stubbornly began calling his favorite of the grandmother bunch “Grandpa,” and no one could stop him. She was Grandpa to every child who knew her for the rest of her 97 years.
My Aunt Mary and her boys were coming to visit on the first Sunday I arrived at Grandpa’s house in my 10th year. We were all planning to go swimming that afternoon. I went down the hall to get the swimsuit out of my luggage only to find my mother had not packed one.
When I realized the horror of such a misdeed, a sure-fire ten-year-old hissy fit lit up the house.
“Lord, what’s the matter, child?” Grandpa yelled as she ran toward the bedroom.
“Mama didn’t pack my swimsuit!” I blubbered, blabbered, and blurted out in a yell.
“Lord, I thought the house was on fire!”, Grandpa said, relieved when she saw the only thing blazing was my face.
Once she calmed me, we started walking toward the kitchen. She would call Aunt Mary to see what they could do about finding me a suit. I’ll remind you back in those days, the only thing open on Sunday was the church, which didn’t sell swim attire.
As Grandpa dialed Mary, I noticed an old sign hanging amid family pictures on the hall wall. The plaque made of cardboard had no frame, but a hole was in the top to let it hang from a nail. Its white stenciled letters read, “I KNOW THE LORD WILL MAKE A WAY FOR ME.”
“Lynn, I called your Aunt Mary, and she will bring you one of her old swimsuits. I know it’ll be too big but shoot, we can pin that suit up, and it’ll be just fine!” Grandpa merrily stated.
“I know.” I assuredly replied.
“Why are you now so sure it will all work out?” Grandpa looked puzzled over my new calm demeanor.
“The sign said it would.” I pointed down the hall to the faded little sign hanging on a penny nail. “The Lord told me he would make it happen!”
I swam in the lake that day with my cousins in a suit clinched and pinned together with a myriad of different-sized safety pins. The “way too big” suit fell off several times in the water, but I knew the Lord had made a way for me to swim, so I didn’t complain.
After Grandpa passed away thirty-seven years later, one of the items she left me was the old sign that hung in her hall. Of course, it has no monetary value, but it is now proudly displayed above my desk and is priceless.
Sixty summers have passed since I wore Aunt Mary’s old black swimsuit. I have needed to be reminded sixty thousand times through the years to believe in the words on the sign.
How often have I thought I wouldn’t endure a tragedy or a loss? How many moments have I wailed, screamed, and pitched a 10-year-old hissy fit as an adult because I couldn’t find my way? How many halls have I paced, wondering what to do?
How many times have I worried and fretted over uncontrollable events? How often have I tried to carry the load on my shoulders only to find it too heavy?
Today, I intended to write my weekly column and started writing three stories that landed in the trash. Slight panic and worry wrinkled my brow when I thought I could be experiencing my first case of writer’s block.
My Bible was sitting on the edge of my desk, and I randomly opened it to see if the Lord’s words would spark a few words of my own.
In red letters, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”
At the same time, I noticed the little sign slightly hidden behind my computer screen. I immediately recalled Grandpa telling the story many times about the little girl who visited on a Sunday and had enough faith to believe the words, “I KNOW THE LORD WILL MAKE A WAY FOR ME.”
I know He always has, and He always will.
