As I reached for something on a family room table, my hand brushed across a photo of me with my siblings. It was taken a few years back at a family reunion. I paused momentarily to look at our faces. It is memorable because as quickly as we found a place to stand, several relatives grabbed their cameras and ran forward to capture our image. One niece told me this might be the last chance to see us together. 

Her instinct was correct. Since that day, one of my brothers has died, my sister was widowed, and my remaining brother is battling against a serious disease. It is a sobering reminder that life gives no guarantees. Not one of us can depend on tomorrow. The older we become, the more clearly we can see this as a gift from God, a chance to rearrange our priorities.

During the months leading up to my brother’s passing, we shared some of our most intimate, soul searching conversations. We talked fondly about members of our family’s younger generations and reminisced about those whose lives had already slipped away. At some point, we talked about salvation through faith in Christ, assurance that we will one day be reunited in Heaven.

Our conversations prompted me to write my faith message for my grandchild. By God’s grace, I will live to see him accept Christ as his Savior. If not, my testimony will stand as a witness for him. Spoken words are a treasure. But unless our testimony is written it will be quickly lost, perhaps within the next generation. Carve out some time in your day to plan for the future. Put your story in writing so it can outlive you.

“For he gave his laws to Israel and commanded our fathers to teach them to their children, so that they in turn could teach their children too. Thus his laws pass down from generation to generation.” – Psalm 78:5-6 (The Living Bible)

That’s right. Winter is a gift. It’s all in a matter of how you look at it. I’ve spent most of my adult life bemoaning the challenges of cold, leafless landscapes and slippery drives on icy roads. I still don’t like those parts, but over the years, I have come to appreciate certain aspects to the coldest season that are appealing.

Back in the day, I took great pleasure in doing “donuts” with my car. For anyone unfamiliar with this sport, donuts are the spinouts a car does when the driver jams on the brakes while racing over icy pavement. Most of mine took place in vacant parking lots, thereby reducing the risk of escalating insurance premiums. to my thinking, donuts are still way better than cutting a hole in the ice and hovering over it on an upturned bucket while trying to snag some unsuspecting blue gill with a fishing lure.

That said, I have been known to venture out on frigid afternoons with snowshoes strapped on my boots. It’s a lot like hiking through the wilderness, albeit decked out head to toe in Cuddle Duds. There is something alluring about the stillness that descends with a fresh snowfall. No other season can duplicate its effect. Distractions are stripped away, the quiet encourages personal reflection. Lately, my thoughts have returned to wintertime thoughts of my childhood. My friends and I would play outside, building snowmen and snow forts until our moms forced us indoors to defrost.

I see that same exuberance in my grandson, who giddily positions himself in the path of spray from our snow thrower. He giggles as the melting fingers of snow run down his neck. He laughs when that snowball he just hurled at me lands smack in my face. He reminds me that the gift of winter is a blessing from God to share with our grandchildren, now and through the words we write in their memoirs.

How do you enjoy spending winter days with your grandchildren? I would really like to know. Follow me at SpiritualLegacyMemoir.com and leave a comment.

One of the items on my Christmas wish list was a digital clock for my bedside table. Nothing fancy, just a simple timepiece that shows the hour of the day or night. My wish was granted beyond expectation. The clock I received is like none I have ever had, far more than a simple readout of time. This 21st Century model packs a lot of information into its 3” by 5” profile.

Once a timezone is chosen from its function setting, my clock displays the exact time without any intervention on my part. It’s lighted display panel automatically changes the level of brightness based on my personal preference; I chose 100 % brilliance for day, 5% for night. Better yet, this clock displays a daily calendar, the day of the week, and date of the year. As an added bonus, it indicates temperature and humidity levels in the room where it sits; this bit of information provides a handy excuse to stay under the covers a bit longer on chilly mornings.

However, the most intriguing feature on my new clock is a small graphic that shows the current phase of the moon. I checked it for accuracy one day, or rather, one night; it works! But, why would this matter to anyone? I considered how people measured the passage of time before clocks were invented. Mariners used the sun, moon, and stars to navigate vast oceans over periods of weeks and months. They seem to have discovered a natural rhythm to life that flows more easily than the manic pace of modern civilized mankind.  

As with everyone else, time is running out for me. And, I may not accomplish everything I’ve set out to do in my lifetime. That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I allow time for the most important things in my life. Among those things are time set aside to be with God, time for dreaming, and time for writing. Sometimes the clock ceases to matter while I am writing, and I end up penning precious messages for my grandson and his children yet to come. Indeed, my little clock has done far more than I imagined. It has taught, and continues to teach me to measure my time in a more valuable way.

There’s an old joke about a man walking down a city street and getting hit by a piano falling from an overhead window. A distraught passerby rushes to the man’s aid.

The injured man asks, “Why didn’t you warn me about the piano?”

The passerby says, “I saw the piano falling, but didn’t want to alarm you.”

Aren’t we all a bit like this at times? Perhaps like me you have watched someone make an unwise choice, but decided to remain silent because you didn’t think it was your place to warn them. Quite frankly, our reluctance to shout a warning when we see pending disaster is the most unkind thing to do.

Now, imagine you had an important warning for your grandchildren. What would prevent you from giving it? Political correctness? Family opposition? Would you hesitate to alert your grandchild of pending harm because it felt out of place to do so, or would you shout a warning?

Moses led the Israelites to the Jordan River where Joshua would lead them into the Promised Land. In Deuteronomy 4, as he stood on a mountaintop overlooking the fertile valley that God had given them, Moses issued a warning. You see, that blessing came with a condition: “Tell your children and grandchildren about the glorious miracles (God) has done.”

That warning still stands. We have all been blessed by our Heavenly Father. And like the Israelites, we are commanded to tell our descendants about His blessings, lest they forget and fall deeply into sinful living.  It’s sort of like yelling at someone to get out out the way of a falling piano.  

Ask yourself, “When was the last time I told my grandchildren about God’s presence in my life?” Now is a good time to start.

This is the third year in a row that I have planted a straw bale garden. Each year, I try an evolving variety of vegetables. But every year I plant my most favorite vegetable: tomatoes. Gardening results are never guaranteed, but always anticipated. This year, those fresh-picked fruits graced my table right up until November. Yum!

And it’s not over yet. I have a supply of fresh-frozen heirloom tomatoes. My family is enjoying the flavor of homemade tomato sauce that is certain to continue into the winter months. The nurturing has paid off.

Dedicating time to grow any crop is a lot like investing in grandchildren – except their outcome is far more valuable. We don’t know how they will regard our words and examples throughout life; we cannot guarantee the results.

Our command from God is to lead them to our Savior. But only the Holy Spirit can convict them to accept the gift of salvation through faith in Jesus. We nurture our grandchildren to the glorify God, anticipating the eternally sweet taste of fellowship with them in His presence.

Quick and Easy Chunky Tomato Sauce

Ingredients
1 Tablespoon olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
4 garlic cloves, minced
5-½ cups chopped tomatoes (thawed fresh-frozen, or canned)
¼ cup chopped fresh basil (or, 1-½ Tablespoon dried basil)
2 Tablespoons chopped fresh oregano (or, 2 teaspoons dried oregano)
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper

Directions
Rub thawed, fresh-frozen tomatoes between fingers to remove skins; cut out cores and dice (or measure 5-½ cups canned, diced tomatoes). Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add onion and garlic, saute 3 minutes. Add tomatoes and remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat, and simmer, uncovered, for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. For thicker sauce, reduce heat to low and simmer for one hour or until desired consistency is reached.

Serve over pasta, polenta, or toasted baguette slices. Top with freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

 This is the time of year to explore the bounty of pumpkins being displayed at orchards, farmers’ markets, and stores. Every fall, my home boasts displays of apples, pumpkins, and squash – true measures of a plentiful fall harvest. And they’re not just decorations. My bounty ends up on our dinner table.

Take pumpkins for example. A couple of those medium sized ones (about 6 inches in diameter) yield enough puree to make a delectable custard. Cut the pumpkins in half, remove the seeds, and place them skin side up on a baking dish. Bake them in a 350 degree oven until soft (about 45 minutes) and allow them to cool. Scoop out the pulp and mash or mix it into a puree.

 Here is my favorite recipe for Pumpkin Custard:

   3 cups pumpkin puree
   ¾ cup honey
   2 Tablespoons molasses
   ¼ teaspoon powdered cloves
   3 teaspoons cinnamon
   1 ½ teaspoons ginger
   1 teaspoon salt
   4 eggs, slightly beaten
   1 can evaporated milk (or 2 cups scalded milk)

Mix in order given. Butter a baking dish and pour in custard. Bake 10 minutes at 450 degrees, then 40 minutes at 350 degrees, or until set. If you prefer, pour filling into an unbaked pie shell and bake for the same amount of time. Yummy!

There is another kind of pumpkin in our home, one far more precious than any that grace our table. “Pumpkin” is a term of endearment my husband I use for our grandson. Do you have a similar term for your grandchild? Let your grandchild hear you say it. Children need to be reminded how valued they are, how they are uniquely designed by our Creator. They can never hear it too much.

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” C. S. Lewis

The arts are an integral part of my life. Over the years, I’ve engaged in a plethora of mediums ranging from painting and drawing to pottery and photography. Some time ago, I began writing a children’s story for my grandson with the intention of making it into a book. “Aha,” I thought. “Wouldn’t it be nice to include some watercolor illustrations?”

I imagined the soft, flowing quality of watercolor lending just the right characteristic to illustrate my story. But watercolor is one medium that I have not explored beyond self-instruction and a small watercolor pencil set. Initial results clearly showed my knowledge of the craft was insufficient to meet my goals. I needed an expert.

A few days ago, I attended my first watercolor class, taught by artist David Smith at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. It was time and money well spent. That’s not to say that my maiden voyage into this watery medium was noteworthy. It is to say I thoroughly enjoyed the comradery of fellow artists and learning techniques for using this medium.

The lesson is: if you’re unsure how to overcome an obstacle between you and your goal, get instruction from someone who really knows what they’re doing. Once you figure out how, it’s a matter of practice, practice, and more practice until you get the results you seek. My journey on the road to mastering the art of watercolor illustration has just begun.

The same thing about practice can be applied to writing a Spiritual Legacy Memoir, only it’s called editing. After I finish the first draft of an entry, I make edits until the words on the page are as clear, concise, and readable as I can make them. Not surprising, it gets easier with practice. I suppose this can be said about most things in life. Just don’t give up. Excuse me now. I have a date with some watercolor paints and paper.