The Journal

In late November/early December 2000 Don and I attended the annual clergy conference at the Hershey Hotel in Hershey, PA. As usual, there was a book table and my purpose in browsing that day was to purchase a journal for my grandmother, newly widowed (after 64 years of marriage) and living in an assisted living home. I have always had a deep love for history, especially personal histories. I realized that when my grandfather died, so many tales and stories and memories died with him, and I truly regretted that. I did not want that to happen with my grandmother, so I took a gamble in this journal idea, not knowing if she would be interested but I wanted to try nonetheless.

My grandmother died three years ago this past April 1 at the age of 91. One of the first things I found amongst her belongings was this journal, almost every paged filled with her old-fashioned, neatly slanted handwriting. I read the "prologue," what I had written on the first few pages, a letter to her when I gave her this journal for Christmas four years earlier. I saw her first entry, dated February 2001, beginning with the sentences, "When we were growing up I remember a very happy life. I remember Toronto, Canada where it was so cold and our bedrooms were upstairs. We always had a hot drink (hot water, milk, and anise flavor) before coming downstairs in the morning." I could not stop crying, mourning this beautiful woman who filled such an incredible place in my life, and who I believe I will miss for the rest of my days. I closed the journal, unable to read it.

A short while ago I went to my aunt's house to pick up some clothes for Grace, borrowed from my cousin Sharon. On the kitchen table was my grandmother's journal. My aunt had finished reading it, although she admitted she was unable to do so until two years had passed. "Guard it with your life," she said. Oh, I will -- there's no doubt about that. But when I saw that journal, I felt a twinge in my heart. Oh, how I miss her! It's even harder now, being home, driving past their home frequently on my errands or on the way to church. She prayed for me daily with a fervency that I have never seen before. She was a rock, a tremendous support, someone I relied upon and could easily talk to. Will I even be able to read this journal, now three years after her death?

I just opened it up and saw first the opening page where my grandmother wrote, "This Journal belongs to: Alberdiena V. Dyer, given by dear Susan Lee Sehulster, 2000 Christmas." I turned the page and once again read my "prologue:"

Dear Grandma,

You once said to me, "You know, I've had such a wonderful, blessed life. I could really write a book." Well, here is your chance! I have come to realize how truly priceless your memories and stories are, and it would be such a joy to have some of them written down so we will be able to enjoy them for all time.

Let me tell you the story about this journal. I was browsing through a few journals, but none were appropriate, for I wanted one with Scripture verses on the pages. A woman overheard me saying this to Don, and she came up to me and said, "I took the last one with Scripture verses. Why do you want it?" So I explained to her that Grandpa passed away recently and that my Grandma was very lonely. I told her about our visit over Thanksgiving and all the wonderful stories that you told. When I told her of my wish to give you a journal for Christmas, she said, "Here. You take this and give it to your grandmother with a hug from me. She needs this." With that, she left.

Soon after I told Mom this story, and that the verse on the cover was "God is our refuge and strength" (Psalm 46:1). Suddenly, Mom got very quiet and said, "Do you know about this verse?" I said no, not realizing its importance. She then told me something that brought tears to my eyes -- how for the last few years of Grandpa's life, as he was struggling with his physical limitations and the frustration it would often bring, you would always pray with him, that the joy of the Lord would be his strength, an ever-present help in trouble. I was amazed. God's ways are indeed mysterious and perfect -- my desire to give you a journal, running into a kind stranger who just "happened" to pass along this journal with a verse that had for so long been your prayer for Grandpa. So, my dear Grandma, you have indeed had a truly wonderful life. Perhaps one evening, when it's quiet and you're in your room, you might suddenly think of a story, of a tale from your childhood or a fond memory of Grandpa, or your parents, or your daughters. Perhaps, in those moments, you might want to pick up a pen and fill these blank pages with memories and stories of a beautiful life so richly blessed by God.

Merry Christmas, Grandma, and always know how much we truly love you.

Your loving granddaughter, Sue

The tears came again that day, now three years later. I guess I'll always get emotional when I think of her. But maybe this time I'll be able to read the journal. I think I will. I miss talking to her. I wonder what I'll find in these pages; I wonder what she might say to me.