- Feb 5, 2002
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Their home had a particular warmth to it that would draw folks in, but it can’t fully be attributed to the fire in the hearth. The embers of their love were always burning, and they’d confidently share the source: their Lord and God.
Growing up, it was only a pasture that separated my siblings and me from our grandparents’ farmhouse. My little feet would carry me swiftly through the tall grass and wildflowers, friendly horses nodding me on, until I reached the mint-green door where they’d be waiting.
From Grandma and Grandpa’s porch, I’d wave an enthusiastic, “I’ve made it safely!” wave to my mom back on our porch, and I’d step inside.
I recognize the undeserved gift it was to grow up next door to my grandparents; the older I get, the more I relish it. In an attempt to turn this back to praise, I’ve spent time gleaning what I learned from those days filled with poetry and peppermint patties. And as I reflect, I realize there is something here in terms of lessons for all of us.
Those two had a knack for hospitality. With sweet country simplicity, Grandma often referred to their home as “The Dew Drop Inn,” thrilled by every visitor, announced or not. Their home had a particular warmth to it that would draw folks in, but it can’t fully be attributed to the fire in the hearth. The embers of their love were always burning, and they’d confidently share the source: their Lord and God.
Continued below.
Growing up, it was only a pasture that separated my siblings and me from our grandparents’ farmhouse. My little feet would carry me swiftly through the tall grass and wildflowers, friendly horses nodding me on, until I reached the mint-green door where they’d be waiting.
From Grandma and Grandpa’s porch, I’d wave an enthusiastic, “I’ve made it safely!” wave to my mom back on our porch, and I’d step inside.
I recognize the undeserved gift it was to grow up next door to my grandparents; the older I get, the more I relish it. In an attempt to turn this back to praise, I’ve spent time gleaning what I learned from those days filled with poetry and peppermint patties. And as I reflect, I realize there is something here in terms of lessons for all of us.
Simple Hospitality
My grandparents, raised during the Depression, were no strangers to hard work and scarce means. Meeting in high school, they were separated when my grandpa was deployed overseas to fight in World War II. The distance didn’t stop their being smitten, and upon his return, they wed. In the years to come, they’d raise nine children of their own, but many more would call Grandma and Grandpa’s house home, with scores dropping by for dinners, holidays and everything in between.Those two had a knack for hospitality. With sweet country simplicity, Grandma often referred to their home as “The Dew Drop Inn,” thrilled by every visitor, announced or not. Their home had a particular warmth to it that would draw folks in, but it can’t fully be attributed to the fire in the hearth. The embers of their love were always burning, and they’d confidently share the source: their Lord and God.
Continued below.
