Chasing Solomon

I suppose everybody has had someone in their life that they can say had more of an influence on them than anybody else. The kind of influence that will show up time and time again, as they are faced with the significant choices in life. Oftentimes, people have several people who were positive role models in their lives, but there is always that one special person, modeling life the way it is supposed to be lived. And I guess the reason that person has such an impact is the fact that they could preach with their mouth shut. They live out their message every day of their life, not so much in what they say, but in what they do. And that is what leaves such a lasting impression.

Buck held this esteemed place in his heart for his grandmother who the grandkids called Dee. Grandmothers have always had a special place in this world. They quickly rise to the top of the list when we begin to think about our favorite childhood memories. They also rise to the top of the list when we think of the people we know, who really have life figured out. Maybe it’s because they have had time to get all of their own mistakes behind them before the grandkids come along. Or maybe it’s because they aren’t preoccupied by the stress of earning a living. Whatever the reason, they hold a place close to perfection in the eyes of their grandchildren.

As long as he lived, Buck would never forget the smell of his grandmother’s hot French toast breakfasts. Dee would sprinkle on just the right amount of sugar to make the French toast taste as sweet as she was. It was a tradition, when Buck spent the night with Dee, he was sure to get this long awaited French toast breakfast. In fact, all five of her grandsons had fond memories of Dee’s famous signature breakfast. They loved it and she knew they did. That’s why she made it. In a simple way, she wasn’t just cooking a favorite breakfast; she was sharing her love with her five little treasures. And she filled their tanks so full of her love that they just about couldn’t hold anymore.

There’s something about the smell from grandma’s house that stays with us for a lifetime. Smells hold a place in the ole memory bank. And for Buck, there was no better smell in the world than the memorable smells from his grandma’s house. The unforgettable smell of her French toast, of her world famous cornbread, of the newly fresh cut grass, the bubble baths that she made for them, the towels, and the sheets. Funny how something as common as the smell of a sheet can bring back such warm feelings from your childhood.

Even as an adult, Buck was frequently reminded of the smells of grandma’s sheets. Laundry duty became somewhat rewarding, as he pulled out a fresh sheet from the dryer, and inhaled its fragrance. Not just a quick sniff of a blanket either. More of a slow, purposeful inhalation until his lungs just wouldn’t take in any more air. It was one of the simple things in life. He would grab a handful of wadded up sheet and pull it to his nose. And with his eyes shut, he could momentarily escape all the concerns of the day, breathing in the fragrance as he recalled the memories of the love, tenderness, and joy that came from being with Dee.

And when bedtime came, Buck slipped into these cool sheets, and it was as if he had slipped into heaven. Buck could just feel the care that had gone into making it a specially made grandson’s bed. Dee always made Buck a bowl of his favorite lime sherbet ice cream before bedtime. And man, what a way to top off a great day with Grandma. Dee, like all grandmothers, had a way of making a small, five-year-old grandson feel like he was the king of the world.

Her lifetime of teaching contributed to her natural ability to care for kids. She was a natural caretaker for sure. She never had to think about her good motives and actions, they just came naturally. Love and caring automatically flowed from her. She was not one who would carefully, deliberately calculate her actions. She just lived the life that was in her. And what was in her was a love that could never be self formulated or humanly concocted. The fruits of her life were a direct result of her abiding in the Lord. Her fruits could never have happened if she tried to produce them herself. God produced them. But she was sure tapped into Him as the source.

Dee’s husband of fifty years had worked in a management position for the state’s highway department. He had taken this job after serving in World War II. Change was something that they didn’t get in a habit of doing. They only lived in two houses during the stint of the grandkid’s visits. They were creatures of routines. They sat in the same pew on the front row of their church for as long as anybody could remember. Papaw was not a man to waste words, so when he said something, you better tune in, because you could count on his words being something wise that you should remember. Papaw always gave good advice to the grandkids. Good life lessons that they would use repeatedly for the rest of their lives. They were great lessons to learn as a child but often used even later in life. He was still giving good advice when the grandkids were young adults. Papaw was the one who had given advice to Buck, his 3rd grandson, that the most important thing to look for in a wife was for her to be a Christian. Buck had followed that advice closely but what surprised his granddad was that Buck found a Christian wife that just happened to be gorgeous as well. The kind of gorgeous that would cause everybody that knew Buck to comment on how he sure had “married up.” Papaw said it was still more important that she was a Christian; good looks were just a bonus.

As the years went by, so did their health —and particularly the deterioration of Dee’s eyesight. With Dee losing her sight, and him surviving a couple of heart attacks, Papaw knew it was finally time to sell the house and find a place where they could be watched over. It can be a trying time to admit it’s time to go into a retirement home. But it was not that big a deal for them. Papaw wanted what was best for Dee. He had a sneaking suspicion that he might not be around long enough to take care of her. A retirement home would be the easiest thing for everybody. They decided to move to the new retirement home located across town. It would prove to be just one in a string of wise moves that they always seemed to know to make. The investment necessary to secure a place in the retirement home would require all of the proceeds from the sale of their house. And their two meager lifetime pension checks would provide enough to make the monthly ends meet. They made a habit of never overspending their paycheck, and they always tithed to their local church. This combination proved to be a formula that would take care of them, regardless of the strength or weakness of the economy. Their trust was in God, not the almighty dollar, and they knew He would not let them down. They believed every word of Jesus’ promise to “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” “His Eye is on The Sparrow” was not just a song they sang; it was a promise from God that they trusted. They had not been able to save much money during their lifetime, because what little they did save was usually spent on others. Although they did not spend a lot of money on themselves, they had a whole lifetime of living.

Dee was one of the greatest investors of all time. Many would argue that Warren Buffett or Peter Lynch, or John Templeton deserved that accolade. But Dee came from an entirely different perspective. Dee invested in family. When each of the grandkids was barely old enough to read, Dee would give $10 to each grandson who memorized the 23rd Psalm. None of them knew at the time what a sacrifice a $10 bill was for her, but they all remembered how important Dee thought it was for them to know this Psalm by heart. She knew that one day it would bring comfort to them and was willing to make the investment to motivate them to memorize it. She always invested in family. And family was one basket into which she didn’t mind putting all her eggs. Dee was able to make the wisest on Wall Street seem insignificant when compared to the personal investments that she made in the lives of her family.

One thing that had not deteriorated over the years was their giving spirit. The grandsons could always count on a five-dollar bill inside their birthday card. Maybe a small amount to some, but this gift came from the products of the Great Depression. And the grandsons became keenly aware of the generosity behind it. Not only had they invested in their birthday cards, but invested their lives, into caring for their family, and instilling Christian principles into their grandchildren. They didn’t just teach it either. They modeled it every day of their lives. Quality time and quantity time were practices that they taught long before the next generation read about them in the new “how-to” relationship books.

Having five grandsons all within a 7-year timeframe introduced Dee to her fair share of roughhousing. The inventors of football actually meant it to be played outside, although some of her grandsons’ football games made their way into the house. This was a completely new world for a mother of two girls. Maybe she was trying to calm down the testosterone glands when she decided to teach them how to do ceramics. She had been a regular customer of Newell’s Ceramic store for years and could be found there every Saturday working on her latest masterpiece. Each of the grandsons had a turn with the great mentor in learning the passive craft of working with ceramics. What person in her right mind would turn loose a bunch of small boys in a ceramic store, full of its customer’s fragile pieces that filled the shelves? All the other ladies must have thought she was half crazy to give clumsy kids dainty pieces of fragile clay. Especially kids who were hardly coordinated enough to scoot their chair under the workbench. Despite the anxiety of all the blue-haired women, Dee had confidence in her apprentice grandsons. She wanted them to experience the fulfillment of making something for others. She knew the joy that came from giving away these ceramic pieces to others. And she wanted her grandkids to find the secret of that joy. Dee made hundreds of ceramic pieces over the years, and gave away most of them to her friends and family. And the grandkids learned the art of giving of themselves, too, thanks to the tutelage of Dee.

Dee also became an expert at knitting afghans. She had acquired that skill after her eyesight had failed to the point that she could no longer do ceramics. Her eyesight had gradually deteriorated due to macular degeneration, but never once did she complain. Not that she would complain for selfish reasons, but for the fact that she was not able to give of herself anymore. That was what she hated. She poured herself into those ceramics, and when she gave them to others, she was giving herself away. Not for anything in return, not even for a desire of thanks, but simply and purely just to give of herself to others. That was the kind of person she had always been. When her eyes failed, her love refused to! The thought simply came to her one day like a bolt of lightning. She could knit!! She didn’t have to be able to see well in order to knit; knitting comes mostly by feel. She was tickled pink at the prospect of this solution. So knit she did. Afghans became her specialty. Good luck guessing how many she actually knitted. Nobody really knows. But you would waste your time if you tried to find somebody in her family, or somebody that was her friend, or somebody that was a friend of a family member, or a friend of a family member’s friend, that didn’t wind up with a number of hand knitted Afghans from Dee. And with each stitch, came all the love and caring that was inside her. What a day it was when she put the final touch on one of her future heirlooms. She couldn’t wait to give it to the next recipient, whoever that might be. She was even more excited about starting the next one, for with it, she could continue to bring forth her well-spring of love that never seemed to end.

Dee moved to a new room when Papaw’s sneaking suspicion of not being around much longer became a reality. Papaw passed away but not until Dee had made a whole bunch of new friends and had learned how to get around the home, despite her failing eyesight. Her new retirement home apartment was decorated as graciously as possible for the small, one room apartment with an adjoining bathroom that it was. The hospital bed, which took up the majority of the room, was surrounded by pictures of the grandsons, of their families and her new great grandchildren. Papaw’s army chest from World War II and most all his other belongings had already been given away to the grandchildren. One got the army medals, one the furniture, one the couple of guns that had been passed down by Papaw. After his death, all his suits had been given away to various charitable organizations. His violin and clarinet, with which he had entertained many a fellow retiree, had been passed down as well. Not much was left as far as material possessions, not that material possessions mattered to Dee anyway. They didn’t. Never did. What mattered to her was storing up eternal treasures.

There was never a visit by any of the grandsons that didn’t make her day. “Hey Dee!” a visiting grandson would say as they entered her room. They would often find her lying in her bed, passing away the time, dreaming of the next visit from one of her treasures. Although she couldn’t see, she could hear a visitor say “Hey.” Step-by-step by step, a grandson would get closer as Dee asked, “Is that really you?” Closer and closer they would go. Closer and closer until she finally could behold their face. And then, man would she light up. Once she beheld their face, the party began. She would smile and embrace them in her loving arms with all the little strength that she had left. And when the grandkids were married and had babies of their own, they would take them to visit Dee. And the same ceremonial ritual would occur. Closer and closer the babies would come to her, and at some precise point, she could behold their precious faces. And once again, from that moment on she was alive, truly alive.

Although at 98 she was long since finished with ceramics and knitting, she could still give away her love. She was feeble and frail but strong as a boar hog when it came to still giving of herself. She refused to talk about herself and what it was like to live alone in a one room retirement home with languid neighbors who had diminished to just existing. She never talked or complained about her loss of sight or any medical condition that she had gone through. Most people who survive cancer, blindness, a broken hip, several organs removed, and the removal of several feet of intestines will complain a little at some point along the way. Not Dee. She would not take the time to complain because she wanted to talk about you. And beyond anything else, she wanted to give. With the exception of a bookshelf, which held the treasured collection of pictures of her family, all that was left in her room was an old ceramic vase. She had made that vase at the ceramic store, probably with the help of one of the grandsons. In the end, her main concern was to give even that away. All that she had given over the years, all the ceramics, all the French toast, all the lime sherbet, all the bubble baths, all the afghans, and all the abundant love that she had given, all that was still not enough, as long as there was something left to give. And when that old ceramic vase was finally given away, it seemed she had nothing left to give. But that was the precise time that she began to reveal her treasure. She wasn’t through giving at all. In fact she had just begun.

Little did Buck know at the time what an impact his grandmother’s life of selflessness would have on him. The lessons he saw her teach became part of the very fiber of the fabric from which he was made. There were many other people and experiences that God carefully knitted togetherthat added color to Buck’s life and you are about to read about some of them. Each of us wears a coat of many colors. Some parts of our coats are thread bear from bad experiences. Some are torn from the errors of our ways. Some are ripped by dysfunctional relationships. Some are being patched even as you read this book. And there may be some holes in our coats of which we are not fully aware. Holes that only God can fill. We sometimes try to mend our coats by ourselves, with our own insufficient means, although we fail to restore its original beauty. No matter what shape our coats are in, God can take them and patch them up. If we allow Him, He can even dress us in a brand new one.

Buck’s search and quest to discover purpose in life was just beginning. People and experience, questions encountered would all shape the outcome of his life, just as they shape our own. Questions, answers, and consequences – eternal consequences – are woven in a delicate pattern to shape our lives.