Growing up in the house that grandpa built brings feelings and a sense of warmth, comfort and security. Heated with an oil floor furnace, the second floor drew heat through a grate. That grate was a window for little boys to spy on adults past our bed time and to watch Dad in the very early morning. Like clockwork, my Dad arose every day of his life at 4:30 am and spent time in prayer and then Bible study while the rest of us were supposed to be sleeping. He was a man of diligent habits who was reared in a depression family that barely kept a roof over their heads. It was a different time in society. The “Old Fashioned Work Ethic,” died with his generation. It was replaced with a leisure and entertainment crazed attitude that hates Monday mornings; breaths a sigh of relief on Wednesdays and shortchanges Fridays with preoccupation of weekend party time. We can yearn for life as it was depicted in Norman Rockwell paintings, but few would exchange today for the “Good old days.” For me, my childhood was a blessing and five years ago inspired this poem. It may jog your memory of similar experiences in your life.
The house Gramps built
Behind the closet in the wall was a secret place
Where a little boy could escape without a trace
It was the house during the depression that grandpa built
Made of odds and end of discarded wood it was like a quilt
In the walls you read the slogans on the apple crates
They were made of hard wood with branded names and dates
Grandpa was a carpenter who fashioned with his hands
Most everything that was in the old house made without any plans
He had an eye for his craft and skilled workmanship
No shortcuts or things done half way no detail did he skip
All was made with mastery and finest timber even if from a crate
Perfection did his eye command, top to bottom even the fence gate
“Rip it out and do it right, give care to what you do next time!”
His voice could bellow and shout imperfection was a crime!
So the standard of his household was set to an unreachable high
My mother learned to be tough she was not allowed to cry
And so that house did she live in throughout her childhood
Became home for her children well into her adulthood
We spent hours in the playhouse that gramps built for her
Generation to generation in a rite of passage transfer
It was country living when grandpa bought that piece of land
By the time I was born is was part of Chicago which did expand
And now when I go back to that old house to see
It gives warm feelings and memories of family
My parents and grandparents, along with all but two aunts are all gone. All of their possessions have turned to dust, save a few heirlooms. The lessons and values of their lives continue on in mine. Several scripture come to mind with these reflections:
Psalms 127:1-5 “A Song of degrees for Solomon. Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. (2) It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep. (3) Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. (4) As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. (5) Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.”
Matthew 6:19-21 “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: (20) But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: (21) For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
In a materialistic world; let’s reflect upon that which is truly important and teach our children lasting lessons of values and standards. We have the understanding and the opportunity to build for the future, not of fixed years; but for eternity.
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