April Twelfth; And the Word, is Love

I could say that I love my morning routine of sitting here with my coffee, alternating between scrolling through  the blogs others have shared and staring out the window at the glorious day opening before me. I could say I love my peaceful life, my friends, my pets. All of that would be true.

But my family..

 My maternal grandparents lived next door to us. They were a second set a parents, helping in so many ways to help raise me and my two brothers. Then, our dad worked out of town a lot and mom worked the day shift. When we weren’t in school, we were at grandma’s. 

Grandpa provided ways to exercise our imagination through the wonders that he would find out in the wilds of society and bring home. From a screen wire, he built a sieve for us to sift dirt through looking for treasures. Sheets of tin created clubhouses to hide from the enemy or sit and listen to the sudden summer showers hitting the roof. What should have been poles for his green beans, found and brought out of the woods, became stick horses. Complete with rag saddles and twine bridles. 

But it wasn’t all games, he taught us how to plant, maintain, and harvest a garden. The bounty his garden would produce was amazing. The vegetables always tasting oh so good. He shared his wisdom and his adventures. He also made sure we understood respect and obedience. He never punished us, but his quiet demand for respect, was always obeyed. 

Grandma, was a true gentle soul and so lovely in a beauty that shone from the heart. She was a slender, lady of average physical height. Her great size was her heart and tenderness. She held a quiet strength that was as strong as the best steel.

 In all of my memories, I only recall her striking me once. That was because I blatantly told her no, I wasn’t learning those spelling words. The strike so sudden and unexpected, I immediately stopped disobeying and learned the words I had refused moments earlier.

 I do remember, homemade hot cocoa, butter and honey slathered on a slice of folded bread for a snack and meals to die for. Her cooking simple, but tastes like the greatest banquet ever. I also remember, you never-ever-ever, uttered the words “I’m bored”. You learned how she could quickly find something for you to do. Even if it was weeding flowerbeds or hoeing rows in the garden.

She could also so an amazing Charleston. Age did not stop her from dancing.

 My mother tells me that I got my love for flowers from Grandma. I remember her flowers. A Wisteria vine that grew, controlled, on an enormous frame built by Grandpa. Daffodil that lined the drive and along the dirt road. Azalea bushes in groupings around the house and front yard. I can’t go into a garden center without at least looking at the flowers. I rarely buy now, the money thing, but I do enjoy looking. And friends do share in their abundance with me. Something of which I am grateful. 

Grandma taught us, even as we may not have realized at the time, a gentleness and peace of heart. She taught us strength in a way many have forgotten.

Dad, has this odd sense of humor. Comments that come out of nowhere. Zingers made off the remarks of another. Silliness with a touch of sarcasm. He passed it down to us, and my brothers and I being the good children that we were and generous adults that we became, passed it on to our own children. The unsuspecting don’t have a chance. 

Dad taught us how to fish. The entire process, from digging your own worms, to rigging and baiting the hook, to removing and cleaning your catch. As soon as we could hold a cane pole, we were fishing. Those lessons saved me a time or two but anyway… 

Dad raised hunting dogs for a while. He taught us how to care for those dogs as well as our pets.

Mom, taught us strength, patience, compassion. She fed the birds, she fed the stray animals that wandered through. She taught by example. She read, a lot. She sewed many of the dresses I wore even up through high school. She made several quilts that she gave to us.

She fought for us when she got word that something unfair had happened in school. Not in a Karen sort of way. If we deserved correction, so be it. We were corrected at school then again at home. An example of unfair, I was failed in a class because of having an incredibly, lousy, handwriting. Mom goes to the school and asked the teacher to show her with whose handwriting he was comparing mine. The handwriting on that sheet was perfection in ink. She asked how many students could write that well, on the response to very few, my grade was changed from failing to passing because my work was correct, just poorly written. I still have a horrible handwriting.

My brothers, taught me how to stand up for myself. How to be strong. To be tolerant while under brotherly attack and patient in the waiting for my turn to retaliate–in a loving, sisterly manner.

My husband, a part of my life lost four years ago. One who taught me love, patience, tolerance, during all forms of storms and struggles. Who taught me just how good a simple, tight, hug could feel. Who left me with so many memories.

My son. Oh if I were to try and write all that there is about him and love, I would write an amount rivaling War and Peace.

 So love, is a noun, and a verb. https://www.dictionary.com/browse/love

Love is a feeling, and an action. We can easily toss the word love about, but to show real love, is in the action. I do understand that there are those whose family is toxic. A family who has created a situation where love may be impossible. Maybe though, being family, there is still a form of love, but not like.  I can love you, but not like what you do? 

 I love chocolate, but don’t like what it does to my weight?

I love my solitude, but there are times, when the company of another would be nice.

How would you, define love? How do you, show love?

One of the greatest acts of love I know, is when my Lord and Savior died for me. Willingly going to a horrible and painful death on a cross, to pay for my sins. The only prefect sacrifice, for love.

About rebecca s revels

A writer, a photographer, a cancer survivor. An adventurer of the mild kind, a lover of the simple pleasures such as long walks and chocolate. A Christian unashamed of my faith and a friend who is dependable and will encourage readily. Author of three self published books with more waiting to find their way to paper. An advocate of good things, a fighter against wrongs.
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4 Responses to April Twelfth; And the Word, is Love

  1. Phil says:

    Thank you for sharing these beautiful memories, my friend Rebecca 🙏 My grandmother would have been 110 years old today – Happy Birthday, Grandma!!! – which is why I included the song “Tennessee Waltz” on my site, today. So many fond memories of grandparents ❣️

  2. Blessing to your family. Such beautiful words said about them.
    Everyone we come across, there’s something to learn from our relationship with them.
    Love, truly, is an action. And Jesus demonstrated that love that He sacrificed himself for our sake. What a selfless act!

  3. Thank you so much for your visit and gift of kind words. Yes, everyone in our life has purpose, no matter how long or short that relationship.

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