Just got the news today that my Grandpa is with Jesus. Yep, that makes 3 patriarchs in less than 2 1/2 years. First Dad, then Grandpa Bill, and now Grandpa George. Seems a little surreal as a girl that had such stout examples of manhood in her life to go from having 3 down to none so fast. I miss them. I miss knowing they are there and leading well. I wish I was there to grieve with everyone else who misses Grandpa George right now. So, this is for him -- and for those who love him, too.
The earliest memories of Grandpa involve his shop. Grandpa had a big machine shed that held, as far as I could tell, every tool known to man. He’d be working on farm machinery sometimes, but he was best known for building beautiful things out of wood. All the grandkids and some of the great-grandkids have toy boxes or other gifts he built and all the kids have grandfather clocks. His love for woodworking passed down to my Dad and so I saw this craft as something beautiful, valuable, and important. I’d explore every nook and cranny of that place and he’d show me what he was making -- it seemed he was always making something. He’d laugh and joke and tell stories while he worked and I ran after the cats or tried my darndest to get the basketball through the hoop. I can’t remember making it many times.
He was constantly on the mower. During family parties, he’d hook the wagon to the back and take us around and around the yard. The best part was when he’d gun it and drive us up and down the ditch. Woohoo!!! Farm kids have all the fun. He could laugh at himself. Whenever the family would get together, we’d rehearse old stories and he’d laugh right along with the rest of us when he was the punchline.
I’m not sure how it was when his kids were young, but during our family get-togethers, Grandpa was usually the quietest. He spent more time listening to and watching his family than he spent talking. To be fair, we probably don’t let many people get a word in edgewise. Even when he’d lead the family prayer, he would say it quiet. You had to listen intently to hear his humble request for God to protect us and bless us all. He’d always get choked when he thanked God for his family -- much like my Dad did. They both had this funny way of cocking their jaw when they were either really upset or really happy. I guess that’s one of the reasons that as my Dad got older, I saw more and more of Grandpa in him.
When Grandpa decided something, that was that. Another trait that the Twidell men seem to share. (Maybe the women, too.) Grandpa taught us to hold our ground and do what we believed was right. He opened his home to people who were down on their luck, to ex-convicts, to people others would shun. He and Grandma treated them as Jesus would have and changed people’s lives and hearts because of their generosity and love.
Speaking of Grandma, I don’t know many men who loved and appreciated their wives like Grandpa did. He’d often say how he couldn’t manage without her. Several times during visits, you could hear Grandpa calling from the other room or from out in the yard, “Margaret!!!” or the quicker version, “Ma!!!” They truly worked together on that farm to build a beautiful home and refuge for our family. We felt the strength of their love for us and their commitment to faith as we grew. I think that’s why even our extended family is close to this day -- across miles and miles. Grandpa and Grandma were building a foundation much stronger and more beautiful than his best woodwork. They were building a family legacy that would stand up to countless trials, pains, deaths, and broken hearts. How can we lose hope altogether when we’ve been taught and modeled such a love and faith from the beginning.
In Grandpa’s last years, he suffered greatly from diabetes. His hearing had gone long ago with years of farm work. His eyesight also went and he could hear and see little. It was one of the most heartbreaking things to watch this man who had taken such joy and pride in listening to us and watching us not be able to do that anymore. It took a toll on him. Yet, I know that in this last year, his faith and trust in God grew stronger than it had ever been and that he perked up whenever I walked into the room with my kids. He’d open his eyes and strain to see them. He’d strain to hear their stories and then wait for Grandma to retell it. For some reason -- maybe because his heart was tuned to her voice -- Grandpa seemed to hear Grandma better than anyone else. He would eat when she was there. And he would rouse himself and smile and still make little jokes when his family came to visit.
Ironically, I spent today helping Chris build bunk-beds for our kids. We were discussing how my Dad would have been appalled at the quality of wood and tools you could find here -- Grandpa, too, I’m sure. And yet, here we are, on the other side of the world, building with wood, building with faith, building with love. The legacy will continue because I and my cousins knew George Twidell. Because our parents were raised by him. Because we were loved by him. It’s a good place to be, but he’s in the better one. And we’ll be there someday because of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob, and of George.
Wedding Anniversary Party this April
My last visit with my Grandpa
The earliest memories of Grandpa involve his shop. Grandpa had a big machine shed that held, as far as I could tell, every tool known to man. He’d be working on farm machinery sometimes, but he was best known for building beautiful things out of wood. All the grandkids and some of the great-grandkids have toy boxes or other gifts he built and all the kids have grandfather clocks. His love for woodworking passed down to my Dad and so I saw this craft as something beautiful, valuable, and important. I’d explore every nook and cranny of that place and he’d show me what he was making -- it seemed he was always making something. He’d laugh and joke and tell stories while he worked and I ran after the cats or tried my darndest to get the basketball through the hoop. I can’t remember making it many times.
He was constantly on the mower. During family parties, he’d hook the wagon to the back and take us around and around the yard. The best part was when he’d gun it and drive us up and down the ditch. Woohoo!!! Farm kids have all the fun. He could laugh at himself. Whenever the family would get together, we’d rehearse old stories and he’d laugh right along with the rest of us when he was the punchline.
I’m not sure how it was when his kids were young, but during our family get-togethers, Grandpa was usually the quietest. He spent more time listening to and watching his family than he spent talking. To be fair, we probably don’t let many people get a word in edgewise. Even when he’d lead the family prayer, he would say it quiet. You had to listen intently to hear his humble request for God to protect us and bless us all. He’d always get choked when he thanked God for his family -- much like my Dad did. They both had this funny way of cocking their jaw when they were either really upset or really happy. I guess that’s one of the reasons that as my Dad got older, I saw more and more of Grandpa in him.
When Grandpa decided something, that was that. Another trait that the Twidell men seem to share. (Maybe the women, too.) Grandpa taught us to hold our ground and do what we believed was right. He opened his home to people who were down on their luck, to ex-convicts, to people others would shun. He and Grandma treated them as Jesus would have and changed people’s lives and hearts because of their generosity and love.
Speaking of Grandma, I don’t know many men who loved and appreciated their wives like Grandpa did. He’d often say how he couldn’t manage without her. Several times during visits, you could hear Grandpa calling from the other room or from out in the yard, “Margaret!!!” or the quicker version, “Ma!!!” They truly worked together on that farm to build a beautiful home and refuge for our family. We felt the strength of their love for us and their commitment to faith as we grew. I think that’s why even our extended family is close to this day -- across miles and miles. Grandpa and Grandma were building a foundation much stronger and more beautiful than his best woodwork. They were building a family legacy that would stand up to countless trials, pains, deaths, and broken hearts. How can we lose hope altogether when we’ve been taught and modeled such a love and faith from the beginning.
In Grandpa’s last years, he suffered greatly from diabetes. His hearing had gone long ago with years of farm work. His eyesight also went and he could hear and see little. It was one of the most heartbreaking things to watch this man who had taken such joy and pride in listening to us and watching us not be able to do that anymore. It took a toll on him. Yet, I know that in this last year, his faith and trust in God grew stronger than it had ever been and that he perked up whenever I walked into the room with my kids. He’d open his eyes and strain to see them. He’d strain to hear their stories and then wait for Grandma to retell it. For some reason -- maybe because his heart was tuned to her voice -- Grandpa seemed to hear Grandma better than anyone else. He would eat when she was there. And he would rouse himself and smile and still make little jokes when his family came to visit.
Ironically, I spent today helping Chris build bunk-beds for our kids. We were discussing how my Dad would have been appalled at the quality of wood and tools you could find here -- Grandpa, too, I’m sure. And yet, here we are, on the other side of the world, building with wood, building with faith, building with love. The legacy will continue because I and my cousins knew George Twidell. Because our parents were raised by him. Because we were loved by him. It’s a good place to be, but he’s in the better one. And we’ll be there someday because of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob, and of George.
Wedding Anniversary Party this April
I am sorry to hear of your loss. Thank you for giving us a glimpse into your life together as family. I've been thinking on these lyrics today as a good friend also lost his dad yesterday.
ReplyDeleteAndrew Peterson (More)
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
In this vast eternity
There is more
Thanks and right on the money!
ReplyDelete