At a time like this,
when people around the world are frightened and grieving over the devastation
of the coronavirus pandemic, your stories can inspire courage. And tenacity.
And faith. And hope. And practical, ingenious solutions in trying times—but
only if you share your stories.
Below is an account
I included in a collection of family stories for my grandkids, hoping it will
help them somehow, somewhere, someday, in the same way my grandmother’s and mother’s
stories helped me in an especially trying time.
“Mommy, tell us a
story about the olden days!”
I wonder how many
times my mother heard those excited words from my little brothers and me over
the years. And she enjoyed telling us stories from her childhood. We loved
sitting close to her and imagining scenes she created for us.
Many of her stories
were from the 1930s, set in southeastern Ontario, Canada, in a farming area
known as Glengarry County, the home of a number of Scotsmen and their families.
The Depression hit
their lives very hard. Mom tells of having to wear shoes that were too small,
shoes that left her feet disfigured. Grandpa worked the family farm and he also
served as the postman, but still money was scarce. They raised chickens and
cows and grew vegetables but sometimes their cupboards were nearly bare. I
imagine that was especially true in winter months.
I also know that my
grandparents knelt to pray every night before bed. I’m certain they prayed to
God to keep their four daughters from going hungry during those lean years.
I remember one of my
mother’s stories more vividly than others. She told about a time when their
parents’ food supply had dwindled down to almost nothing, and they worried
terribly. On one of those days, Grandma cooked a pot of soup for their family
of six. I can picture her slicing up carrots and potatoes, and maybe an onion,
maybe a piece of meat, or a soup bone. Maybe she put in dried beans, too.
Mom told us that the
next day, all Grandma had for her family was that same soup but it wasn’t
enough, so she added a carrot or two. The next day, the soup was still all they
had so Grandma added a potato, or maybe an onion. This went on day after day
and eventually Grandpa got a paycheck from the post office so they could buy
groceries.
My mother must have
thought of those days often when she was a young adult because sometimes our
family had almost no food in our cupboards. Mom followed in her mother’s
footsteps: She poured out her needs to God and she boiled a pot of soup. Each
day she stretched it by adding an extra carrot or potato or onion, or maybe
some of her canned tomatoes, while she told us the story of her mother
stretching their soup in the same way back in the ’30s.
I grew up, married,
and two years later had a baby, Matt. Twenty-two months later, our daughter
Karen arrived more than a month early, unhealthy, and we ran up big medical
bills. My husband, Dave, was a first-year teacher and our new health insurance
wouldn’t cover Karen’s birth or extended hospital stay.
In those days, 1971,
Dave earned $7,200 a year, and we paid $90 a month for an old rental house. We
had to be extremely frugal. I had one dress, one pair of jeans, one T-shirt,
and I had scraped up enough money to buy turquoise polyester knit fabric to
make myself a pants-suit.
We ate the cheapest
food, never went to movies or restaurants, never spent money on hobbies. We
bought only necessities, but money was still scarce.
In those days, we
had no credit cards to see us through such times. Instead, we had to live
within our means (which is not a bad thing; more people should try living that
way).
In February, 1972,
after we paid our bills on the first of the month, we had $28 left to buy food
and everything else for the rest of the month. I was worried. I was stressed.
However, thanks to
my mother’s story, I knew we could present our needs to God and that with His
help we would make do with what we had, just like my mother and her mother
before her. I assembled a big pot of soup: I had a soup bone with a little meat
on it. I added carrots, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, and maybe some peas or
corn. Each day for a week I thought of my dear grandma and my mother as I added
a new ingredient—maybe rice or another potato or carrot.
And, indeed, we did
make it through that week, and the rest of the month, until Dave got his
paycheck the first of March.
God said,
“Be very careful
never to forget
what you have seen
the Lord do for you.
Don’t forget them as
long as you live!
And be sure to tell
your children and grandchildren.”
(Deuteronomy 4:9)
That’s what my grandmother
and mother did!
My grandmother had
shown her daughter, my mother, how to trust God and make the best of the
resources He had given them. My mother remembered her mother’s example, trusted
God, and made the pot of soup stretch, and, perhaps most importantly, she told
me the story of how God provided for them. Because of that, I handled my own
little family’s need for food in the same way they did—I trusted God and
stretched our soup with the resources He provided. (From Come and Listen: Let
Me Tell You What God Has Done for Me [Psalm 66:16] by Linda K. Thomas)
What stories can you
write for your kids and grandkids about your grandparents battling on—not giving
up—through heartbreaking times? How did God give them strength and courage to
persevere?
What stories can you
tell about your parents’ tenacity in confronting overwhelming challenges? What
stories can you write about yourself when you were younger? What helped your
parents and you trust God for what seemed impossible?
Did your
great-grandparents live through the Spanish flu pandemic in 1918? How about the
awful Great Depression? Do you know their stories?
What stories can you
write for your family about World War I? Pearl Harbor? World War II? The
Vietnam War? The September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks—9/11? What was God’s role
in the midst of those desperate times?
Your stories could
make all the difference
in the way your
family members tackle their own calamities.
Write your stories!
