“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is,
and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.”
(Jeremiah 6:16 NIV)
My daughter Jordan and her fiancé Greg asked my husband Donny to build an arch for their wedding ceremony. I thought it would be meaningful to use wood from my grandfather’s barn to make the sacred structure, so during a visit to my hometown, we drove to the property. My excitement drained as we turned onto the farm. There was little resemblance to my childhood memories.
We stepped out of the truck and walked through the knee-high grass as I surveyed the remains of what I once called home. The house was in shambles. The front porch was gone, the windows boarded up, and most of the shingles from the roof were missing.
As I stood before the dilapidated structure, memories rushed into my mind. Once again, I was a little girl. I jumped off the school bus, ran across the yard, up the porch steps, and through the front door to find Nanny baking cookies in the kitchen. The ruffle of her apron tickled my nose as she reached out for a hug and flour found its way onto my jumper. Her warm embrace filled me with joy.
Sadness invaded my heart as I returned to the present and continued to walk through the farm that had been Nanny’s pride and joy.
Overgrown trees and unmown grass replaced the dirt track where Gramp taught me to drive a harness horse. Sweet memories flooded into my heart. I could almost hear the clip-clop of hooves on the dry dirt. What would Gramp and Nanny think of their beloved farm?
We began to sift through the ruins to find wood for our project. The chainsaw ripped through beam after beam from the old barn. Within minutes, my vision of redemption began to dwindle. The wood was . . . rotten. Was it possible nothing could be salvaged from the past? Donny continued to hunt for something he could use as I wandered away from the dilapidated remains. Maybe we shouldn’t have come. I paused at what resembled the former gate to the barn area. The sobs I’d been holding back erupted. I gripped the fence post as my heart released wave upon wave of grief.
In the midst of chaos being unleashed in my soul the Father whispered, “Baby Girl, what is it you’re looking for?”
“I’m looking for my grandfather!” I sobbed. “But this cannot be all that remains of him and his legacy!” The words hung in the air like a thick morning fog.
Standing among the ruins of my former life, I realized this trip down memory lane had little to do with barn wood. The same lie that defined me throughout my life came back like the ghost of Christmas past. I was . . . an orphan . . . fatherless.
A Pinterest project had drawn me to the farm, but God had a bigger restoration project in mind. The Father was on a mission to find a lost piece of His daughter.
“Baby Girl, this is not your grandfather’s legacy.”
“It’s not?” I whimpered.
“No, it’s not. You are your grandfather’s legacy.”
Jed, my teenage son, came up behind me and put his arms around me. “Come run around Grampa’s track with me.”
I shook my head. “Honey, there’s nothing left of the track.”
“We can find it, Mom.” He bolted through the field of tall grass and wildflowers and begged me to follow. Sure enough we found our way around Gramp’s track. Mourning turned to joy as once again I remembered what it was like to be Clark and Betty Malady’s granddaughter. The farm may never again be what I remembered, but it didn’t matter. I was no longer an orphan . . . I was the beloved of God.
