After several months of going back and forth to Portland, we have been content to stay at home. We tend to our small garden and I have really enjoyed getting to eat a cucumber everyday.
Our bees are doing well and their activity keeps us entertained. We have been watching Little League finals in Williamsport, PA. The Mother Hen in me watches every little facial expression of joy, sadness, and the tears of disappointment. It pulls at my heartstrings as I observe them. I hope that they are never told, that boys or men are not supposed to cry. I cheer them on, in the sidelines of our living room. The team from Lewisberg, PA is quite impressive, as well as others, but I give them all a high-five for putting their hearts into what they have a passion for.
In a wave of emotion, Hank had laid the letter on Mollie’s worn bible. Having it visible brought him some comfort. Her quiet time in the morning had always been her first priority. She did her best to be up before the birds and before the pitter- patter of little feet could be heard, and she continued this practice into the teenage years of their children. Thanksgiving Day went by like any other day. The pain in his right shoulder, instigated by too many falls off horses in his younger years had caught up with him. No amount of whiskey or Ben Gay brought relief. He settled himself in his easy chair and prepared for what might come from reading the letter.
He had been afraid to read the contents, and as he slowly read each word of the sweet simple letter, years of pent-up emotion spilled out like a dam that had burst. The tears came from the depth of his soul where nothing, nor no one could reach in the past few years. After a matter of minutes he was able to gain his composure and took in a few deep breaths. He felt as though a weight had been lifted and a sense of peace overcame him. So, Kayleigh and Libby were following in their grandpa’s footsteps. He recalled the times he played the fiddle for the girls when they were just toddling about, sometimes following him into his workshop where he spent numerous hours building and repairing violins.
He had not been in the shop for years. When Mollie departed, he lost interest in music, his reason for living was gone. Gone was the laughter, the singing and the smell of bread baking in the old stove. Why, he had asked God over and over again. Hearing of his granddaughter’s interest in music sparked a light within him that hadn’t been there for a long time.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.