Chronicler

I was thinking about my aunt today…the one I cared for…my mother’s younger sister.
She was a storyteller.
If she wasn’t telling a story…she was singing.
A bit of the Irish in her!

My favorite stories were about her life during the Depression.
She and her two sisters would sit on the marble steps of their Philadelphia home.
They had to be creative and make their own fun in those days.

One game they played was with a magazine and a safety pin.
No one had money…no one traveled…but you could imagine!
Each girl would put the safety pin in a page of the magazine that someone had given them.

It was exciting to see what page you picked.
If it was a place…you would pretend to travel there.
If it was a handsome man…you would pretend that he was your husband.

The game of Jacks was the perfect thing to play on the front steps.
Apparently, my aunt was very good at that game.
I never was…and with a bit of pride, blamed it on being left-handed.

Music was very important to the girls.
It was the day of radio…so audiences were used to listening rather than seeing.
Each of the sisters had their own part in the three-part harmony they practiced.
They were quite good.
In the days of talent shows, they won many.

My aunt told many stories about her grandmother.
Granny made it very clear that Catherine, my aunt, was her favorite!
Granny was a difficult woman at times…but my aunt always seemed to cheer her.
They would sing Irish songs together.

My favorite stories were of her grandfather…who was known as Grappy.
Apparently, he was quite the character.
A tweed cap was permanently on his head…covering his bald patch.
He talked with a bit of an Irish brogue.

There was no work in those days.
Men, who had fine jobs before the Depression, found themselves unemployed.
They all had too much time on their hands.
There were too many men and not enough jobs to go around.

Some men despaired.
Some found ways to forget their problems for a while.
One evening…right before Christmas, Grappy was with a few of the other men.
No one had a car then…you walked wherever you needed to go.

Grappy sang songs all evening…celebrating with the men.
When it was time to go home, it had begun to snow.
Grappy had the farthest to go.

In the days of iceboxes, large chunks of ice had to be delivered to the homes.
The ice man was coming around the corner, with his horse-drawn ice wagon.
Grappy got a ride home with him.
Just riding in style, he would later say.

My aunt remembered hearing Grappy’s voice getting louder as he came down the street.
She looked out the window and saw Grappy on top of the ice wagon…singing all the way.

When my aunt’s health began to fail, I suggested she tell those old stories again.
I bought her a tape recorder and some blank tapes.
I showed her how to push the record button, talk in the microphone, and tell her stories.

She did begin to do that.
I have only one, uncompleted tape.
She died soon after I made that suggestion.
The stories went with her.

Chronicler.
Keeper of the stories.
Keeper of the records.
Keeper of the history.

I will open my mouth in parables, I will utter hidden things, things from of old; what we have heard and known, what our fathers have told us. We will not hide them from their children; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His power, and the wonders He has done. He decreed statutes for Jacob and established the law in Israel, which He commanded our forefathers to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget His deeds but would keep His commands.
(Psalm 78:2-7)

It is so important to tell the stories.
Each family has its own history that must be passed down from generation to generation.
How good are we at passing our history along?

As believers in our Lord Jesus, we have another Story to tell.

Come and listen, all you who fear God, let me tell you what He has done for me.
(Psalm 66:16)

We have the Gospel to share with a broken world.
We have our own history with the Lord that needs to be told.
We are the Lord’s Chroniclers.
How will they know unless we tell them?

Whether we sing of His goodness, or tell stories of His goodness in our life, we are chronicling our history with our Lord.

Remembering and telling not only help others to know Him, but it helps us, as well.
We all have dry days in our faith journey.
We know that He is with us…loving us…providing for us.

On a dry day…we don’t feel His presence.
We feel distant from Him.
The problem is with us…not Him.

If we have chronicled…we can look back.
We can see where He has carried us…where He has sustained us.
We can remember His faithfulness…when we are unfaithful.

Remember…Talk…Write…Share.
Oh…to be a Keeper of His Story.