When Israel saw Joseph’s sons, he said, “Who are these?” Joseph said to his father, “They are my sons, whom God has given me here.” And he said, “Bring them to me, please, that I my bless them.” Now the eyes of Israel were dim with age, and he could not see well. So Joseph brought them near him; and he kissed them and embraced them. Israel said to Joseph, “I did not expect to see your face; and here God has let me see your children also.”
Genesis 48:8-11
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| Jacob Blessing the Children of Joseph 1656 Oil on canvas, 173 x 209 cm Staatliche Museen, Kassel |
A grandparent’s blessing is a particularly special thing. It is a rare event that a grandparent will bless their grandchildren in such a dramatic and sensational way, but it can and does happen. From this account, Israel (Jacob) went on to bless the twelve tribes of Israel, or his twelve sons, with a very specific blessing for each of them, but he started his series of blessings with a couple of his grandchildren.
The blessings that our grandparents pass on to us come in so many different ways, but the most common is the kiss and the embrace that Jacob used. Never would I visit any of my grandparents, regardless of my age, when a kiss and a hug was not part of the visit. The love that is shared between grandparents and their grandchildren is immeasurable, much like the descendants of Jacob. Whenever I would show up at one of my grandparents’ homes, it was as if I had not been seen in years, even if I had just been there yesterday or a few hours ago.
Although I grew up with the distorted understanding of a normal family life because of my parents’ divorce, I was doubly blessed because of the new grandparents that my parents’ subsequent marriages brought to me. Grandma and Grandpa were my stepfather’s parents, and were unique beyond words. They lived in Gaston County North Carolina, but were from upstate New York. Grandma had grown up in Alabama and found her way in her early years to Ithaca, NY where Grandpa lived. She was a Southerner, transplanted to the North, and then returned to the South later in life. Each step of the way they picked up and embraced different elements of the culture, which she lovingly shared with my sister, brother, and me.
Grandma was a cook par excellence, and with the adage to never trust a skinny cook; you could trust Grandma. Although she could, and often did, prepare the typical southern fare, normally she would stretch her creative wings and soar to areas we had never heard of. She often enjoyed delving into various ethnic and cultural dishes that were out there, and made them to perfection. She introduced me to various German dishes, Mexican dishes, Chinese dishes, and so many others that I could not possibly remember them all. The truly amazing thing about the variety we enjoyed at her table was the fact that most of what we enjoyed came from her own garden.
If Grandma was a cook par excellence, then Grandpa was a gardener par excellence. Vegetables that no one else in that small North Carolina town would even try to tackle – Grandpa grew. He grew the normal tomatoes and green beans (in biblical proportions), but he also grew eggplant, rhubarb, dill, chives, peppers of a rainbow of colors and types, squashes, and various berries. Even in the squashes he would seek to find varieties that were unusual, and always grew them well.
Between them, they stretched our culinary palates in ways that we had never before dreamed. A meal with them was always an event to behold, and a new and pleasant gastronomic experience. But, as much of a blessing as their culinary skills and gifts were, the greater gift was the time spent with them.
Following my parents’ divorce all relations around me seemed to be strained and difficult. An uncertainty overshadowed relationships with other people to such a point that I was unclear of my standing with them, and it was often incumbent upon them to help define my relationship with them. At five and six years of age I did not understand this, nor did I have the faculties to reach out myself to others to define that relationship. Fortunately, adults in my life like Grandma and Grandpa were willing and able to do that for me.
From the very beginning they both took me in as their own and looked upon me as their grandson although there was no blood connection. As with Jacob and his grandchildren, I could always count on a hug and a kiss from Grandma. She was genuinely interested in my wellbeing, and what was going on in my life. Grandpa also welcomed me with open and loving arms, and always took the time to invite me into his world of hobbies, gardening, and technical projects.
One of Grandma’s greatest blessings to me was her straightforward discussion and confirmation of my relationship with my stepfather. She recognized a confusion and apprehension on my part and affirmed to me not only her love for me, but also his. “You know, Jonny really loves you, and does his very best to take care of you kids.” It was very affirming to not only understand this implicitly, but to also hear it and receive it from another source explicitly.
Blessings are a two-way street, and should go both directions. They also come in a variety of forms. When Papaw was turning eighty I really wanted to make him feel very special. He and I had shared a number of things over the years in our fondness for each other, and I began to ramble through my memories of what would express my love for him. I thought about baseball and for him of course the Braves, but we already went to see them every year. I thought about the way that he and I would go enjoy a cup of apple cider together on Mr. Jim’s front porch, but unfortunately Mr. Jim had died several years previous. I then stumbled upon the perfect solution – gospel music.
He and I went to churches and other venues all over that area of North Carolina together in order to enjoy gospel music together; or as he would put it, to go to a “sangin’”. I discussed this with Mamaw and some others in my family and we all agreed that having a birthday party including a gospel quartet was the way to go. Mamaw knew of a local group and gave them a call to see if they were willing to come. Fortunately, they knew Phil (Papaw) and were delighted to come sing for us, but especially for him.
On the day of the party we held it at the fellowship hall of the Methodist Church and invited the community of friends and family to join us for the celebration. The fellowship hall was decorated, food was spread that would feed the entire county, and friends far and wide gathered for the celebration. Papaw sat there and simply relished the idea of a quartet coming to sing for him for his birthday.
Towards the end of the party Papaw came over to me and shared perhaps his most tender moment ever with me. He reached across the folding table where we had been eating and grasped my hand in his leathery grasp. He then said, “John David, they tell me this was your idea.”
“Yes sir.”
With almost a tear in his eye he said to me, “Boy, this means the world to me; I can’t believe you did all this for me. Thank you.” He held my hand for a moment longer then returned to enjoy the rest of the “sangin’”.
I am not sure who walked away that day the more blessed, Papaw or me. I think we will call it a draw and be OK with it. Perhaps that is the way that blessings are supposed to work. It really was a great day.
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