Seventeen

March 5, 2021

“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.” So began Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities, his epic novel of love and loyalty in midst of the collapse of a nation. Looking back seventeen years ago today, these words came to mind. It was the best of times. Linda and I were in Rochester waiting for our first grandson to be born. Waiting anxiously outside the delivery room, we talked softly, silently willing the door to open so we could meet this child whose name their parents hid from everyone till Todd named him in the presence of his family. This child would never bear my last name, but he did hold my heart, and still does.

Miles away, our friends Harry and Beth sat at a table with three other couples—our monthly dinner group from the church. Things had been tense for about a month as the hostess of this group seethed beneath the surface because (in her own words) I didn’t give her the recognition she felt she deserved. Apparently, the atmosphere around the table was somewhat chilly, and Harry being the straightforward man he is, said he thought they ought to get the issues out of hiding and deal with them. Not having been there, I cannot say precisely what transpired or what was said, but needless to say, it didn’t go well. My friend took the shots that were meant for me; something I’ll never forget. Not content to air their grievances, or even to merely leave the church, the host and hostess and other two couples soon left the church, taking about a third of our members with them. It was the worst of times.

Things got ugly, but we weathered the storm. There were lean years—very lean, indeed, and times I wasn’t sure how we would make it. Photos from those days show the leanness in our faces; what they couldn’t reveal was the leanness in our hearts. But through it all, we had Ian, the light in our darkness. Thankfully, those times are all behind us. It took ten years, but we were able to hand over a healthy congregation to my successor when I retired. 

Grace is God’s undeserved favor towards us. We have experienced it in many ways through the years, but one of the most enduring is through our grandchildren, and in this story, through Ian. The leanness is gone, but today Ian turned seventeen.