Ticking. The old-fashioned clock ticking, bringing old-fashioned memories of nights spent at Gramma and Grampa’s…
Sitting on the edge of the bed, listening while Grampa told stories of life as a child in North Dakota. Of running into the front bedroom and feeling the chill, the scratch of wool blankets, and the smell of cold and clean and Gramma.
Waking in the middle of the night, too excited to sleep through the night and always, the friendly ticking of the old-fashioned clock.
Waiting to hear the chimes: one – two – three o’clock. Then waking to the sound of soft voices, the smell of coffee. Knowing that Gramma and Grampa had eaten and Gramma was reading from the Bible. Then, they would both kneel and pray, remembering each of their loved ones by name. Always. Even after they became too frail to kneel, never too frail to pray.
Then setting down to oatmeal with raisins, and cinnamon toast – Gramma’s specialty. Only eaten for her.
Sweet memories that are rekindled in the quiet house, when I hear the old-fashioned clock ticking.
Thank you Lord, for grandparents who loved You. Knowing that they were praying for me, seeing them kneel and talk with You, carried me through even the roughest of times.