This is my retelling of my grandma’s stories of the first ten years of her childhood. She was an amazing woman.
Magdalena’s stomach growled loudly as she set the two cups on the otherwise bare table. They wouldn’t need plates this morning. Yesterday they finished the last of the crackers. She had saved the coffee grounds to be used a second time to make this morning’s coffee, so at least they would have something warm to drink before heading to the church.
“Don’t worry. God will provide,” said Father. Money was tight among the Nebraskan farmers in 1910, and the salary her father received from the tiny church he pastored didn’t always meet their needs.
“In everything, give thanks,” she reminded herself. And as her father taught, “Be thankful for what you have. Don’t worry about what you don’t have.”
Silently, she thanked God for the wood to heat the coffee and keep the chill off the room. Then she remembered that bitterly cold day when an elderly man sent word to her father that his wife was dying, and they both wanted to receive Holy Communion. During the three-mile walk into the icy north wind, Father held his black communion satchel in front of her face to protect her.
When they arrived, Father’s hand was frozen to the handle of the satchel. The man rubbed snow on his hand until it loosened its grip. Then the man helped Father get the sacraments out of the bag so they could have communion. Yes, being warm was definitely something she was thankful for.
Quietly she laughed when she thought of when she was six years old and saw snow for the first time. She thought it was sugar, so she ran out of the house barefoot in her nightgown. She was shocked to feel the “sugar” biting her toes with cold. She had never felt anything like it before. She still remembered the feeling of surprise and awe.
She thought wistfully of the tropical land where she lived for her first five years. Her parents were missionaries to New Guinea, and she missed the gorgeous colorful orchids that adorned the massive trees in the jungle. Smiling, she remembered the singing voices of the birds at dawn and the delicious fruits that grew in abundance. She also missed the precious Papuan people and the other missionary families.
It was a land of beauty and sorrow. Blackwater fever took her mother’s life when she was a baby, so she had no memory of her. Her father said that after many weeks of sickness, her mother stated it was her time to go. She lifted her hands to heaven and exclaimed, “Oh, how beautiful.” Father asked, “What do you see?” She answered,” I see heaven open and Jesus waiting for me.” He asked, “What does heaven look like?” She answered, “I dare not tell.”
Magdalena noticed the water boiling in the tin kettle, so she added the coffee grounds and let it sit for a few minutes. While she waited, she thought about the different foster families she had lived with when her father was away preaching. She was thankful that her foster families had been good to her and showed her love. Having foster siblings took away her loneliness. She also learned so much about family life from them.
Her father visited her in the foster homes whenever he could. One day he walked through a terrible lightning storm. When he arrived, her foster father scolded him, concerned that he could have been killed. However, he replied, “I promised my daughter I would be here, and I always keep my promises.”
Magdalena poured the weak coffee into the two cups, carefully saving the grounds for a third use tomorrow. As she and her father sat at the table drinking the coffee, she thought about how thankful she was to even be alive.
Her father had told her how her older sister died shortly after birth. When Magdalena was born, she was blue and scrawny, and her mother said, “There goes another little angel.” Her father said, “If God wants her to live, she will.” And she did.
She also remembered when she was three years old and saw a “rope” on the ground. When she reached to pick it up, a black Papuan boy, her caretaker, shoved her to the ground. Furious, she loudly complained to her father. He replied sharply, “That was no rope; it was a poisonous snake. Now you go back and kiss that boy and ask for forgiveness. He saved your life.”
Indeed, it was only God’s mercy that her father was alive. He had told her the story of the Papuan man who stormed into his tent one night and tried to kill him with a club. Three times he tried to smash his club into Father, but God didn’t allow it. Father just prayed and smiled at the man. The next day the man came with an interpreter and asked about the strong God of Father, who would not let him kill him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was a sweet 82-year-old lady from their congregation, and she was carrying a huge coffee cake in her arms. She said, “Good morning, Pastor, I was going to bake me a small coffee cake, and the Lord said, ‘Bake the pastor a big one,’ so I did.”
When she saw the eager, hungry look in Magdalena’s eyes, she broke off a large piece, and as she handed it to her, she added, “And every Sunday, as long as you are here, I will bring you another one.”
“Thank you, God, for providing for me. You always do,” whispered Magdalena as she took a big bite of her coffee cake.
Here are some beautiful scriptures about trusting in God: https://soundmindtalk.com/building-a-relationship-with-god/faith-fuel/
