My grandfather (maternal) came to this country from Hungary sometime before WWI and worked at Studebakers in South Bend, Indiana. This was when they first started making automobiles, but were still making wagons. Shortly after WWI he bought a farm out in the country east of South Bend in an area that didn’t have electricity until around WWII. For the rest of his life he made his living selling produce at the local farmer’s market. It was a cooperative with about 200 stalls and was open for business on Tuesday and Thursday mornings and all day Saturday. His was a hard life, and I’m sure that his income never exceeded what economists call the poverty level. Of course, they were never hard up for food. It started with lettuce, onions, and radishes in the spring, and then green beans, tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, and sweet corn in the summer. They grew wonderful fruits: strawberries, red and black raspberries, blackberries, grapes, peaches, and apples. They grew their own chickens, hogs and cows; I’ve never tasted ham, bacon or sausage as good as what he cured in his own smokehouse using apple wood. 

I have many good memories of my grandfather, but some of the best are associated with going to market with him. In those days there were still many neighborhood grocery stores, and on market days the owners would come to buy produce before they opened their stores in the morning. This meant that my grandfather had to have his produce displayed by 6:00 at the latest. To go with him I had to stay overnight, sleeping in an old feather bed, in order to leave in the morning before 5:00. He would always buy me an ice cream bar on the way back home; they just don’t seem to taste as good today.   
 He was a kind and gentle man, and I rarely heard him utter a word in even mild anger – and those few were reserved for deserving politicians. To give an example of his kindness, when I was about 12, I wasn’t paying attention and drove his small Farmall tractor through a fence. When I told him what I had done, he didn’t get angry but, instead, reassured me all would be fine. I did learn to repair a fence.

In 1967 when I came home for Christmas (I was in graduate school at the University of Wisconsin), he was in the hospital. He was suffering from cancer and was in a lot of pain. When I walked in his room, he noticed that I had a small beard and with a twinkle in his eye said, “You better watch out. General Hershey (the head of the Selective Service) will get you.” The next day they performed an operation to try to diminish the pain, but he died that evening. As he was dying, the nurse, who as chance would have it spoke Hungarian, realized that he was praying in Hungarian. She wrote it down and gave it to my mother, who translated it into English. I copied it onto a small slip of paper that I carried in my wallet for many years. I no longer have it; somehow it got lost, probably when I changed wallets. Relying on my memory, here it is:  “Lord, I am in terrible pain. Please help me bear it. I realize that it is nothing compared to the pain you suffered for me. Thank you. Amen.” As a Christian, that is the best memory I have of my grandfather.

Read John 19: 28-37, and remember: God loves YOU unconditionally.

Jim

Today’s Reading: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+19%3A28-37