Gate (9781441240569) by Dann A. Stouten

Author:Dann A. Stouten [Stouten, Dann A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: FIC042000
ISBN: 9781441240569
Publisher: Baker Pub Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

forgiveness

“I can forgive, but I cannot forget,” is only another way of saying, “I will not forgive.”

Henry Ward Beecher

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even hear her come in. “Would you like a piece of pie, honey?” she asked, and even though the light was dim, I knew it was her. She was young, beautiful, and in some ways unrecognizable to me. I didn’t know her when she was a young woman, but I knew the sound of her voice, the smile on her face, and the sparkle in her eyes. For as long as I could remember, she’d looked the same as she did in the picture on the bookcase at my folks’ house.

Her hair was a bluish shade of white, and it was pulled back in a bun. Her glasses were thick, her makeup was a little caked, and she wore faux pearl earrings the size of quarters. When she slept, she kept her teeth in a jar on the nightstand next to her glasses, and when she was awake, she always wore a dress, nylons, and sturdy black shoes with low-wedged heels.

My kids always called her Grandma Great Kate, and she was the kindest, gentlest soul I’d ever known. Grandpa, on the other hand, was another story. The whiskey would have its way with him, and then he’d have his way with Grandma. He let her know who was the boss, sometimes physically but always verbally. He did the same thing with his kids too, but when he’d start in on them, Grandma would step between them, and usually she’d end up with a black eye or a fat lip for her troubles.

Once my wife asked her how long she was married before she knew she’d made a mistake. Grandma Great Kate said that she knew the day after she said “I do,” but people didn’t get divorced in those days, so she tried to make the best of it. Grandma lived to be one hundred and nine, a full twenty years past Grandpa, and we all figured that God was trying to make it up to her.

My uncle Herb told me once that after my dad had come home from World War II, he’d gone over to see Grandma and found her sitting on the back porch nursing a black eye. Grandpa was in the backyard, and Dad went out there, grabbed him by the shirt, dragged him out behind the garage, and beat the tar out of him.

Then, as Grandpa lay bleeding on the ground, my dad shouted, “If I ever hear that you hurt her again, I’m going to come back and finish what I started, and when I do, I’ll bury you next to those rosebushes, and no one will miss you! Do you hear me, old man?”

There are times when God expects us to defend the innocent and the helpless.

His words were harsh. He treated Grandpa like Grandpa treated everyone else. There was no grace in his words. It

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