What are your favorite stories about you or your family?

Why do you like those particular stories?

I am inviting you to respond to this blog by answering the two questions above.

We can do this together.   My Grampa once brought home a baby skunk and brought into the kitchen.  He held it  by the tail and told the family that because it was a baby and how he held it they had nothing to fear.  It then twisted out of his grip and dropped on the the kitchen table.  It took a long, long, long time before anyone wanted to eat in that kitchen.

I liked that story because from then on I realized my grampa made mistakes just like me.  I remember enjoying being with my Grampa as he drove a little too fast on country roads and listening to his stories.  

Many years later I saw the body of my Grampa laid out in the living room after his death.  My sister went to my grandmother and said. "Grampa's sleeping!"   Nana gave her a smile with glistening eyes.   I knew he was dead, but I knew that God had a place for him.  

As the years have past, I still enjoy driving on country roads (maybe a little too fast) and sensing Grampa's being there. As I remember his stories, I remember our Lord's stories about Jarius' daughter who had seeminly passed on, but Jesus saying she is not dead she is sleeping.  I remember Jesus saying there is a place for us.  God's stories fill mine with meaning.