My Grandmother...

Saturday December 11, 1999 was the day my grandmother died. She was the only grandmother, and one of the finest people, I ever knew. Vera Francis Taylor Schipper was a woman of little formal education. She could read and write enough to get by. She married my grandfather in 1930 and bore him five children, a son and four daughters. My mother was in the middle. My grandfather abandoned my grandmother and his five children when they were all young. While he went off to chase other women and drink, she made sure that her children all had food, clothing and shelter by doing whatever it took to get by. They lived on a small farm at the time. My grandmothers heart was always in farming.

By the time I was a young child in Alaska she had remarried and settled on the outskirts of Austin in a small house that was little more than a shack. She, and the only grandfather I ever knew, worked as custodians at a small elementary school across the street. I lived with her for a time when I was a child, along with one of my cousins. Anytime anyone in the family was broke or needed a place to stay she did whatever she could to help. There were times when their small house was home to more people than it had room for but my grandmother would never turn anyone away.

She never liked it when anyone called her 'grandmother'...She said it made her feel old. She preferred to be called by her childhood nickname: 'Beader'. I still don't know the true story behind that one! She taught me to love the old ways of doing things. We would sit on the front porch snapping green beans or shelling peas. I learned to churn butter and ice cream by hand. I learned to milk a cow and figure out where sneaky chickens would hide their eggs. I learned to make peach preserves and dill pickles and all kinds of things. My cousin and I washed the dinner dishes by hand for a dime a week. I learned the importance of the Farmers Almanac and to watch the phases of the moon when I planted my garden. And I learned about unconditional love...

I remember once a homeless person, we called them hobos then, wandered up. He asked if there was any work he could do to earn some food. My grandmother wouldn't hear of making him work for food. She made him a plate of Southern cooking about six inches high and when he was finished she gave him seconds. He tried to pay her with the only thing he had, a ball point pen, but she wouldn't hear of that either. My grandmother never turned anyone away hungry...not once in the forty years I was blessed to know her. If someone was cold she would see to it they had a coat or blanket. If someone was sick or lonely she would visit them. That was the foundation of her faith in God. She didn't understand all the philosophical arguments about religion. She understood what it was to be hungry, cold and lonely. She knew that we are all connected and that God works through us and that was enough for her.

I've studied most of the religions on earth at some time in my life. There have been times when I was certain about some of the things of God...only to be convinced of something totally different later. I no longer claim to know anything about God save what my grandmother taught me by her example.

She sleeps now, awaiting God's call. I know that one day she will be a jewel in His crown. I hope that I can be something of the man she saw in me so that I can be there to see that...

I miss you Beat...