George Eats Pie Crust

Times tables.  Cursive handwriting.  Parts of speech.

These stand amongst the most memorable and usable things I learned in the third grade, but through the years, another practical tidbit from a gifted Sunday school teacher continues to rank among the top five.

George Eats Pie Crust.

G – Galatians

E – Ephesians

P – Philippians

C – Colossians

I have no idea if she developed this helpful acronym or if it’s something she selflessly passed onto her students.

I consider it a distinct privilege to have sat under her tutelage.

Memories fade over time, but I’ll never forget how upset I was when Mom told me who I’d gotten for my third grade Sunday school teacher: Mrs. Harmon.

“But, Mom,” I’d cried, “I wanted Grandma!”

My maternal grandmother taught third grade at our church, and there were only two girls’ third grade classes, hers and Mrs. Harmon’s.  Even harder to stomach was the fact that my uncle oversaw the Primary Department (grades (1-3), and for whatever reason had decided to put me in Mrs. Harmon’s class.

To this day, I have no idea why.  But I’m glad he did.

He gave me the opportunity to learn from this amazing, intelligent person.  I’d previously only known her from afar as “The Pastor’s Wife”, a woman to be revered, imitated, and respected.  But I now remember her as one of the most humorous, caring, fun-loving people I’ve encountered in this life.

She’d always have a funny story or a joke to share before starting class.  Her knowledge of the Bible was outstanding – she could hold her ground against theologians any day.  And she’d always try to trip me up when we did Sword Drills.

She tell us kids to raise our Bibles high in the sky and then call out a scripture reference.  We’d repeat it and then she’d say, “Ready, Go!” And we’d rush to be the first to find it.  And then every so often, she’d get this sneaky look in her eye, saying, “Zedakiah 5:3!”

We’d repeat.  Pages would rustle and rustle until realization dawned.

“There is no Zedakiah!”

And there she would sit with her cheeky grin.  “That’s right!  Made you look.”

There are few greater gifts on this earth than a fantastic Sunday school teacher.

Thank you, Mrs. Harmon, for giving of your time and of yourself.  Thank you for sowing so much good into my mind and my soul.  Your love and support have lasted long and continue on as I teach my children the lessons you taught me.

May God continue to richly blesses you and yours, both today and beyond!

Much love to you – and Happy Birthday!

My Grandma’s House

If my grandmother still lived, she would have turned 108 yesterday.  She would have donned her Mary Kay™ makeup and Estee Lauder™ perfume before shuffling to the kitchen for a slice of custard pie and coffee.  And she would have soon found herself all covered up with grandkids and great-grandkids wishing her a special day.

Oh, how I wish she would have.

We all miss her much but look forward to seeing her in glory one day.  Until then, I like to read this poem I wrote for her 90th birthday (and later read at her funeral) and remember.

 

My Grandma’s House

 

Eight twenty-seven South Spencer Street,

Its last owner I’d like you to meet.

Born in May some ninety years ago,

Now with three children and their kids in tow.

 

Meet Florence Amelia Zaeske Chase.

We’ve come to honor her here in this place.

Some in body, some in spirit,

All to pay tribute to a woman of merit.

 

A day of remembrance, today it shall be;

A day when all of the world will see

Inside the door of my Grandmother’s house.

C’mon in!  I’ll show you around.

 

Down the long driveway of a stately brick ranch

Push open the screen, swing open the latch,

Through the Dutch door, you’ll see me grin

‘Cause now we’re standing in Grandma’s kitchen.

 

It smells of Palmolive and baking pie crust

A hug and a kiss for Grandma – yes, they’re a must!

The counter holds dozens of chocolate éclairs,

Cookies and donuts – so many to spare!

 

Gram smiles and shuffles her two slippered feet

To the big brown cupboard and pulls out a sheet.

It’s a wax paper bag to fill with goodies and sweets,

M&Ms and red hots, all kinds of treats!

 

At Christmas, it’s cutouts of snowmen and stars,

Bathed in sugar icing and hidden in freezer far

Far, far away with the chocolate and nuts,

Whirl-a-gigs, thumbprints – we wanted some, but

 

We played in the basement, good for hours of fun

With plenty of room for all little ones.

Perfect for hiding, perfect for play,

The best place to spend each rainy day.

 

Except for the Tomcats adorning the walls,

We loved to play store and whatever else.

Pool and shuffleboard, maybe dress-up,

We’d play ‘til grownups said, “Time to clean up!”

 

We’d sit at the kids table, never alone;

We’d devour our meals, then we would moan.

We giggled, we talked, we made memories galore,

And after Gram served pie, we’d clamber for more.

 

Us cousins, we loved to play all kinds of games:

Basketball, hopscotch – even in the rain!

Gram would make tea and all kinds of jam,

We’d watch from the sandbox, happy as clams.

 

Inside we’d go to taste her Swiss steak,

Maybe orange roughy or Texas sheet cake.

Whatever she made, it was the best in its class,

Gram’s a five-star chef, truly having a blast .

 

Cooking for grandchildren the dishes they loved,

Remembering with fondness her husband above.

Thanking her God she is able to cook,

She made her family a recipe book!

 

The love that she showed us, I’ll never forget

Nor the deep prayers her lips would let

Soar up to heaven each night on her knees,

Beseeching her God to “watch over them – please.”

 

Thank you, dear Gram, for investing your life,

I know Grandpa believed you were a wonderful wife.

You made a house into such a warm home,

I am so blessed to call you my own.

 

Happy Birthday in heaven, Gram!