Alverna's Hope

Can’t wait no longer. I gotta get started. See, I never told my story because of having all them kids and work and things.  Besides, nobody, not one person except this granddaughter-in-law ever wondered about my young life enough to ask; nobody’s interested, not even my own kids. Don’t they know I was little once and had a life worth telling about?

Yes well, this granddaughter-in-law’s been asking me about things that happened long ago, and that got me all worked up inside, so it’s now or never. It’s written on my heart and I’m not gonna let this story die inside me now yet.

You know what? Last Monday I was reading my Bible - like I do every day - and I come across where in Isaiah it says, Now go, write it before them.  .  . and note it in a book. . . .   And, mind you, today in Psalm 78 it hit me again: Things we have known and heard. . .we will not hide them from children. . .we will tell the next generation. . . . Don’t you think that’s a direct word from the Good Lord, telling me to get started?

I do.

I want for everyone who’ll listen to hear about this wonderful good man and how he made life for me. He was allerbescht, the best of all!

Telling it’s gonna be tough. See, my grammar ain’t too good, that much I know. (Guess you can tell that by now.) I growed up learning Pennsylvania Dutch and English both, but not good at neither. Didn’t get much education. That’s my own fault. But what worries me most is will I be able to get the right words from my heart to this paper?

When I was little I loved to talk. Words rolled easy-like off my tongue. A lively chatterbox I was among them who didn’t talk much except for Grammy. And I learned to spell long before others my age just because I loved doing it. Even early on I learned to spell words backwards and I can still do it today, not short, little words, but long, complicated words like threshing machine, springhouse, musician, handkerchief; them are just a few. Even so, that’s different from putting thoughts on paper and doing it right.

I don’t intend to spin any yarns and use words I read in books today that go on and on describing things in fancy terms. Another thing; I can’t tell what I don’t know. My intent is to tell it like it was, just the way I lived it. Maybe I’ll write it like a letter. I know all about letter writing for Mom and I wrote to each other till the day she died; or maybe like a diary. Oh well, I’m just gonna start and see what takes shape. I’m gonna tell my story.

As for words, now take my Mom. She was opposite from me in most things, especially talking. She was a person of few words and discouraged me from talking so much, always scolding me about that. Between her and the way life hit me hard every now and then, - I ain’t complaining, happens to everybody - that quieted me down a bit as I got older. Besides, who wants to listen? Most people are intent only on talking, they don’t wanna listen.  Maybe it made me quieter in my speech but not in my mind. Always talked to myself, still do. Talk to the Good Lord too. I figure he listens even when nobody else does.

Here I go. I’m gonna lay aside my favorite pastime - I just love working whole sheets of long division - and write down what’s been in my head and my heart all these years. For sure, it will be my story, my true story and I don’t want it to die with me.

And I sure do hope you’ll read my story and come to see why I had to write it.