A couple weeks ago I paid a visit to my Aunt Susie. She is ninety-four years young, the only remaining child of ten. We did what ladies like to do, and went out for lunch. The chicken and noodles we had were not nearly as good as she and her sisters once made, but the comfort food brought back some good memories. A nice surprise, her son Bruce stopped by while we were enjoying our time together. He gave me a gift of a drawing he had done of the farmhouse that our parents grew up in.
Since there had been no pictures to draw the house from, he drew it the way Aunt Susie described. The farmhouse was a two-story frame with a porch that nearly wrapped around the entire house. A porch swing was hanging in front of the kitchen window. A warm light shone from the family room, as that was the center of activity and warmest in winter.
I listened intently as Aunt Susie described the interior, which room was which, and all the happy stories that came to mind along the way. She also told me of the difficulties that came about when her father was killed. She helped raise the youngest siblings as her mother and the older ones went off to work.
What really amazed me was that in spite of the hardships they endured, she enjoyed growing up when she did with her family and all of its imperfections. Her memories were happy and I delighted in listening to them come alive through her stories. Now, if only I could recreate the chicken and noodles that were once made in the farmhouse kitchen…
“The happiest people in the world are not those who have no problems, but the people who have learned to live with those things that are less than perfect.” James Dobson