Steadfast Love

After years of hanging silently on my dining room wall, I restarted my grandfather’s old cuckoo clock. The clock had hung on the den wall at my grandparent’s house until my grandfather moved in the early 1980s; then he gave it to me. By that time, after decades of faithfully chirping out the hour, the little ol’ cuckoo had pipe and bellow issues and sounded like it was gasping for breath.  So I found a clock repairman and the birdie got a lung transplant.

Over the years, I’ve stopped and restarted the clock.  Most of the “off time” was because I forgot to raise the weights, then I didn’t want to take the time to slowly rotate the minute-hand around the dial, pausing and waiting while the bird cuckooed its way through the hours.  When I put it back in motion, I realized how much I’d missed the familiar sound of the pendulum swinging back and forth, steadily tick-tocking the passing of time.

It didn’t take long for the rhythmic cadence to stir up warm, fuzzy memories of my childhood.  When I was four, my mother and I lived with my grandparents for a year when my father was stationed in Vietnam.  I used to watch General Hospital on the staticy black and white TV with my grandmother.  There were bubblebaths in the clawfooted tub.  Milk shakes from Highs.  Coca Cola in glass bottles. A candy dish filled with fruit-flavored hard candy. Late night car rides when my grandparents—avid listeners of the police scanner—rushed to the scene of a house fire or car accident for a look-see.

The clock ticked on.

The Marines took my family to distant duty stations and we only visited my grandparents a couple of times a year. I treasured those visits—my grandparent's home was a place where time stood still.  Everything always smelled the same. The radiaotor still clanked as it spewed out warmth on cold nights.  I loved the soft sheets and heavy quilts.  And I loved to be lulled to sleep by the ticking of the cuckoo clock.

The restarting of the cuckoo clock stirred something more than my memories, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  Days ticked into weeks. Thoughts continually circled in my mind, but had yet to land in the form of words or any discernable “ah-ha.”

As I began to write a story about my favorite Christmas, my thoughts began to hone in on my grandfather—who was a big part of that special Christmas.

I remembered his warmth, gentleness, and kindness. I loved how he always called me Shug—short for sugar.  I thought about when I was eight and my maternal grandfather died; he hugged me tight and told me he had enough love for me for two grandfathers. A smile tugged at my lips when I remembered the time I’d driven with a friend to his house, three hours away.  It was my first road trip, the first trip in my new red car...and the first time I got a speeding ticket.  I arrived in tears—terrified to call my father and tell him about the ticket.

“Shug,” my grandfather spoke calmly and coached, “Before you tell him about your ticket, remind him about the time he impatiently passed in a no-passing zone, right in front of a police car.”   

Granddad always made me feel like I was his princess—and in his eyes, I could do no wrong…even if the state trooper said otherwise.  I savored the memory.

The moment the cuckoo popped out to cuckoo, a memory—long forgotten by time—popped in my mind.

It was my wedding day. I remembered how my grandfather’s eyes glistened with tears when he saw me in my wedding dress.  How he’d told me I was beautiful and I’d always be his little girl—even if I was married.  The memory sent me scurrying for one of my scrapbooks to find the photo of him leaning over to talk to me through the car window—moments before my new husband and I drove away from the church.  While I have a good idea of what he told me that day, how I wished I could remember his words verbatim!

Tears spilled down my cheeks.

I never felt more loved by anyone than I did by my Granddad McPherson. I’ve missed him terriby since he passed away in 1989.  Oh, what I wouldn’t give to feel loved like that again!

At that very minute, with a solitary tick of the clock’s pendulum, my muddled thoughts became crystal clear.

I am loved like that!

The Lord loves me even more than my grandfather did—infinitely and eternally more! I am His chosen, His beloved little girl.  He will coach me as I travel life’s roads, show mercy when I make mistakes, and calm my fear and anxiety.  And just like the steadfast ticking of the cuckoo clock’s pendulum, His love will never cease and He is with me every moment of every day.

I looked again at the photo of my grandfather and traced his outline with my finger.  I am so very grateful for my grandfather’s love.

Yet I’m even more grateful for my Heavenly Father’s love.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

    great is Your faithfulness.

- Lamentations 3:22-23