Fresh sea breezes from the open door gently stirred the draperies as Grandmother settled herself a little wearily beside the picture window. She had been instructed to "watch, WATCH," because her little Miss Betsy was to skate down the front sidewalk demonstrating her newest skill. Sure enough! There she comes, her vibrant, little body zigging and zagging like a “pro.”
“Neat! Huh, Grandma! Did ya see me even turn around down there too? Course I kinda fell down—but...”
“Great coordination and balance for your age, Honey. You are a bit shaky yet though, so watch it.”
With a nimble flip of the tiny body, she was off to the corner to watch eagerly for her next older sister Ginger. She was determined to talk her into taking her to the development swimming pool.
Already the children were getting out of school. Small groups were seen chattering, chasing, and all the usual things children do when free of the classroom. The younger ones were natural and sweet, but as the high school students began to drift by, it was quite a revelation to Grandma.
Some of the sporty autos even took the corner on squealing rubber. In fact, her own oldest grandson had, a few moments before, roared home on his motorcycle, stopping for a snack between school and his afternoon job. Even now the microwave was musically signaling the readiness of his burrito. With a satisfied grunt, Joshua (Josh) draped his six-foot-one-inch body over the living room chair and casually asked, “How are you doing, Grandma?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “You sure you won’t let Mark and me go surfing tomorrow?
I don’t have to work in the morning, and____”
“And your father said you weren’t to go surfing this week while I’m here,” she laughed. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“Yes, but Grandma! You know it was just ‘cause he knew you’d worry—and—well, Mark and I can really handle ourselves out there. Nothing ever happened to us before. Please?” he pleaded.
Grandma sighed. “This one always tries harder,” she thought.
Seeing only a firm shake of her head, Josh, a bit ungraciously, propelled his body erect and grabbed his helmet. Buckling up, he shouted, “See you about seven. Save dessert!!” Varoom! Varoom! and he was gone.
Now back to the window and the sights and sounds of modern youth. A few portable machines called “Ghetto Blasters” jangled harsh rock music as some young folks jigged and shouted homeward. Although the neighborhood was thought to be conservative, anything from shorts, blue jeans, and mini skirts to the new long, baggy, slouchy look adorned the girls. A strange arrangement of multi-colored hair occasionally appeared, or a youth with a “Mohawk” haircut. Many puffed cigarettes, but a few looked refreshingly normal. Now Grandma had just been reading a little book she had thought to share with her five grandchildren during the six days or so she was to have their care. (Her daughter had gone on a business trip with her husband.) Inwardly groaning, Grandma wondered how she could possibly get across the grand, basic spiritual truths which the book contained to this fast-moving, new generation. How to even get them all together was a problem. A challenge indeed!
Suddenly a crash and clanking of skates signaled Betsy’s appearance at the door. Undaunted, the little lady picked herself up and turned to the small friend with large, sad eyes who had followed her home. Excitedly, the words tumbled out, “My Grandma says I have great ‘cordalation,’ and, but—you have to go home now. Grandma, I can’t get this old skate off and Ginger’s almost home! Hurry! Go home, Kathy.”
Hardly hearing Betsy, Grandma turned to Kathy. “I’m sorry, dear. Would you like a cookie?” Sad little Kathy knew that her only playmate was “dumping” her, and now she must go home and watch TV. This was her day to visit her Daddy and his new wife. Tomorrow she would be shunted back to her Mommy.
“What a mixed-up world!” Grandma thought as she handed the cookie jar to this little victim of a world whose values are all off course.
At last Ginger and Betsy had gone to the pool; second-oldest grandson Mark, also a six footer, had swung home on his skateboard, snacked, played with his cockatiel, and chatted cozily like the friendly, easy-going lad he was, and silence now suddenly descended upon the large house.
“Whew! Now’s my chance to finish getting dinner ready,” and Grandma scurried to tie on her apron. Looking at the clock, she calculated, “Let’s see—is it four o’clock that Crystal’s bus comes? But she’s no problem!”
Just as Grandma was putting the frozen casserole in to heat, Crystal happily greeted her at the door. She was hurried, yet cheery as she plopped her pack of books down on the large family room table. “Homework, homework as always! Okay if I do some now? Then I’ll help you.” Giving her grandmother a warm hug, she went on, “Are you very tired? It was so nice to remember on the way home that you’d be here!”
Grandma found it hard to stop looking at Crystal as she bent over her work, soft curls tastefully framing flawless features. Earnest eyes, sometimes gray, sometimes green, looked off somewhere as she struggled with her problems. Life had not been easy, for Crystal wrestled daily with the condition called dyslexia. Special school, hard work, and a patient spirit had paid, and she was coping nicely. The one with the most problems—the one you might expect to be cross and frustrated! How Grandma loved her!
Time ticked on and the family room was again a beehive of activity. Over the clatter of shifting plates, glasses and wiggling bodies, Grandma laughed. “No one in this family suffers from a poor appetite! It’s too bad Josh has to eat hamburgers at his work, but we’re waiting dessert for him. I promised. He’ll be home about 7:00. (Then I’ll introduce Sweet Sixteen to them,” she thought.)
The girls had just rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, when an insistent “Skirk! Skirk!” was heard outside. Translated it meant, “Josh is home! Quick, open the garage door for me!”
“He’s always making us rush around for him!” grumbled Ginger as she went to comply. They heard her yell in the garage, “Hurry up, your highness, and get in here! We’re almost ready for apple pie!”
Any seventeen-and-a-half-year-old lad can excuse a little bossiness if apple pie is involved. “Make mine a la mode!” he countered.
Presently, all were happily seated around the table enjoying apple pie and ice cream.
“Now children, I plan to spend a little time on a book I brought along. It’s an old-fashioned story, but___”
“Great!” interrupted Ginger enthusiastically, “Oh, Grandma, I love old-fashioned stories! If you don’t finish it tonight, could I have `dibs’ to read it myself? I can read anything! Please? Please?”
“Well, dear,” Grandma answered hesitantly, “this book is a little different. I prefer to take a chapter each night and___”
Now Josh was the only one who didn’t appear too thrilled with the story suggestion. His look had said to Grandma, “This could be boring.” He remarked dryly, “What she’s trying to say is, that this is ‒ er ‒ ah—boring and we can’t take too much at a time.”
“Oh, Josh! You make things hard for me!” Suddenly Grandma felt quite old and tired.
But Josh did have a tender heart. “I’m sorry, Grandma. It’s just that ‒ well, I’ve read almost all your books ‒ and ‒ and I do have some homework.”
“Yes, I know. This will go along with our Bible reading. I can guarantee, however, that you’ve never read it, because, as I said, it is old and long out of print. You’ll please sit for the first chapter tonight.”
After a little silent prayer, Grandma began. “The name of this true story is Sweet Sixteen, and it’s about a young lady named Annie.”
“All right!” enthused Crystal. “Grandma, you know I’ll be sixteen in two weeks!”
At this exact moment, Mark’s cockatiel came alive with a shrill wolf whistle (you know, the kind boys call to pretty girls?). The timing was perfect and everyone laughed. “That dumb bird!” Mark exclaimed. “Now there will be no stopping him! Wait—I’ll cover him and put him in the next room.” They left with the bird giving forth repeated cries of “pretty bird” and his continuing wolf whistle.
"Sweet Sixteen. Sounds good, Grandma!" approved Ginger.
“Yeah,” offered Josh loftily. “You notice it’s `Sweet’ Sixteen. You’d better listen hard, Crystal, and it just might do you some good. A little might even rub off on Ginger.” Josh was enjoying the fire beginning to glow in the girls’ eyes.
“Grandma, make him stop!” sputtered Ginger. “He’s always putting us down or making fun of us!” Turning accusing green eyes on her brother, she lectured, “You can cause a lot of damage. I just read in a book how terrible a complex one brother gave a poor Indian girl by always calling her ‘Double Ugly.’ You might be hurting us ‒ a ‒ a ‒ psycho ‒ psychologically!” she finished triumphantly.
“Hmm—‘Double Ugly’ ‒ I must remember that,” Josh twinkled wickedly.
“Aw, knock it off, Josh! Everybody knows Crystal’s not ‘Double Ugly’ or sour either one! Why don’t you both just be quiet and let poor Grandma talk!”
“Thank you, Mark. You give me a ray of hope. But before we begin, I notice little Betsy is yawning a lot. Ginger, dear, would you dress her for bed upstairs? Then she can snuggle here on the couch while we read. We’ll wait."
For once Ginger dispatched her assignment “on the double” and Betsy gratefully settled on the family room couch.
“First, I want to have a little chat about us people—human beings. I think you are old enough and quite mature enough to find it interesting. I want each of you to think a moment about the question I will ask, and offer your suggestions. Apart from food and shelter, what would you say are the very basic, the most important needs of every man, woman and child—old or young? Put another way, what must every human being have in order to feel happy and content?”
The answers came presently: “To be loved;” “to feel secure;” “to know where you’re going.” Then to everyone’s surprise a sleepy, “You need to know ‘bout the Lord Jesus and how He’s gonna take us up to heaven,” came from little Betsy. Everyone laughed. “That’s our Betsy! It’s her very favorite subject, Grandma,” explained Crystal. “She used to wonder how the Lord’s hands could be big enough to catch us all up at once and if we’d leave a big hole in the roof.”
“Nope!” offered Betsy. “Mamma said we’d slip right through like Jesus did.”
“Very right, Betsy dear. Any more ideas?”
Josh had not said a word since being told to be quiet. Now he cleared his throat importantly and offered, “How about being a great surfer?”
“Humph!” snorted Ginger. “Just ignore him, Grandma!”
“Yeah,” drawled Mark. “He’s maybe too—too immature, huh, Grandma?”
Grandma leveled unsmiling eyes at her oldest grandson. “This is a serious discussion. Are you up to it?”
“Good night!” defended Josh. “I was just kidding. Don’t everybody eat me up! Can’t a guy kid a little?”
“That’s just the point. Grandma is treating us like we are serious grown-ups. Now let’s act like it.” Crystal said firmly.
“Well, if you want my real answer to your question, Grandma, it’s that a person needs to be understood. No one around here understands me, that’s for sure!” And Josh looked like a storm cloud.
“Oh—more than you might think, dear,” Grandma answered with a small smile. “I had three just about like you to bring up.” Then assuringly, “Josh, we are trying and we do love you lots.
“To continue now,” went on Grandma, “as the story unfolds, I want you to see if you think the basic needs of this old-fashioned sixteen year old were met. Also think—is she really so different from us? Then there is a scripture we sometimes hear quoted or read: ‘Buy the truth and sell it not.’ This she did. I want us to consider what it means.”
“Oh, Grandma, excuse me,” interrupted Mark, his clear blue eyes troubled. “I know this sounds pretty stupid, but, well—how can anyone ‘buy the truth’? I thought we weren’t to work for salvation.”
“No honest question is stupid, Mark. The 'stupid’ thing is to sit there and pretend you know, or worse, just plain not care. Remember your skateboard when it was stolen at school a while back? I can still hear your anguished cry: `That board cost me hours and hours of hard work last summer!’ You didn’t get it easily, so you really valued it. A person who has earnestly sought to know the truth of God, and searched it out in the Word, isn’t going to lightly give it up just to be—say—more popular and get ahead in the world. If he did so, that would be like ‘selling the truth.’
“By the way—what is truth? Pilate asked the question of Jesus. Many think it is a mysterious, unreachable, profound ‘something.’ The simple fact is that the truth is a person, and He was standing right before Pilate’s eyes. Jesus had said, ‘I am the way, the truth and the life,’ you know. To know Him is to know “The Truth.’ Now there is a whole range of wonderful things, revealed by the Lord, included in what we call the ‘truth of God.’ It includes knowledge of Him, the Church revelation, and many precious treasures revealed in His holy book, the Bible.
To give up these truths for some earthly reason would be ‘selling’ it.
“Now let us join Miss Annie in her search for happiness and the truth. I will say that this young woman seems to have learned more in her sixteenth year than many people learn in a whole lifetime. We surely ought to profit by her interesting little story, don’t you think? Here goes. Chapter one is called ‘Let Her Bloom,’ " and Grandma began reading.
Best friend Emily and I lay across my chintz down comforter in the upstairs bedroom. The afternoon was uncommonly warm for that time of year (early March), and we actually had my window open. A gentle breeze lazily stirred my pink-flowered chintz curtains. I remember as if it had been yesterday. Altogether it was a dreamy, happy time of life for us and we were enjoying it in fullest measure. We had been dreaming a-plenty too, I assure you, and planning as well. You see, Emily’s older sister Harriet was to turn eighteen in two short months. And what a “coming out” ball was being planned! Most of us from the better families of our city, in those days, were given such an introduction to society. This event was usually the beginning of an exciting whirl of entertainment—theaters, balls, musicals, parties and such ‒ all in our best society. Of course it was to be hoped that before long “Mr. Wonderful” would come around, be completely charmed and carry us off to the altar. Then we would live happily ever after in some fine home. Marriage was “it” in those days, and the girls usually married rather young. Yes, the future spread out rosily before us. It was dazzling to think of myself in a lovely rose taffeta which I hoped to wheedle my mother into getting for me. I wanted pink satin slippers too. No more high button shoes at a party for me. That, of course, would mean dropping the dress length and I would look a grand young lady for sure. Father had seen to it that I had dancing lessons and knew how to carry myself. Of course, Mother would hedge a lot on the cut of the neckline and plead for a plainer style and material. My mother always dressed very conservatively—even plainly.
“Why is your mother always so strict and reluctant to let you go to parties?” asked Emily presently. But before I could answer, she went on, “She and some of her Methodist friends are so well, different. On the other hand, there’s Mrs. DuPons, also a Methodist, and even I thought she had too many jewels on for church, and that sweeping feather with a bird’s nest in her hat besides!! Really, it was too much. What I’m saying is, your mother surely has something that many of those ladies lack. However, I do wish she’d let you wear a velvet suit and not complain about our constant talk of the ball.”
“Oh, my mother is so religious! If it weren’t for our father, my sister and I would have a dull life, I can tell you. I heard them talking the other night when they thought I was occupied with my French lesson. ‘Oh, Henry,’ Mother was saying, ‘I do wish you would go to church with me more often and encourage our Annie some in good practices of religion. That girl is getting so giddy and foolish over the glitter of the social world. You indulge her in everything she wishes and I fear it is turning her head. I had so much desired that she would make the decision to become a Christian and a good Methodist before she was caught up in all of that.’ "
"Really?" queried Emily. "And what did your father say?"
“Oh, he was positively superb! Emily, he actually said, ‘Amy, my love, once and for all, stop worrying about these things! With a mother like you and the church training she has had, I’m sure Annie will be all right. And, my dear, let me say that I absolutely refuse to try to make a stuffy, Bible-toting religionist out of that girl! Let her have her youthful pleasures! She’s only young once. I’ve noticed that Annie is very popular with the young ladies and gentlemen, and I for one, enjoy seeing her blossom. Sweet sixteen it is, all right. Just let her bloom!’
“My mother left the room going on about rearing a veritable heathen for all he cared and that her only recourse was to the higher authority—the throne of Grace! Now what do you suppose that means?”
“Annie,” Emily said soberly, “I think it means she’ll pray for you. Do you ever ‒ worry ‒ just a little about ‒ well the judgment day and all that? My Aunt Hetty gets after me the same way wanting me to accept Christ and be saved. She’s Presbyterian, and you know my father is an elder.”
“Oh! I mean to get saved later on, of course! Who doesn’t? But I’ve read many stories about death-bed conversions. There’s always time later on. Hardly anybody dies without a death‒bed scene ‒ calling in the loved ones, last words and all that. But how morbid! Here we are talking about death beds, and we need to decide how to do our hair for the ball!”
Settled in bed that night, I could not quite shake an uneasy feeling about - well, the “throne of Grace.” Father might overrule Mother on these matters, but God? The thought was unsettling, to say the least. Nothing, however, must hinder my enjoyment of the ball.
“There, children!” sighed Grandma. “You have had your introduction to Miss Annie Sweet Sixteen! Who can tell me now ‒ what did Annie think could make her happy?”
“ ‘The ball,’ ‘Parties,’ ‘Pleasures of the world,’” the answers came quickly.
“Yes, but I betcha her Mom and God win!” This from Mark. "'Member Grandpa’s story about the Christian professor from Stanford?” Mark was so attractive when his blue eyes sparkled and he smiled all over his face. “Let me think ‒ oh, yes ‒ he was telling everybody how wild and rebellious he had been, but that he had a grandmother who always prayed he’d be saved. What did he say now, Grandma?”
“He said, ‘I want you rebellious young folks out there to know that if you have a praying grandmother, you haven’t got a chance!”
“‘Ray!” cheered Ginger. “I agree. Annie doesn’t have a chance to go her own way! Good-bye ball!”
“To be continued tomorrow night. Now off to bed or homework with you! Mark, help me get Betsy upstairs to bed, and then I’m going to call Grandpa.” With that Grandma dismissed them. She was pleased to see a downright-pleasant face on Josh as he said a cheerful, “G’night, Grandma! Gotta go do my homework!”