Mighty Fine

     My grandfather taught me a lot about tools, and he had a lot of them, as farmers do.  They hung on nails against one wall or on nearby hooks overhead.  Except that there were no pots or pans in the tool shed, it looked like a gourment chef's atelier, everything within easy reach.  Naturally he had hand saws and hack saws and screwdrivers and pliers and wrenches and clamps and hammers of all descriptions.   Plus he had all manner of grove gadgets and tools for common repairs in the house and in my grandmother's laundry shack where she also "canned" and kept her preserves from the bounty of the farm.  Figs.  Apricots.  Peaches.  All those weekends and school holidays and long summer stretches gave me time to learn how to use tools and to develop a life-long interest in puttering.  Yes, he taught me a lot about tools, but that wasn't the most important thing he taught me.
     My grandfather taught me how to fix things, and there was always something to fix on the farm.  Fix the fence.  Fix the sprinkler.  Fix the lamp.  Fix the leak.  Fix the car.  The work shop was under the same roof as the tool shed.  There was a long work bench along the same wall, right under the tools, which made it easy for him, and later for me, to grab the right ones.  This one-on-one tutorial in fixing things gave me a way of looking at the tool world and the school world.  When something is broken, look at he problem from several sides, think about the different ways to solve it, and consider the tools at your disposal.  With time and concentration and the right tool, you can usually find the fix.  Yes, he taught me about problem-solving, but that wasn't the most important thing he taught me.
     My grandfather taught me things about cars.  Well, about his car, his 1948 Plymouth coupe.  The tool shed and the work shop and the garage -- all the same room.   Oh boy, he took care of that car.  Checked the oil level and tire pressure all the time, and she was a beauty, spotless.  Whenever we needed to go somewhere, or just move the car out because we needed the shop, he turned the key and tapped the push-button starter, and the car hummed immediately to life.  Then he would wait five minutes for the car to warm up before backing out.  You may say, what a waste of gas.  Perhaps, but over a period of 16 years he drove about six thousand miles a year, and after those 16 years the car still ran as quietly and smoothly as the day he bought it.  Plus, gas was about 15 cents a gallon.  Yes, he taught me about taking care of cars and other more important things, but that wasn't the most important thing he taught me. 
     The most important and most memorable teachings took place after breakfast on the sun porch where my grandparents sat in their naughahyde rockers; and while she knitted and he stoked his pipe, they conducted their daily morning devotions.  Over the years they subscribed to a couple of Bible study guides:  "The Upper Room" and "The Daily Bread."  For each day of the month there would be a lesson -- a brief written homily for each day -- with a corresponding passage from the Scriptures; and on those days when I sat with them, my grandfather would hand me his King James Version and tell me to find the Book of Romans, or Second Kings, or Mark, or wherever the reference was that day, and it was my job to read the verses.  From the time I was old enough to read, this was my job at devotion time.  I found out rather quckly how to locate book, chapter and verse.  Over time I began to get a grasp of the story of the Bible from Genesis to Revelation, and the significance and the diverse covenants of the Old and New Testaments.  Of course I also committed a fair amount of Scripture to memory, and one passage especially.
     All the days of my time there added up to more than a year, and every single day of that time there was an immutable tradition.  At the end of the Bible reading, my grandfather would say, in reference to whatever was read that morning, "That was a mighty fine Scripture (he was from Texas); but my favorite Scripture is Matthew 22:36-40."  And then he would quote it, again from the KJV:
          "Master, which is the great commandment in the law?  Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.  This is the first and great commandment.  And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.  On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."
     If I heard it once, I heard it 400 times; and my grandmother, maybe 4,000.  Once or twice I sneaked a peak at my grandmother while grandfather was practicing his daily ritual; and although she had her eyes on the knitting needles, her lips moved along with his.  I couldn't really tell if she was in scriptural agreement, or if there was a slight rolling of the eyes, as if to say, "I've heard this before."
     Not only were those his favorite verses, but it was also the way I saw him live his life.  He did love God with his whole heart, and he did love his neighbors whom he helped, and his grandson whom he taught, and the young men at the orphanage in nearby Fallbook to whom he delivered a trunkful of fresh fruits and vegetables every week.  Love God and love your neighbor.  Bible 101.
     I remember those mornings and my grandfather and what was hidden in my heart so many years ago.  What would my grandfather say if he knew that his grandson turned out to be a church-goer like him, took a sabbatical from his career as a teacher and became a preacher for a season, and not surprisingly cherishes the same Matthew 22:36-40 as a personal devotional favorite?     
     He think he would say, "Mighty fine."