In My Grandfathers Hand
This story I wrote some time ago and it is a reflection of what it would be for my grandson or great-grandson asking about and trying to understand what it was like to be alive today, the day you and I are living in now.
IN MY GRANDFATHERS HAND
The sky lightens up before dawn. At first it is not noticeable, yet the birds seem to know it and begin their day with songs of praise. Today is the anniversary of the passing of my grandfather. Thoughts come to mind and memories rise up and, at times, overwhelm me. My thoughts are with him as i begin my morning prayers. As i meditate, my thoughts go back to the time when i was much younger and my grandfather was taking care of me while the parents were out of town. We woke up on a day not much different than this one.
i was fast asleep when i felt a gentle kiss on my forehead. i opened my eyes to see my grandfather smiling with his deep brown eyes and grey hair. His eyes, those eyes of wisdom, smiling on their own, independent and contributing to a radiance that i would always relish in.
“It’s time to get up already?” i asked.
“Yes dear one,” he responded. “Get ready and have some tea with me.”
i got up and got ready. The wrist watch he gave me the day before was still on my arm. i was unwilling to take it off. i still have that watch, without the lens, and cherish it so much, the faded leather and exposed face notwithstanding. i went down and had some juice as he finished his tea. Today was a special day; it was to be a day to remember. It was a Holy Day, the Birth of the Báb.
We silently left the house and started walking down the street. We joined others as we all headed to the same place, the bright dome marking our local House of Worship. Dawn was approaching and we were headed to say our dawn prayers. i still remember the feeling of my small hand in his as we walked. He was smiling and singing a song softly, a simple and lyrical song. i had never heard that song before and asked him what it was. He told me that it was a song that he had learned many years ago in children’s classes. He told me that it was an old song from the days he was a child and his mother had taught it to him. It was about ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
“Why have i not heard that song before,” i asked him.
“Little one,” he said in his deep and loving voice, “there are many things that do not pass from generation to generation. These are the things of no consequence.” He paused and resumed. “What is important is prayer, reading the writings, being of service and all the other things that your parents and teacher help you with.” There are songs from the early days of the faith that are lost to us just as some of the songs that i learned will pass with my generation. What brings joy to me,” he continued, “is the new and beautiful ways that you children find to praise God and His creation.”
As we were approaching the House of Worship the light was glowing at the predawn and illuminating the top of the House of Worship. It reminded me of some of the original writings of Bahá’u’lláh illuminated by the artwork; a back-drop celebrating the object illuminated. The closer our approach to the House of Worship, the quieter it seemed to get. That silence just before the break of day. Birds were singing, the same sounds that i hear outside my window today.
There were eighteen steps leading up to the entrance. i thought of the eighteen Letters of the Living that the Báb had sent out to prepare people for the coming of Bahá’u’lláh. i remembered some of the names from Children’s Classes but not all the names. We entered into a large auditorium with seats all facing towards Bahjí. We sat in my favorite spot, the center of the room directly below the Greatest Name. We sat in silence waiting for the program to begin. i remember looking at my grandfathers face and seeing him deep in prayer. i could tell he was either praying or reciting the writings. His face was at peace and i could see his lips barely move as he was reading to himself. The program started, i remember someone telling me that if i did not understand the words to think about the suffering that Bahá’u’lláh went through in the Most Great Prison. The program ended and we left to spend a few minutes in the gardens before going to breakfast. We sat amid the beautiful flowers and a question came to my mind.
“Grandfather?” i asked, “What was it like when you were my age?”
He sat and thought about it. “What about my childhood would you like to know?” he asked me.
i thought about it again, i thought about how special this day was and then it became clear to me. “Did you go to the House of Worship with your grandfather when you were my age?”
“Ah,” he said, “when i was your age we did not have a House of Worship in our town. We would go to our neighborhood Bahá’í Center for our Holy Day Celebrations. There were not as many Bahá’í’s back then as there are today.” “In my grandfathers day there were so few Bahá’í’s that they would meet in people’s houses.”
This brought new thoughts to me as the history of the Faith came to my mind and i realized that what he was talking about with his grandfather was much of what i thought of as history.
“Do you mean,’ i asked, “that they would have devotionals in their homes similar to what we have with our friends in our house, but the people who came were the whole community?”
“Yes, dear one,” answered my grandfather.
“Grandfather, did they also have Study Circles in their houses back then?”
“Yes they did.” He paused then continued. “It is because of those activities and their devotion and dedication to the guidance from the Universal House of Justice that we have as many Bahá’í’s as we do today.”
My grandfather grew silent and i could tell he was deep in thought. i knew that he would eventually tell me what was on his mind. Slowly he came around and spoke.
“Little one, my grandfathers grandfather lived in the time of Bahá’u’lláh and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Many times i wondered while growing up what it was like in those days. It became clear to me, and this you should pay attention to, each of us is asked for a form of sacrifice for the time we live. It was important for those early believers to do what they needed to do and we have our plan for what we need to do today.”
“i will,” i immediately responded. Then i thought again about it and said: “Really, grandfather, i will remember.”
After that we left on the way to have breakfast with friends and family and then i had the park to look forward to and sailing with him in the small boats that they had there.
It was a day to remember and one that brought into perspective what history is all about and how important it is for us to do what we are asked to do. These thoughts of that long past day come to my mind as i ready myself for this mornings walk to the House of Worship and dawn prayers.
Its time to leave now, i am ready to walk coat in hand and, reminiscent of that long past day, i hold my grandson’s hand. This time it is his small and promising hand within my long tested and faithful hand.
Shiidon Bahí Hawley, March 15, 2007
IN MY GRANDFATHERS HAND
The sky lightens up before dawn. At first it is not noticeable, yet the birds seem to know it and begin their day with songs of praise. Today is the anniversary of the passing of my grandfather. Thoughts come to mind and memories rise up and, at times, overwhelm me. My thoughts are with him as i begin my morning prayers. As i meditate, my thoughts go back to the time when i was much younger and my grandfather was taking care of me while the parents were out of town. We woke up on a day not much different than this one.
i was fast asleep when i felt a gentle kiss on my forehead. i opened my eyes to see my grandfather smiling with his deep brown eyes and grey hair. His eyes, those eyes of wisdom, smiling on their own, independent and contributing to a radiance that i would always relish in.
“It’s time to get up already?” i asked.
“Yes dear one,” he responded. “Get ready and have some tea with me.”
i got up and got ready. The wrist watch he gave me the day before was still on my arm. i was unwilling to take it off. i still have that watch, without the lens, and cherish it so much, the faded leather and exposed face notwithstanding. i went down and had some juice as he finished his tea. Today was a special day; it was to be a day to remember. It was a Holy Day, the Birth of the Báb.
We silently left the house and started walking down the street. We joined others as we all headed to the same place, the bright dome marking our local House of Worship. Dawn was approaching and we were headed to say our dawn prayers. i still remember the feeling of my small hand in his as we walked. He was smiling and singing a song softly, a simple and lyrical song. i had never heard that song before and asked him what it was. He told me that it was a song that he had learned many years ago in children’s classes. He told me that it was an old song from the days he was a child and his mother had taught it to him. It was about ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
“Why have i not heard that song before,” i asked him.
“Little one,” he said in his deep and loving voice, “there are many things that do not pass from generation to generation. These are the things of no consequence.” He paused and resumed. “What is important is prayer, reading the writings, being of service and all the other things that your parents and teacher help you with.” There are songs from the early days of the faith that are lost to us just as some of the songs that i learned will pass with my generation. What brings joy to me,” he continued, “is the new and beautiful ways that you children find to praise God and His creation.”
As we were approaching the House of Worship the light was glowing at the predawn and illuminating the top of the House of Worship. It reminded me of some of the original writings of Bahá’u’lláh illuminated by the artwork; a back-drop celebrating the object illuminated. The closer our approach to the House of Worship, the quieter it seemed to get. That silence just before the break of day. Birds were singing, the same sounds that i hear outside my window today.
There were eighteen steps leading up to the entrance. i thought of the eighteen Letters of the Living that the Báb had sent out to prepare people for the coming of Bahá’u’lláh. i remembered some of the names from Children’s Classes but not all the names. We entered into a large auditorium with seats all facing towards Bahjí. We sat in my favorite spot, the center of the room directly below the Greatest Name. We sat in silence waiting for the program to begin. i remember looking at my grandfathers face and seeing him deep in prayer. i could tell he was either praying or reciting the writings. His face was at peace and i could see his lips barely move as he was reading to himself. The program started, i remember someone telling me that if i did not understand the words to think about the suffering that Bahá’u’lláh went through in the Most Great Prison. The program ended and we left to spend a few minutes in the gardens before going to breakfast. We sat amid the beautiful flowers and a question came to my mind.
“Grandfather?” i asked, “What was it like when you were my age?”
He sat and thought about it. “What about my childhood would you like to know?” he asked me.
i thought about it again, i thought about how special this day was and then it became clear to me. “Did you go to the House of Worship with your grandfather when you were my age?”
“Ah,” he said, “when i was your age we did not have a House of Worship in our town. We would go to our neighborhood Bahá’í Center for our Holy Day Celebrations. There were not as many Bahá’í’s back then as there are today.” “In my grandfathers day there were so few Bahá’í’s that they would meet in people’s houses.”
This brought new thoughts to me as the history of the Faith came to my mind and i realized that what he was talking about with his grandfather was much of what i thought of as history.
“Do you mean,’ i asked, “that they would have devotionals in their homes similar to what we have with our friends in our house, but the people who came were the whole community?”
“Yes, dear one,” answered my grandfather.
“Grandfather, did they also have Study Circles in their houses back then?”
“Yes they did.” He paused then continued. “It is because of those activities and their devotion and dedication to the guidance from the Universal House of Justice that we have as many Bahá’í’s as we do today.”
My grandfather grew silent and i could tell he was deep in thought. i knew that he would eventually tell me what was on his mind. Slowly he came around and spoke.
“Little one, my grandfathers grandfather lived in the time of Bahá’u’lláh and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. Many times i wondered while growing up what it was like in those days. It became clear to me, and this you should pay attention to, each of us is asked for a form of sacrifice for the time we live. It was important for those early believers to do what they needed to do and we have our plan for what we need to do today.”
“i will,” i immediately responded. Then i thought again about it and said: “Really, grandfather, i will remember.”
After that we left on the way to have breakfast with friends and family and then i had the park to look forward to and sailing with him in the small boats that they had there.
It was a day to remember and one that brought into perspective what history is all about and how important it is for us to do what we are asked to do. These thoughts of that long past day come to my mind as i ready myself for this mornings walk to the House of Worship and dawn prayers.
Its time to leave now, i am ready to walk coat in hand and, reminiscent of that long past day, i hold my grandson’s hand. This time it is his small and promising hand within my long tested and faithful hand.
Shiidon Bahí Hawley, March 15, 2007
posted by Shiidon at 6:20 PM
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