As I was walking this morning along the beach road, I passed a little pink cottage with white trim and the old fashioned metal awnings hanging over each window. Seeing those awnings sent my mind drifting back to the summer I spent with my grandparents as a little seven year old girl. Part of my visit included attending a church camp with them. My Grandpa was a pastor in Ohio; part of the pastor’s responsibility was attending the camp meetings each summer. There were activities for children, several occasions to join in an old fashioned gospel sing-along, powerful preaching, and lots of cokes and candy at the Snack Shack. It was at this camp that I remember hearing for the first time the little song titled, “Henry the Eighth.” Thinking back on the words of that song, it was probably inappropriate for church camp!
Not being from Ohio, I was unfamiliar with the other children at camp, which made me reluctant to participate. The very first morning, my grandparents informed me that I would be attending the children’s service and activities that day. My Grandpa placed me on the little awning covered porch and pointed me in the right direction. It was clear that I had no choice in the matter! So, I set out looking over my shoulder to see if he were watching. Once he’d gone back in, I ducked behind a large tree. Moments later, well maybe seconds, I heard him calling my name, “Dianne, Dianne, come here.” I peeked around the tree to see him pointing to the inside of the cottage. I entered and was immediately told that I would go to the children’s activities that day. I said I was not going. What came next surprised me. My sweet Grandpa spanked me! He had never as much as spoken harshly to me, let alone spanked me. Once I stopped crying, my grandma wiped my face, and once again I was placed on the front porch and pointed in the right direction.
As I made my way past the pink beach cottage, fond thoughts of my Grandpa filled my mind and heart. I reflected on the many things I had learned from him. He had a wonderful tenor voice and sang in a quartet when he was young. I remembered the many times he and my mom, who had a beautiful alto voice, stood behind the numerous pulpits he pastored and sang together. God called him to the pastorate and he answered with a hearty yes. He was faithful to use the gifts God had given him for the Lord’s glory!
My Grandpa had a very sweet demeanor and a gentle, quiet spirit. I never heard him speak of the death of his little boy, Ralph, at the age of eleven from a rare brain tumor. I know the pain was great in losing his little guy, but he never spoke of it.
When he was a pastor in Georgia, he was deeply hurt by a man and his son who stole money from the church through illegally taking money out of the funds from the Day Care offered at the church. These men began to write threatening letters to him if he were to say a word to anyone; they even threatened to harm him physically. He told no one, not even my grandma, but held it in until one day when he suffered a nervous breakdown. He was institutionalized for several months, and after that he and grandma moved to Nashville to live close to our family. He spent the next several years doing handy work at a local college. I never once heard a critical or demeaning word uttered from Grandpa’s lips toward those men as to the pain and loss they had caused him.
Grandpa was a servant. During the summer I spent with him and grandma between seventh and eighth grade, he spent every noontime cooking skillet hamburgers for the two of us; sitting and talking with me over lunch. He was a great swimmer, doing tricks in the water for us. He was a detailed person. The inside layout of their little freezer, full of their garden picks, was a masterpiece! He loved his garden, and I can still smell the marigolds lining the edge.
He was not a perfect man, but he was a gentle, fun, quiet, and faithful man- he was my Grandpa! I am so very grateful that God chose Rev. Edward Stanton Barton to be my Grandpa, and I am thankful for his faithful walk with the Lord and the example he was to me in the way he lived out his life! I am even thankful for the love he showed me that summer inside that little awning covered cottage! Love=discipline!
Father, thank you for the incredible example You gave to me through my Grandpa. (Place name of someone who has impacted your life)The faithful walk of those You place within my life sets a standard for me to attain to, as I walk along the path that You have laid for me. Because my Grandpa loved me and wanted me to learn obedience, he disciplined me. Oh, how many times I was disciplined as a child, and oh, how many times, Lord, You have had to discipline me. What You treasure from your children is obedience and the only way to learn obedience is through discipline that follows disobedience. I am grateful, Father, that in your eyes, discipline equals love. I am incredibly loved!!!!
“…though He was a Son, yet He learned obedience by the things which He suffered.” Hebrews 5:8
“If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land.” Isaiah 1:19
“Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life.” Revelation 2:10b
dianne