They agreed to listen to one story.

When I offered to read them a story from my most recent book, Discover Your Great Adventure, our grandsons informed me, with a bit of healthy pride, that they can read for themselves now. After all, they are a big five and eight years old. But this book of Grandma’s adventures grabbed their curiosity, so they agreed. To one story.

(Not so long ago, before they were able to read for themselves.)

“Could you read another one?”

Austin snuggled against my shoulder and pulled the fuzzy blanket closer, spreading it across my lap and his. Beckham’s interested glance told us he was thinking the same thing. So I searched the table of contents for the next adventure.

What began as one bedtime story from Discover Your Great Adventure turned into another.

And another.

And another.

Beckham and Austin’s eyes grew wide as I read about my terrifying kayak ride past a pirate ship in the Andaman Sea, in far-off Thailand.

“Another?” they pleaded.

This time, I opened my first book, Tire Tracks. They tracked closely as an unbelievable story about their dad unfolded. Andrew, as a preteen, was miraculously protected when he flew over the guard rail while skiing and tumbled down the steep side of a mountain.

“That couldn’t happen!” my scientifically-minded grandson exclaimed. I could see the wheels churning in his mind. It led to a deep conversation about God’s ability to protect us and His mysterious ways of not always doing so.

I was pleasantly surprised they understood my book’s humor. The boys laughed at my trying to smash my way out of a bathroom stall because I didn’t know all I needed to do was press a little button.

They snickered at my being stuck holding a store mannequin arm when I was four. Beckham inquired with a slightly sarcastic tone, “Now let me get this straight. You would rather hold onto a plastic arm than go find your mother??” We discussed how four-year-olds who are caught off guard don’t always have the best decision-making skills.

“Do you have any more stories about our dad?” Austin asked, leaning closer. They were silent in thought when I read about the very specific answer to their dad’s confident prayers for a basketball net when he was three years old.

“We’re going to ask our dad if these stories are true.”

 I encouraged them to do so! I imagined the meaningful conversation they would have, as Andrew recalled these evidences of God’s care over the years.

“Can we read that story again?”

“Can we read the story again, about our dad rescuing his sister from being kidnapped?” By now, it was getting late. We didn’t want their parents to arrive home expecting a quiet house, only to find their two oldest children still wide awake.

“We can read that next time!” we promised, as I ended our time with the nail-biting account of my almost becoming a truck’s hood ornament.

As Peter and I tucked them into bed and rubbed their backs, they drifted off to sleep. My heart overflowed with love and joy. I marveled that my stories were clear enough to be grasped by their impressionable young minds, these dearly loved ones to whom I dedicated my books. Intertwined in each story are precious seeds of God’s faithfulness, now planted in the next generation.

Seeds of God’s faithfulness

Prayerfully, the seeds planted will sprout, grow, and bear fruit that bears fruit that bears fruit. Perhaps someday they will be telling their grandkids these exciting tales of their great great grandparents, as well as accounts of their own faith adventures: the ongoing fruit of seeds planted one quiet summer night, snuggled next to Grandma.

“Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord.” – Psalms 102:18

What stories were passed on to you from your parents or grandparents?

Is there something God has done, in your life or someone else’s, that you can share with a friend or family member whose faith needs to be strengthened?