Grandparents Inspirational Quotes

I miss him still today: his long, whiskery eyebrows, his huge hands and hugs, his warmth, his prayers, his stories, but above all his shining example of how to live and how to die.

The cactus thrives in the desert while the fern thrives in the wetland. The fool will try to plant them in the same flowerbox. The florist will sigh and add a wall divider and proper soil to both sides. The grandparent will move the flowerbox halfway out of the sun. The child will turn it around properly so that the fern is in the shade, and not the cactus. The moral of the story? Kids are smart.

A Grandmother thinks of her grandchildren day and night, even when they are not with her.She will always love them more than anyone would understand.

I learned a lot from the stories my uncle, aunts and grandparents told me: that no one is perfect but most people are good; that people can’t be judged by their worst or weakest moments; that harsh judgements can make hypocrites of us all; that a lot of life is just showing up and hanging on; that laughter is often the best, and sometimes the only response to pain. Perhaps most important, I learned that everyone has a story – of dreams and nightmares, hope and heartache, love and loss, courage and fear, sacrifice and selfishness. All my life I’ve been interested in other people’s stories. I wanted to know them, understand them, feel them. When I grew up into politics, I always felt the main point of my work was to people a chance to have better stories. - Page 15, Paragraph 5, ‘My Life’ by Bill Clinton. –Hard cover version-

When she smiles, the lines in her face become epic narratives that trace the stories of generations that no book can replace.

It’s often said when a baby is born so is a grandparent; well, for me it turned out that when I was born it was also the birth of a Ding Dong.

Butterfly Kisses Aged imperfections stitched upon my face years and years of wisdom earned by His holy grace. Quiet solitude in a humble home all the family scattered now like nomads do they roam. Then a gift sent from above a memory pure and tangible wrapped in innocence and unquestioning love. A butterfly kiss lands gently upon my cheek from an unseen child a kiss most sweet. Heaven grants grace and tears follow as youth revisits this empty hollow.

Mothers of the fathers of the fatherless children, you are a mother, therefore, you should truly understand and be sincere regarding where the mother of your son’s children is coming from. Not to mention, grandparents, you are not helping your son by making undercover moves. More so, you are hindering him from being a father, and you are helping him stray off track even further. As mothers, we have to work together for a far greater change than being biased and taking someone’s side, especially knowing they are in the wrong.

I think that mere distance cannot break the bond between grandparents and their grandchildren.

Today, we are able to do what your parents would would have dismissed as impossible and your grandparents as nothing short of magical.

This was fresh, rich, heavenly, succulent, soft, creamy, kiss-my-ass, cows-gotta-die-for-this, delightfully salty, moo-ass, good old white folks cheese, cheese to die for, cheese to make you happy, cheese to beat the cheese boss, cheese for the big cheese, cheese to end the world, cheese so good it inspired a line every first Saturday of the month: mothers, daughters, fathers, grandparents, disabled in wheelchairs, kids, relatives from out of town, white folks from nearby Brooklyn Heights, and even South American workers from the garbage-processing plant on Concord Avenue, all patiently standing in a line that stretched from the interior of Hot Sausage’s boiler room to Building 17’s outer doorway, up the ramp to the sidewalk, curling around the side of the building and to the plaza near the flagpole.

I am often asked how it is that I am able to value people to such a deep degree. Apparently, I exhibit an ability to value others, that goes beyond ordinary. Well, the answer to that is simple. And it's not a religious answer, either. You see, it goes like this, when I look into a person's eyes, I am deeply aware of the fact that I am not only looking into the eyes of this person right here in front of me; but that I am looking into the eyes of a child, a baby, a grandparent... I am looking into the eyes of someone who has dreams at night, someone who plans for a future, someone who cries and laughs... it's not just the person standing in front of me, that I see; but I see all the persons that the individual has ever been and ever will be. I even see who they are in their dreams at night. You see, a person is much more than just a person! A person is a collection of vast and wide stories, each one good enough to read! So when I see people, I see all of these things! How can I not value a person when I see them in this way?

Perhaps Gregor Mendel was inspired by Lucretius: “It may also happen at times that children take a after their grandparents, or recall the features of great-grandparents. This is because the parents’ bodies often preserve a quantity of latent seeds, grouped in many combinations, which derive from an ancestral stock handed down from generation to generation. From these Venus evokes a random assortment of characters, reproducing ancestral traits of expression, voice or hair; for these characters are determined by specific seeds no less than our faces and bodily members.

There’s no Martin Luther here,” he said, “and whether the Vatican pays attention, who knows?” It wouldn’t be easy. “We’re dealing with a medieval organization, an organization that represented authority to my grandparents and other immigrants. It was an organization that was respected because it educated them, it gave them a place in the New World, it gave them an identity.

Science uses the Red Shift to measure deep cosmic distances. But how to measure deep historic time? How about—the Saffron Shift. If history itself had a color, it is . . . like wood or bark, or living forest floor. Assigning hues to time periods, the sum total of history is saffron-brown—but the chromatic arc starts from blinding white (prehistory) to sun-yellow (Ancient Greece), then deepening to pale wood tones (Dark Ages) and finally exploding like an infinite chord into a full brown palette that includes mahoganies, siennas (Middle Ages), oak, sandalwood (the Renaissance), cherry, maple (Age of Reason), and near-black old woods (Industrial Revolution) for which there may not be names. As time approaches our own, the wood-brown palette fades to a weird glassy colorlessness, goes black-and-white for a brief span as you think of photographs of your grandparents, and then again fades until we get a clear medium that is the color of the world. And the present moment is perfectly transparent. It's only as you start looking into the future, that the colors start returning. The glass is turning silvery with a murky haze, and there is blue somewhere in the distance . . .

What I remember most clearly is how it felt. I’d just finished painting a red fire engine-like the one I often walked past near my grandparents’ house. Suddenly the teachers, whose names I've long forgotten, closed in on my desk. They seemed unusually impressed, and my still dripping fire engine was immediately and ceremoniously pinned up. I don’t know what they might have said, but their unexpected attention and having something I’d made given a place of honor on the wall created an overwhelming and totally unfamiliar sense of pride inside me. I loved that feeling, and I wanted to feel it again and again. That desire, I suppose, was the beginning of my career. I have no idea where my fire engine painting ended up, but I never forgot the basic layout. Several decades later, it served as the inspiration for this sketch for an illustration in a book called Why the chicken crossed the Road.

Trust your feelings!”—But feelings are nothing final or original; behind feelings there stand judgments and evaluations which we inherit in the form of . . . inclinations, aversions. . . . The inspiration born of a feeling is the grandchild of a judgment—and often of a false judgment!—and in any event not a child of your own! To trust one’s feelings—means to give more obedience to one’s grandfather and grandmother and their grandparents than to the gods which are in us: our reason and our experience. —Friedrich Nietzsche

There are all sorts of different families, Katie. Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country - and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months... even years at a time. But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever.

Feelings and their origination in judgments.― 'Trust your feelings!' But feelings are nothing final or original; behind feelings there stand judgments and evaluations which we inherit in the form of feelings (inclinations, aversions). The inspiration born of a feeling is the grandchild of a judgment and often of a false judgment! and in any event not a child of your own! To trust one's feelings means to give more obedience to one's grandfather and grandmother and their grandparents than to the gods which are in us: our reason and our experience.

Fiona couldn't summon a smile. His grandfather sighed. 'If you insist on pity, then really you must pity yourself. Your head is still very empty.' Fionn frowned, indignation jostling the urge to cry fro a precious, fleeting second. His grandfather chuckled. 'Start filling it up, lad. That is your greatest responsibility. To live a life of breathless wonder, so that when it begins to fade from you, you will feel the shadow of its happiness still inside you and the blissful sense that you laughed the loudest, loved the deepest, and lived fearlessly, even as the specifics of it all melt away.

For some people, the lure of travelling and exploration is just too strong to resist. I have jokingly called this the ‘Itchy Feet Syndrome’. Years ago, you would have been able to spot this person easily, as their passport would have been filled with exotic stamps and visas. Today, they are likely to have a mass of photos and travel stories uploaded onto their Facebook page or blog. So what makes some people reach for their passport at every opportunity? What inspires them to leave home and travel the world on a sailboat or in a converted van? Is it simply a need to explore and see what is around the next corner? Or is it a deeper desire to be free, to live a simpler life? On talking to many of the authors who have contributed their travel story to this anthology, it became clear that having ‘Itchy Feet’ is a real thing. Many have described how they felt this way from a young age, or even inherited this from their parents or grandparents. What is clear is that their desire to travel is so strong they cannot resist the attraction of the next new place or experience.

It was 1996, and the word “appropriation” never occurred to either of them. They were drawn to these references because they loved them, and they found them inspiring. They weren’t trying to steal from another culture, though that is probably what they did. Consider Mazer in a 2017 interview with Kotaku, celebrating the twentieth-anniversary Nintendo Switch port of the original Ichigo: kotaku: It is said that the original Ichigo is one of the most graphically beautiful low-budget games ever made, but its critics also accuse it of appropriation. How do you respond to that? mazer: I do not respond to that. kotaku: Okay…But would you make the same game if you were making it now? mazer: No, because I am a different person than I was then. kotaku: In terms of its obvious Japanese references, I mean. Ichigo looks like a character Yoshitomo Nara could have painted. The world design looks like Hokusai, except for the Undead level, which looks like Murakami. The soundtrack sounds like Toshiro Mayuzumi… mazer: I won’t apologize for the game Sadie and I made. [Long pause.] We had many references—Dickens, Shakespeare, Homer, the Bible, Philip Glass, Chuck Close, Escher. [Another long pause.] And what is the alternative to appropriation? kotaku: I don’t know. mazer: The alternative to appropriation is a world in which artists only reference their own cultures. kotaku: That’s an oversimplification of the issue. mazer: The alternative to appropriation is a world where white European people make art about white European people, with only white European references in it. Swap African or Asian or Latin or whatever culture you want for European. A world where everyone is blind and deaf to any culture or experience that is not their own. I hate that world, don’t you? I’m terrified of that world, and I don’t want to live in that world, and as a mixed-race person, I literally don’t exist in it. My dad, who I barely knew, was Jewish. My mom was an American-born Korean. I was raised by Korean immigrant grandparents in Koreatown, Los Angeles. And as any mixed-race person will tell you—to be half of two things is to be whole of nothing. And, by the way, I don’t own or have a particularly rich understanding of the references of Jewishness or Koreanness because I happen to be those things. But if Ichigo had been fucking Korean, it wouldn’t be a problem for you, I guess?

Blessed Man” is a tribute to Updike’s tenacious maternal grandmother, Katherine Hoyer, who died in 1955. Inspired by an heirloom, a silver thimble engraved with her initials, a keepsake Katherine gave to John and Mary as a wedding present (their best present, he told his mother), the story is an explicit attempt to bring her back to life (“O Lord, bless these poor paragraphs, that would do in their vile ignorance Your work of resurrection”), and a meditation on the extent to which it’s possible to recapture experience and preserve it through writing. The death of his grandparents diminished his family by two fifths and deprived him of a treasured part of his past, the sheltered years of his youth and childhood. Could he make his grandmother live again on the page? It’s certainly one of his finest prose portraits, tender, clear-eyed, wonderfully vivid. At one point the narrator remembers how, as a high-spirited teenager, he would scoop up his tiny grandmother, “lift her like a child, crooking one arm under her knees and cupping the other behind her back. Exultant in my height, my strength, I would lift that frail brittle body weighing perhaps a hundred pounds and twirl with it in my arms while the rest of the family watched with startled smiles of alarm.” When he adds, “I was giving my past a dance,” we hear the voice of John Updike exulting in his strength. Katherine takes center stage only after an account of the dramatic day of her husband’s death. John Hoyer died a few months after John and Mary were married, on the day both the newlyweds and Mary’s parents were due to arrive in Plowville. From this unfortunate coincidence, the Updike family managed to spin a pair of short stories. Six months before he wrote “Blessed Man,” Updike’s mother had her first story accepted by The New Yorker. For years her son had been doing his filial best to help get her work published—with no success. In college he sent out the manuscript of her novel about Ponce de León to the major Boston publishers, and when he landed at The New Yorker he made sure her stories were read by editors instead of languishing in the slush pile. These efforts finally bore fruit when an editor at the magazine named Rachel MacKenzie championed “Translation,” a portentous family saga featuring Linda’s version of her father’s demise. Maxwell assured Updike that his colleagues all thought his mother “immensely gifted”; if that sounds like tactful exaggeration, Maxwell’s idea that he could detect “the same quality of mind running through” mother and son is curious to say the least. Published in The New Yorker on March 11, 1961, “Translation” was signed Linda Grace Hoyer and narrated by a character named Linda—but it wasn’t likely to be mistaken for a memoir. The story is overstuffed with biblical allusion, psychodrama, and magical thinking, most of it Linda’s. She believes that her ninety-year-old father plans to be translated directly to heaven, ascending like Elijah in a whirlwind, with chariots of fire, and to pass his mantle to a new generation, again like Elijah. It’s not clear whether this grand design is his obsession, as she claims, or hers. As it happens, the whirlwind is only a tussle with his wife that lands the old folks on the floor beside the bed. Linda finds them there and says, “Of all things. . . . What are you two doing?” Her father answers, his voice “matter-of-fact and conversational”: “We are sitting on the floor.” Having spoken these words, he dies. Linda’s son Eric (a writer, of course) arrives on the scene almost immediately. When she tells him, “Grampy died,” he replies, “I know, Mother, I know. It happened as we turned off the turnpike. I felt

Introduction This book is devoted to the blessed Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Daily working together as unified Godhead for our best interest. Would be incomplete without Jesus direct love bestowed upon me, through a perpetual act of faith in God. Fully trusting Jesus to lead me into a carefully laid-out plan. Dedicating this book to my children: Faith is 6, Christian 11, Christina 12 years old. Izzabella, my niece, is also featured in the story, Sally Saved Three Times. These Children are the inspiration for the characters in the stories. Added some personal experiences acquired during my childhood. Appreciate the support of my Mom, Dad, brother, Jacob, for being here for me the last five years. They helped me through hard circumstances when I needed them the most. Thank You! My second family is at the Erie Wesleyan Methodist Church on the corner of 29th and Liberty. They covered my life with prayer; great friends from the Lord; Supporting me on my journey towards my heavenly home. I am also thankful for Mike Lawrence who encouraged me to keep writing. Thanks, brother! This spectacular close friend of mine wrote the Forward of this book. He is God-given for moral support and prayer. Friends forever from Erie, Pennsylvania! There are scripture references, along with Bible lessons featured in each story. These short stories are ideal for devotions or bedtime stories. Suitable for parents and grandparents to read to children, grandchildren. Forward It is rare today to find Christians who are in love with doing the Lord's service. Many would sit to the side and let others bush-wack the path, but Bryan has always been the one who delights in making the way clear for others. His determination, commitment to producing these writings was encouraging to watch come to fruition. Take time now see for yourself how God is directing these works to provide something sincere, pure, innocent for families to enjoy. A pleasant respite from a sin-sick world. So, please, feel free to find a quiet place today and enjoy them alone or with your family. This body of work calls upon us to take time to be holy. I believe with all my heart that this is the authors intent, the Lord's plan, my hearts prayer that they bless you as much as they have blessed me. May God bless the time and energies sacrificed by the author in its production. Sincerely in Christ, Michael Lawrence. When writing with Shirley Dye on messenger about editing the book, she commented that this book would be a blessing to many people. That is my solemn humble prayer. Short Story Content 1. Mr. B.G. (My Testimony) 2. Trevor Wins Three Times 3. Winning The Man ON Rock-Hill 4. Sally Saved Three Times 5. Jonathan and Family Find God 6. Upright and Prideful Key Text, (Matthew 18:3), “And (Jesus) said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

Read this mental healing and strengthening book to your beloved grandpa/grandma and strengthen your family bonding in Christ. Help them to find their way in this life. Help them from being lost in the mind and ways through dementia. If your grandparents can still read, bless them with this salvation from Alzheimers healing book as a gift from you. Tell grandma she is your best friend and anounce to grumpy grandpa that he is your good and inspiring friend whom you love so dearly. This Holy Spirit breathed book allows you to feel strongly that parenting does not stop at all. When you have old grandparents, you are a parent at any age through your love for them.

In the space of each moment, I’ll think of you. In the space of stillness, I’ll hear your heartbeat. In the space of now, I’ll see your loving smile. It’s not our task to fight this journey, But to surrender to its learning, Much like our parents And grandparents have done, Long before you were mine, Long before our time. In the space of each moment, you’ll find me. Patiently waiting for you, Waiting for you, Until you’re ready to be mine.

I never doubted I would have a roof over my head, a school to go to, enough to to eat, books (and newspapers) to read, a safe neighborhood to play in and a doctor to see if I got sick. My parents and grandparents made sure I knew I was lucky.

And whose very snug-looking place is this? said Charlotte as, in a sheltered dip within two miles of the sea, they passed close by a moderate-sized house, well fenced and planted, and rich in the garden, orchard and meadows which are the best embellishments of such a dwelling. (This is basically the description of my maternal great grandparents on Prince Edward Island who lived closer to the sea than two miles. <3)

Finding Favor in God’s Eyes Noah found favor in the eyes of the LORD…. Noah did everything just as God commanded him. —GENESIS 6:8,22     One way to find favor with God is to love His little children. In the New Testament we read where Jesus loved the young children and warned us as adults to be careful not to harm the little children. As a grandparent, I can gain favor with God by being kind and gentle with the little ones in our family. What an honor to be a part of the spiritual development of any child. In government, sports, business, medicine, education, theater, and music—there are those who rise to the top of their professions and are honored because they find favor through their actions, personalities, efforts, or sometimes just because of their social connections. They might be known for very amazing and noble accomplishments like running a nonprofit, discovering a new cancer drug, teaching those thought unteachable, or singing the most beautiful aria the world has ever heard. These are all remarkable reasons to have favor among men. But have you ever thought how much richer life would be to have God find favor with you as a parent, a grandparent? I stand in awe when I think of God finding favor with me, but He does. Noah lived in a world much like today’s, a world full of sin. Humanity hasn’t changed much over the centuries—we just give sin a different name. Yet through all this wickedness, Noah was a person who lived a godly life. His life was pleasing to God even during those evil days. Noah didn’t find favor because of his individual goodness but through his obedience to God. We are also judged according to the same standard—that of our personal faith and obedience. Even though Noah was upright and blameless before God, he wasn’t perfect. God recognized that Noah’s life reflected a genuine faith, but not always a perfect faith. Do you sometimes feel all alone in your walk with God? I know I do. Noah found that it wasn’t the surroundings of his life that kept him in close fellowship with God, but it was the heart of Noah that qualified him to find friendship with God. It isn’t important to find favor from our fellow humans. God’s favor is so much more rewarding. Somehow God’s favor with me is passed down through the favor from my grandchildren. As we live in this very difficult time of history, I might ask, “Do I find favor in God’s sight?” God gives us grace to live victoriously: “He gives us more grace” (James 4:6).

No matter how young or old our parents and grandparents may be, let’s think of creative ways to honor them.

Being a Helper It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him. —GENESIS 2:18     One of the joys of being an older woman is helping teach the younger women how to be helpers for their husbands. Daughters and daughters-in-law need to hear your wisdom when it comes to marriage. Sharing your experience becomes a great reward of your station in life. When I make this suggestion to a group, many women who have adult children will quietly comment that they don’t have anything to teach anyone else. In fact, they are intimidated by the next generation and feel insecure about their experience. This is the perfect reason to begin mentoring another woman. You’ll both discover the depth and breadth of your wisdom as wives and mothers. As a mature adult, you can be the one who encourages your daughters and daughters-in-law in how to be helpers to their mates, one of the great principles of marriage. What a difference it would make if more women would uphold their husbands as they attempt to rise above the pull of the world and toward God’s purposes. You can be the facilitator who will help women to understand and implement Paul’s teaching in Titus 2:3-5: “Teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live…. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God.” As a grandparent, the easiest way to teach is by example. Often married children are not eager to ask their parents about marriage, but they cannot deny your living and modeling Scripture. Be available to help when it is requested. We must be sensitive that we don’t barge unannounced into their lives, but be prepared when the time comes. Prayer: Father God, as a mature woman of God, I want to be used to encourage other women how to be makers of their homes. Give me the perfect timing to be available. In the meantime I will demonstrate Your Word by my life. Amen.  

Worry is an unwanted legacy passed down from grandparents to parents to children. Children are like sponges. They simply absorb the body language and attitude of the parents. The parents are not even aware this is happening. For example, if a child hears the mother repeating a certain worry four or five times, the child simply internalizes the habit.He grows up repeating statements unnecessarily, which is one attribute of worry.

Feelings are nothing ultimate and original; behind the feelings there stand judgments and evaluations, which in the form of feelings (inclinations and disinclinations) are inherited by us. The inspiration that is based upon a feeling is the grandchild of a judgment — and often of a false one! — and in any case not of your own! To trust one's feelings — that means to trust one's grandfather and grandmother and their grandparents more than the gods which are within us: our reason and our experience.

As humans, we share more grandparents than we do not.

Grandparents, Fathers, and Mothers of today were vibrant sons and daughters of past years. Experience matters, for no event is new to life but repetitions. Respect experience in your family. Seek wise counsel

Thinking about my grandparents and my parents. My aunts, uncles, cousins, coaches, mentors and teachers. Everyone who had a hand in teaching me, hewing me, shaping me and empowering me, and I am overwhelmed by the knowledge that, I am the very reason, they ever existed at all.

O Dear God by Maisie Aletha Smikle Thank God He covers With His glory From up above Bestowing His grace On nations of race Shunned scorned and battered Four hundred years The tears they shed in pain Could flood the widest plains The prayers they prayed Could cover the largest ocean bed Justice refuted and rebutted Their spirits churn Perplexed they wondered If their excruciating pains Were in dire vain Their descendants Got no gain from their great grandparents pain and shame Descendants seek no justice For their great grand parents pains Instead descendants wrap their arms In acceptance that their great grandparents pains Were in grave vain Justice! Justice! If not for you But for your poor great grandparents Who knew only woe and sorrow and a life full of horror

Dreams are God’s inspiration to complete His will. A dream is destiny to use the gifts God has given to each of us to uplift and help others.

What was the difference between Anne Frank and any other 15 year old girl living the same nightmare? Nothing! Aside from the fact that Anne spoke through her writings while others kept silent. Someone very special to me recently asked how can I write such personal things as child abuse, relationship problems, sexual addiction, and not fear how the family will feel about these revealings. I have the audacity to write such things because it's MY story. Not my parents, not my brothers, not my aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents... MINE. Note to those contemplating writing nonfiction. Write the story. It's yours to tell. Nevermind how your family will feel. Those that love you will not judge you. I promise. Do not let your testimony be in vain.