Spiritual Renewal

It was with great reluctance that I left the home of "cousin" Doris Clark--at 7:10 this morning. Staying in her home was like a "spiritual retreat." No, we didn't have a preacher delivering a message. No, we didn't have special music from a choral group. In fact, Doris doesn't own a TV, radio, CD or DVD player. The Old German Baptist Brethren share the belief of the Amish that families can function very well without a lot of the so-called modern conveniences. To sit quietly in a rocking chair listening to the ticking of the clock was music in my ears!! It's actually a relief not to have a TV available!! (Except for the local newspaper, I don't know what's going on in the world.) Spending time with a lady whose very dress and covering are an outward expression of her Christian faith speaks much louder than the sermons of many preachers!! Fresh green beans, tomatoes from her garden, raspberries from the yard of a family member... were more delicious than the finest banquets served at a retreat center (IMHO). I experienced anxiety, and sleeplessness, regarding Little Guy repairs BUT felt calm and peaceful in her home and in her presence. I was so blessed to spend eleven nights in her home. The invitation to stay with her was genuine and extended within hours after my arrival in Northern Indiana.

One evening, sitting in a rocking chair, listening to the clock, I remembered a few words from long, long ago. "My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf, so it stood ninety years on the floor." I asked Doris if she remembered that poem. She started singing the words (I had forgotten it was a song). I hope and pray that the memory never fades of a dear lady sewing the binding on a homemade quilt, and softly singing the following song.

Grandfather's Clock

My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by far than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride.

But it stopped short, never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering, tick, tock, tick, tock.
His life seconds numbering, tick tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short, never to go again when the old man died.

In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know,
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;

But it stopped short, never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering, tick, tock, tick, tock.
His life seconds numbering, tick tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short, never to go again when the old man died.

My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time and had but one desire,
At the close of the week to be wound.
And it kept in its place, not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;

But it stopped short, never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering, tick, tock, tick, tock.
His life seconds numbering, tick tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short, never to go again when the old man died.

It rang an alarm in the dead of the night,
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was plumbing its flight,
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by its side;

But it stopped short, never to go again,
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering, tick, tock, tick, tock.
His life seconds numbering, tick tock, tick, tock,
It stopped short, never to go again when the old man died.

-- Henry C. Work