My Great Grandma’s Memoir
and Me
For the Generations
“For I will speak to you in a parable. I will teach you hidden lessons from our past – stories we have heard and known, stories our ancestors handed down to us. We will not hide these truths from our children; we will tell the next generation about the glorious deeds of the LORD, about his power and his mighty wonders. ”
I was sixteen years old when I walked into my bedroom and picked up the book my great-grandmother had written.
My hand brushed the red cover while I read the words:
“Miraculous Answers to Prayer and True Incidents in Poetry”
by Esther Brown Motter.
I had just gotten home from her funeral and had a miserable cough besides. I wanted to think about this legendary woman and her legacy. I got into bed, propped up my pillows, and pulled my threadbare comforter up to my chin while
I opened the book and read:
Copyright, Esther Motter, 1977. Printed at Fountain press Printing Division of Transylvania Bible School, Freeport, PA 16229.
I traced the floral scrollwork with my finger. The ink had settled into the sleek, creamy white paper. I gently turned the page.
I heard her aged British voice as proper as the Queen herself as I began to read:
Preface
I have always had an urge to write, but then I am also a procrastinator; I keep putting it off, and sometimes as I turn off the urge, it comes again and again, till this last week, I decided once and for all and said yes to the inner urge.
I like to work with my hands, such as knitting, and any craftwork fascinates me. Naturally, I would use knitting as an excuse to delay writing, for one cannot knit and write at the same time, and I know that; however, I shall not use large words, some of which are hard to understand, but plain words, even a child can read.
What shall I write about – plenty of experiences in my life since I turned my life over to the Lord, for I want to glorify Him and tell how God has answered prayer in my life.
At the age of fourteen, I desired to be a Christian, and I'm sure God started dealing with me then. So, I started going to the Church of England in a village named Dinnington in the north of England, about ten miles from Newcastle on Tyne in Northumberland, singing hymns and trying to act right. You might say it did not work too well, for I possessed a temper that sometimes upset me. However, I would still go to church on Sunday nights, walking four miles there and back, coming alone through the dark woods and saying over and over again the 23rd Psalm till it must have been four miles long; somehow, it was a comfort to me that Psalm.
…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me…
In the year 1912, a letter came to my parents from my grandmother in America asking – did she have a girl who would travel there and take care of the house and her in her old age; when they asked me, I said, “Yes, I will go.” So, my grandmother sent my fare, which settled it for me. On June 7, 1912, I embarked for the New World. My father had always wanted to come to America, but there were always hindrances in his case, but for me, everything was smooth sailing.
