Breakfast blessing

Breakfast Blessing

In February 1964, Frieda Regehr, who was living in Paraguay, came to visit her 90-year-old mother Evangeline Rempel in Winnipeg.  Evangeline was quite hard of hearing and so Frieda wrote her thoughts and observations in a notebook that her mother could then read at her leisure. The following is from that notebook about her memories of her grandfather, Heinrich Dirks.

I thought of Grandfather’s blessing. Do you remember how he blessed each one of us, when he came to visit us?

In the morning, we children could hardly wait to go to the guest room to wake up Grandpa. He had arrived late that night and we had to be quiet so he could sleep. But we felt like shouting with joy as soon as we were awake.

At last, we were allowed to go quietly to his room. On the way we argued in a whisper about who should wake him. “You did it last time, now I want a chance.” But when we came to the door, we were silent and just looked in. “He is still sleeping,” we whispered. We were pleased about that. He was a big man and the bottom of the bed hung low. “Let’s see if it is touching the floor!” “No, but almost!” No one noticed that our white-bearded Grandpa was not sleeping anymore, just enjoying watching us. Quietly one of us would touch his arm or his shoulder. “Grandpa, wake up!” “Breakfast is ready.” “Mama made ‘Schmacks’” (a spread made of chicken liver, eggs and cream). Sometimes he would quickly put an arm around the nearest child. We could greet him and then go until he was ready.

O it took so long until he was ready! And so long when he was finally sitting in the dining room! First he prayed. It seemed like a long time for us. And then the delight of watching him eat. A corner of the big white serviette was pushed behind his collar. Mama poured the coffee into “Grandpa’s cup,” a big one, because his hands, which reached so gracefully to grasp it, were not sure anymore, but trembled slightly. But he had such good teeth and he ate with enjoyment. The heel of the white loaf of bread seemed like a delicacy when he bit into it. It made you envious.

“Give me a little piece, too,” one of us said, even though we had eaten breakfast, and he gave it.

When he was finished and had put the serviette down, he turned to us. “Come here,” he said to Heinz, and we others felt he was being favored. Grandpa laid his hand on his head and spoke. What was he saying for so long? As a little girl, the first time that I can remember I was not yet five, but was not walking on crutches anymore. I realized all of a sudden that he was praying. Then he called Neta and blessed her. At last I could come and stand close to his knee, but his hand felt heavy and I understood little. One sentence that I remember was, “God has done a miracle in your life!” Other words that come to mind, “long life”...”blessing”...”to the honor of Your Name.” Then he called Lydia. Lina or Greti he held as a fidgety plump baby on his lap. Thus he blessed us.

While we were still small, he blessed us every time he visited us, probably once a year. Later he prayed with us during morning devotions. I still remember how he prayed for us children and for our children's children. It came as if it were out of infinity to us and on to infinity beyond us. His prayers and his blessing still count, not only for us but for our descendents.