From the time she was a little girl, I had my granddaughter, Lana, beside me in the garden.  At first all she wanted to do was play in the dirt but it didn't take long for her to catch the passion of watching seeds spring to life.   


Every year she would help me plant and water the garden and I loved the joy on her face as she picked the products of her labor…now, she didn't eat the vegetables, she just loved growing them!


In the past two years, life has changed.  I no longer have the big garden and Lana has moved far away.  Last year before she moved, I was desperate to hang on to our tradition so I bought a couple of big pots and tomato plants.  I had her plant them before she left and for the first time, the plants didn't make it.  For me, it felt like a mirror to my soul. 


This year I had decided not to plant anything.  I adopted the attitude that it was no use.   It would never be the same without sharing it with Lana. 


That attitude showed me I was still grieving.   Grief is something that never goes away.  It's important you recognize it because you can make steps to go forward and not stay stuck in one place.  I didn't know how to do this but God who is so rich in mercy, showed me the way.


It turned out that Lana came up for a couple of weeks this summer.   I had her for three days.  While she was here, I got those big flower pots and checked my seed supply.   Among the packets, I found a little plastic bag with the words “watermelon seeds” that contained two seeds that Lana had saved a few years before.   She got all excited and insisted we plant them.  I didn't have the heart to tell her they probably would not grow.


She planted her precious seeds and went back home with me promising I would water them.    Shortly after she left, I went on a trip and was gone for two weeks.  My sister faithfully watered them but sadly nothing happened.


I felt bad as I had hoped to be proven wrong and we could've shared a “garden” once more.   I ended up stirring the dirt around and sprinkled a few flower seeds on the top.   In just a few days, I saw a sprout.  It was definitely not a flower.  It was a watermelon!   One of Lana's seeds had come to life and with it the part of me that had been grieving came to life also.  It gave me hope.


It's been a month since that seed came to life.  I forgot how fast things can grow.  I've taken pictures of it to send to Lana and it's obvious how it grew overnight. 


This morning I looked out and a flower had appeared on the plant…a promise of something yet to be.   I couldn't wait to tell Lana!   


Will we get a watermelon? I don't know but that's not what's the most important.   I'm holding to the fact that God knew the heart of a grandmother who was grieving something she thought was dead but brought it back to life in a new way.  A good way.


As I was writing this, I forgot to mention that I wrote a children's book for Lana so she would remember all the time we spent together in the garden.  At that time, I didn't even remember I had those watermelon seeds.  This is the closing paragraph:


“We had lots of good vegetables from our garden this year.  I hope I can help GiGi next year.  Maybe we can plant watermelon!”


Coincidence?  No. It was a hug from God showing how much He loves me and Lana.  That's what I want Lana to remember.  That's the legacy.



Update:  Since I wrote this story a few months ago, we did get a couple of watermelons!    It has been a joy to share this with Lana.   I told her I would try and find a way to ship one to to her!

Broken Crayons Still Color

By Eileen Glotfelty • April 6, 2025
When I was a child, I loved the box of crayons that had 64 colors. I gravitated toward the metallic ones because they were so unique. Two years ago, I took a trip with my grandchildren to the Crayola Crayon Factory. I don't know who was more excited. After going through the various exhibits, we ended up in the gift shop where we could take a container and fill it with every crayon color imaginable. I felt like a kid again as I chose each one. I told myself I was buying them for my grandchildren but I knew who they were for. I don't have to tell you I chose every metallic color they had. Back at home, I was wary of letting the grandkids use them for fear they would break them and once they were broken, I didn't want to use them. Ridiculous I know. Next month, I'll be 70 years old. As this milestone comes closer, so does a lot of self-awareness and introspection. I used to think that by this age, I'd have shifted into the “golden years” and everything would be ok. My kids would be grown and settled. I would be retired and spending time teaching my grandchildren how to bake cookies and volunteering somewhere doing community service. I also thought I'd be growing old with the love of my life and we would finally get to travel to all the places we had always wanted to see. Yes, my kids are grown and I do travel but not the way I thought. My body has decided to start protesting its age so I am limited in what I can do and I find myself alone most of the time. I've started to wonder if this is all there is? Why am I still here? Maybe you've felt the same way. I don't know exactly what the reason is other than I have the blessing and wisdom of living this long. I've had trials and challenges that I've walked through and come out the other side. My heart's desire is to help others who are discouraged and feel hopeless. I've asked myself many times how I could help someone else when I have such a long way to go myself and then I heard the words, “broken crayons still color.” Those words changed my perspective and gave me purpose. They showed me that God can take me in my broken, imperfect state and use me for good. He doesn't see the broken crayon, He sees the beautiful colors and He sees my heart. He sees the whole picture. So as long as I have breath, there's a reason. He's not finished with me yet.

Take the Time

By Eileen Glotfelty • January 15, 2025
I've heard a lot about the importance of sitting in silence and solitude. I've never been a fan of either one. Silence makes me feel awkward so I try to fill it by rattling on about something random. Most times it would've been better if I kept my mouth shut. Solitude is another story. I would never voluntarily choose to be alone. I used to think solitude was a result of rejection and I would do everything in my power to avoid it. Lately, I've been looking at both in a different light. I've been on a search for God's love for a long time. I had heard of it but it always seemed just beyond my grasp. Yesterday a friend challenged me. He asked me what my time with God looked like. I answered him honestly. God was part of a routine. I get up and don't know what to do with myself so I sit and have my “quiet time” with the Lord for lack of anything else. A default. He then told me about his time of silence and solitude. It was a beautiful thing full of raw emotion and longing. He came away feeling loved and strengthened. As he spoke, I felt something stir within me. I wanted what he had. I wanted to meet with God and to know His love. God was waiting and He wanted me to come to Him and I did. It's hard to explain but all I know is that I woke up with anticipation and expectation. I went to my chair and started thinking of times where God met me. He's carried me through many storms, held my hand as I walked through the unknown and held me as I cried many tears. He's healed my heart when it's been broken and guided me when I had no idea what to do. I remembered how He loved my kids and brought them through trauma and tragedy when they didn't know He was there. He's healed me physically and emotionally and never turned His back on me even when I turned my back on Him. As I sat there I got a sense of His mercy, love and faithfulness. Words came to my mind that were so clear that I had to write them down. In closing, I'd like to share them and encourage you that if any of it resonates, take some time and embrace the silence and solitude. God will meet you there. "Your Love Your love is peace. Your love is power. Your love is mercy. Your love is faithfulness. Your love is strength. You came as a baby. You surrendered Your power and authority for me. You suffered for me. You didn't have to, but You did. How can I ever thank You? You didn't do it for praise. You did it for love.”

And The Stockings Were Hung

By Eileen Glotfelty • December 21, 2024
“And the stockings were hung on the chimney with care.” Most of us are familiar with that phrase. In my family, Christmas stockings have always been one of the best gifts of the day. I made my first Christmas stocking after I was married. I didn't know what I was doing but I managed to make one for my husband that showed him skiing down a mountain as that was something he loved to do. From there most of them were made from kits that involved a lot of felt and sequins to create the scene. I would work on them when I was expecting my next child as I sat outside and watched the older ones play. When it came down to my youngest, she didn't get hers until she was 5 as I had my hands full with the four of them. I'm surprised I actually finished it. Each of those stockings tell a story and were chosen with much love. Some were so well loved that I had to make them a second time. I never minded. I was very protective of them and made sure they were stored carefully each year. As my family expanded over the years through marriages and births, I carried on the tradition and made stockings for each one. Every year at Christmas, I would love going shopping to find special surprises to fill them. In my old house they would hang from the mantel until they were filled and then placed under the tree. The best part of all was seeing everyone's faces as they pulled out each item. Those were special times. Now things have changed and instead of the stockings being filled and placed under my tree, they get packed in my suitcase and travel many miles. I've decided this will be the last year and when I return home from seeing my family, I will leave the stockings with them. As I made the decision, I was surprised at the emotions that rose up in me. I realized that I was afraid to let go of them because it would be the end of something I wasn't ready to give up. I found that I was holding onto something that I needed to release. It's not about the stockings, they're just a physical reminder of what used to be. There's a time to hold on and a time to let go. The Book of Ecclesiastes says it so beautifully: “To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, And a time to die; A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted; A time to kill, And a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up; A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing; A time to gain, And a time to lose; A time to keep, And a time to throw away; A time to tear, And a time to sew; A time to keep silence, And a time to speak; A time to love, And a time to hate; A time of war, And a time of peace.” Seasons change and when they do, it's an opportunity for me to change and become the best I can be and with God's grace, I can do it with peace and joy. It just occurred to me that I've never made a stocking for myself…maybe now’s the time.