This section is presently under construction, but thanks for stopping by and wanting to get to know a little about me.

I have labeled two past posts that will give you a little window into my story. You will find them below this post.



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My Story

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Blessed By His Love ~ Psalm 103:4 ~ Redeeming Love

It was a simple request. Nothing earth shaking or world changing. All my daughter Laura did was call me and ask me to look up Summer's birth weight in her baby book. Laura's doctor asked her for the sizes of her two previous children and she was drawing a blank as to Summer's exact weight. And of course my brain wasn't retaining that information either.

So I went to Laura's hope chest that we loving tucked away in a little sitting nook in Mike's and my bedroom. I hadn't opened it since it was entrusted to us just days before they left the country in May 2006 as missionaries. I felt funny opening it. I felt as if I was looking into someones private domain. I wasn't prepared for what happened next.
As I carefully opened the lid, suddenly my senses were on overload. I could smell Laura's house! Laying on top of everything were the two matching red taffeta and black velvet dresses we bought the girls the last Christmas they were with us (2005). I immediately snatched them up, hugging them tightly wishing that somehow I could make my little "doodlebugs" reappear inside the dresses. Under the dresses were some favorite stuffed animals and dolls and I could hear Sarah and Summer's little voices echoing with laughter. It was more than this ol' grandmother's heart could bear.

I momentarily forgot the simple request that was asked of me...find Summer's baby book and find her birth weight. For those first few minutes it was more important for me to have an emotional break down. Oh how I missed my daughter and my little granddaughters at that moment (well, not just that moment...every moment). Suddenly the realization that a new granddaughter is about to be born and I won't be there to cuddle with her nor do I know when I'll get to hold her, just added to my flood of tears. Sarah and Summer's little dresses and their dolls and stuffed animals still had their scent. I know what they smell like. I won't have that connection with our sweet little Savannah. I won't know what it feels like to hold her close or what she sounds like when she coos. Sorrow and self-pity just filled my heart.

And then all of a sudden, something old and yet familiar caught the corner of my eye. Something that I had given to Laura at her bridal shower. My Great Grandmother Doty's Bible. Of my three children, Laura was always the one who liked to hear stories of Minnie Doty who was born 100 years, 1 month and 1 day before her. With the Christmas dresses laying neatly across my lap, I reached over to the left side of the hope chest and gently picked up that old, well worn black Bible that I remembered so well.

When I was 10 years old, we moved into the upstairs apartment in my Grandmother Reta's home. It was a beautiful old Victorian complete with pocket doors, glass door knobs, beautiful mahogany bookshelves surrounded the fireplace, a crystal chandelier hung in the drawing room, and a fragrant rose garden in the backyard. But what I remember most about the years we lived there was sitting with Grandma Doty. I never remember her as a well person. My only recollections are of a woman who had a stroke and couldn't do much for herself and she coughed a lot.

I remember spending countless hours sitting in her room with her. She sat in a beautifully carved oak rocker that had overstuffed cushions added to it for comfort. There was a large set of windows in her room with white sheer curtains draping the windows in the summer months. Her chair was positioned so she could see the street and see anyone who entered the foyer of the house. Under the windows was her large end table with an old radio she would listen to, a lamp, Billy Graham's "Hour of Decision" magazines, and this very same Bible I had just picked up out of Laura's hope chest. I know it was the same one. There were several pages that I painstakingly taped back together for Grandma Doty one day. She was holding the Bible on her lap and it began to slip off. She went to grab it, (hard to do with a left arm that didn't work well) and accidentally tore the pages. After finding some tape, I followed her directions to the T. She wanted those pages restored so that not a letter would be missing. From that day on, she usually waited until I returned home from school to read her Bible, only I was the reader. She would tell me where to start reading and when to stop. She would have me stop often and she would tilt her head back, close her eyes and pray out loud, praising God for something or the other. Then she'd have me start again. As a young preteen girl, it seemed like it went on forever!

When she was finished with the Bible reading she would tell me to leave the room and wait outside her door while she entered what she called her prayer closet. Sometimes she would tilt her head back and actually place a white handkerchief over her face so she would not be distracted. I couldn't go anywhere while she was praying because she said she might need my help with something. That's what she said, but I think there was another reason. I think she wanted to give me a glimpse of the legacy she was leaving me. I think she wanted me to understand the extent of her love for me and for God in a way that I would not even begin to understand for many years to come.

When Grandma Doty prayed, there was nothing brief about it! There was much attention to detail. And there had to be time to stop briefly so she could cough....a lot! (I've said for years that my cough is a Grandma Doty cough.) As a young girl, I thought her prayers were foolishness. She prayed "for the heathens in Africa who don't know Christ as Savior. Send someone to them Lord, send them someone to shine Your light in the darkness". She prayed for her children (Reta, Polly and Ada), her children's children (Eleanore, Bob, Don and Ruthann) and their spouses. It didn't stop there. I would hear her name my brother Tom, me and sister Michele and all my cousins and any of my generation that were "yet to be born" she would say. She would pray for our spouses, too. How foolish I thought! I'm just a kid, why is she praying for who I might marry some day? Then she would continue with her praying for the generations that she would never know with the exception of my nephew Tommy whom she was able to see before she died. She prayed for my children (and my siblings and cousins children). For me, today, that means she prayed for my husband Mike, my daughters Missy and Laura and my son Adam. But she didn't stop there. She would pray for my children's children - that's Logan, Sarah, Lana, Summer and soon to be Savannah. I don't know who else will enter our family, but they've been prayed for! Again, she prayed for all the spouses of my children and my grandchildren. And then she really went out there...she prayed for my children's children's children (my great grandchildren) and their spouses. Six generations! Everyday! As she prayed I would just marvel at the warm tone in her voice and the love and tears that flowed, like she knew all these people. Like she had already seen them, held them, smelled them. Those endearing prayers were like a tender embrace around each person.

As I sat there in the oak rocking chair in my bedroom looking out a window draped in white sheer curtains, I had such a deep sense of love and gratitude for Grandma Doty and the legacy she left me. For the tears she shed for me and mine and for those who don't know Christ. For showing me all those years ago that I don't need to be able to physically hold my newest granddaughter to be close to her. I can accomplish that by praying fervently for her, by praying a hedge of protection around her and her sisters and her mommy and daddy. As I clutched her worn black Bible and the red taffeta and black velvet dresses close to my heart, I tilted my head back in the chair, closed my eyes and begin to pray...6 generations. Nothing new, I'd been doing that for years because of the example she set for me, but that day, the fervency level changed, and suddenly, I felt connected to my sweet little Savannah who is about to be born 8,000 miles away in a tiny village in Kenya, Africa. For you see, even in this Grandma Doty's prayers are being answered over 40 years later. Her prayer for "the heathens in Africa who don't know Christ as Savior. Send someone to them Lord, send someone to shine Your light in the darkness." I've often wondered, did she ever think it would be one of her own descendants that would answer the call and give birth to yet another generation in that far off land?

It was a simple request. But it turned out to be a request that was attitude changing for me.
(And by the way, Summer weighed 7 lbs. 7 oz.)




Marsha and Laura with some Maasai women after Marsha shared about Grandma Doty's legacy with them at their Ladies Bible Study.
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A Great Grandmother's Legacy

This section is presently under construction, but thanks for stopping by and wanting to get to know a little about me.

I have labeled two past posts that will give you a little window into my story. You will find them below this post.



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My Story