My dad is continuing his project of going through his old cassette tapes and putting them on his computer. Tonight we listened to my grandfather talk about his life. It took a bit of concentration to understand what he was saying through his thick German accent. He recounted his life on the farm as a child. The town he lived in was in constantly in flux between Germany and Poland. When he was 17, the place was under Polish rule. At 18 he would have been drafted into the Polish army. He wanted none of that, so he and 2 of his buddies fled back to Germany. And so the story goes. He came to America a few years later and among his many jobs was working for a bakery. Evidently he made the best rye bread around. Others tried to duplicate the recipe, but could not. So he always had a job, even during the Depression. Eventually he was able to open his own bakery. He said it didn’t take long before the competition went under. In a matter of a few months he was making 1000 loaves of his specialty bread every weekend. He was a very hard-working, devoted, strong willed man from his youth. He knew what needed to happen and would strive to make it so. I loved hearing his voice, his jokes, and his stories. My mom and dad were also on the recording as they interviewed my grandfather to make sure they had all the details correct. Eventually, my mom created a scrapbook of her family history. Ironically – or maybe not – I spent this whole morning baking in the kitchen. My mom said that my grandfather would have been proud.

I Found God today remembering my grandfather.