ok, where was i?
oh yes, grandma and grandpa...
here's an interesting portrayal of a beautiful story as i have understood and put together details i've heard over the years......and as always, if my parents find that i have inadvertently falsified anything, they will let me know, and i will make corrections.
My Grandpa Barker wasn't actually from the small town of Fairview. In fact, the genealogy of that part of the family is very difficult to decipher. We've figured out that he was from Ohio, and we know that town, and we know his dad's name, but after that, some things are kind of weird and hard to understand----------but i digress....
...Grandpa Barker wasn't actually Mennonite either. The entire town of Fairview in those days (and largely in these days) was Mennonite. Or if not Mennonite they were the stricter version of Amish (you know the folks up north in horses and buggies? those are my cousins.) I don't really know the timeline of Grandpa's salvation, etc., but i do know that he loved the Lord and that he had a very clear encounter with the Lord. When he first got saved, i'm told, he was addicted to cigarrettes, and he prayed to the Lord and asked the Lord to remove from him whatever displeased Him. And that very night, as my grandfather slept, he sweated very badly, and when he awoke, his sheets were yellow. He had sweated out the nicotine, and he was delivered from his addiction and no longer smoked....just like that.
Later in Grandpa's life, when he lived in Fairview, the Lord gave him a vision or a dream, and it was one that he felt he should share with the church. I don't know whether the pastor ever let him share it, but as i understand it was not well received...and apparently some word of it spread because my dad remembers people who called Grandpa "Crazy Barker," apparently (in our minds) relating to this. I've never met Grandpa. He died when my dad was only 16 years old, and my dad's younger brother, Alvin, was only eight. But every time i've heard any of my dad's siblings speak of him, it is with great love and admiration, as he was a man who loved the Lord.
One such story, my dad has told often (and always with eyes full of tears) is as follows. This version is written by my mom, as told by my dad....
'Daddy's story: When he was about 13, I think, his big brother, who was his hero, treated him badly and he thought: 'If Johnny doesn't think I'm any good I might as well do away with myself." He went up into the hayloft, got a rope, and when he was about ready to do the job his sisters came in and caught him. They of course ran to the house to 'tell Papa'. So he thought," now I don't have to, Papa is going to do it for me." He went up to his room expecting to hear Papa call him. And soon he heard Papa's voice:"David, come down here!"
And he slowly came down the stairs expecting the worst. Papa reached out his hand, but instead of taking his head off he gathered him in his arms and wept. And he said: "Son, don't you know I love you?"'
And thus my grandfather left a legacy of a good and Godly father and one who loved the Lord.
When Grandpa died, he had been unconscious for some time (weeks i think) after having had a stroke. The story my dad told me is of one day when Grandpa woke up from his sleep but didn't acknowledge anyone in the room. He looked straight ahead to the end of his bed and sat up--still looking straight ahead. With great joy, Grandpa exclaimed, "Jesus!," and momentarily went back to sleep.
That was the last time anyone on this earth heard Grandpa speak. He never woke up again, and we believe that moment was the moment that his spirit actually left this earth to be with Jesus. His body finally acknowledged his passing some time later.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
Perhaps there shall be flashing back....
I called this an autobiography, and i seem to have mostly caught up my present day (with i'm sure some spaces that will later be filled), so it seems it is time to flash back. Since there was, though my memory of it is sometimes foggy, a time before my marriage, perhaps you would like to hear of it also. I will see if i might scoop from my memory a few stories that will glorify the Lord. And in thinking about it, i think it will not be difficult, since the Lord's glory is so easily evident. =)
The Beginning
Instead of telling you the beginning of me, i think i will venture before the beginning of me and tell you what i know of the beginning of those who came before me.
My mother.
My mother is, by genetics, 100% Swedish/Estonian. I say it that way because there is a small island that is part of the country of Estonia that my mom says is kind of "old sweden." The name of the island is Wormso (pronounced a little more like "vermsee"...well, sort of). My grandfather, whose name is Hjalmar Pilman, was born on that Estonian island. (Hjalmar is pronounced like the texan word "y'all" and the syllable "mar".) I call him Morfar, which is pronounced pretty much the way it looks--more far--. It means mother's father in Swedish. Morfar is a man of few words and a man i love very dearly. What i can tell of his history is skimpy, but i've gotten a good part of half a story i think.
I think that my family inherited courage and integrity from my morfar. Here's my example. I told you he was born on that small Estonian island. Well, he grew up in the years when communism was taking over Europe in horrible ways. And as the advent of communism approached his island, my morfar made preparations and sailed, as a 16 or 17 year old boy, across the Baltic Sea, to Sweden. And if i remember correctly, made way to begin transporting his relatives to Sweden to escape the coming reign. In Sweden, my morfar met the lovely lady Emmy Elin Viola Pettersson, my mormor (you guessed it, "mother's mother"), and they married and began a family. My mother, Maud Elisabet, was the middle child among two older brothers (twins) and two younger brothers. During the years when my mother and her brothers were growing up, Sweden was becoming more and more socialist, and my morfar recognized the prelude to communism; so he picked up his family in 1969 and moved the whole lot of them to the United States.....Chicago Illinois, to be exact. My mother was 19 years old. She says that it was a very long flight ( i want to say 16 hours ), and she saw the sun rise in Sweden as they lifted off, and it set in Chicago as they landed.
My Dad.
My dad was born the 6th of seven children to a humble Mennonite family in the very very small town of Fairview Michigan. His mother, Mary Irene Yoder was born and raised in the area and married my grandfather, Charles Benton Barker, after having worked together as hands on a farm. I am told that they got engaged one evening after work when Grandma was standing looking out at the field and telling Grandpa that she was saving her money for a new bed. Grandpa suggested that they go in together for a new bed--and thus he proposed marriage. (funny guy!)
to be continued......
(i will await corrections from my lovely mother, who keeps up with these posts....i think she will know if i have any of these details incorrect, and then i will edit.)
The Beginning
Instead of telling you the beginning of me, i think i will venture before the beginning of me and tell you what i know of the beginning of those who came before me.
My mother.
My mother is, by genetics, 100% Swedish/Estonian. I say it that way because there is a small island that is part of the country of Estonia that my mom says is kind of "old sweden." The name of the island is Wormso (pronounced a little more like "vermsee"...well, sort of). My grandfather, whose name is Hjalmar Pilman, was born on that Estonian island. (Hjalmar is pronounced like the texan word "y'all" and the syllable "mar".) I call him Morfar, which is pronounced pretty much the way it looks--more far--. It means mother's father in Swedish. Morfar is a man of few words and a man i love very dearly. What i can tell of his history is skimpy, but i've gotten a good part of half a story i think.
I think that my family inherited courage and integrity from my morfar. Here's my example. I told you he was born on that small Estonian island. Well, he grew up in the years when communism was taking over Europe in horrible ways. And as the advent of communism approached his island, my morfar made preparations and sailed, as a 16 or 17 year old boy, across the Baltic Sea, to Sweden. And if i remember correctly, made way to begin transporting his relatives to Sweden to escape the coming reign. In Sweden, my morfar met the lovely lady Emmy Elin Viola Pettersson, my mormor (you guessed it, "mother's mother"), and they married and began a family. My mother, Maud Elisabet, was the middle child among two older brothers (twins) and two younger brothers. During the years when my mother and her brothers were growing up, Sweden was becoming more and more socialist, and my morfar recognized the prelude to communism; so he picked up his family in 1969 and moved the whole lot of them to the United States.....Chicago Illinois, to be exact. My mother was 19 years old. She says that it was a very long flight ( i want to say 16 hours ), and she saw the sun rise in Sweden as they lifted off, and it set in Chicago as they landed.
My Dad.
My dad was born the 6th of seven children to a humble Mennonite family in the very very small town of Fairview Michigan. His mother, Mary Irene Yoder was born and raised in the area and married my grandfather, Charles Benton Barker, after having worked together as hands on a farm. I am told that they got engaged one evening after work when Grandma was standing looking out at the field and telling Grandpa that she was saving her money for a new bed. Grandpa suggested that they go in together for a new bed--and thus he proposed marriage. (funny guy!)
to be continued......
(i will await corrections from my lovely mother, who keeps up with these posts....i think she will know if i have any of these details incorrect, and then i will edit.)
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