One Special Gift

By Andy Oldham

If there is one thing I love about camping, it’s the freshness of the awakening. Such a memory of the moments at Versailles Lake, in Indiana brings a smile to my grin, when I think of watching the darkness abscond with its sounds of crickets and peepers. Dawn easily gives voice through songbirds, and squawking Blue Jays. But the reminder of why I am here is quickly heard when a big bass stirs the water, catching breakfast. This graceful display of God’s new creation, shooting gradaul rays between the arms of large water oak, is all in preperation of the suns triumphant entrance. The sky changes a variety of colors and a gentle breeze begins to awaken the others. Me? I have the coffee made and enjoying the presence of God.

I pulled out my knife and began whittling a stick. Using of my  pocketknife conjured up a very special memory. I tell my grandchildren to share this memory so that their children’s children will know a little of who I am.

I never could sculpt anything from the small limbs I whittled. Oh, I tried; I just couldn’t make it look like anything but a stick with no bark and a point at the end. This morning, I stopped and took a close look at the two-bladed CASE knife I was holding in my hand. Thoughts carried me back to how I came by this special knife. It arrived in my possession through a challenge. I didn’t buy it; I didn’t find it, it wasn’t a gift. No, I had to work for it.

To say the least, I was a careless kid who was not only known for breaking everything I touched, but also for not being able to keep up with things. During the 1950’s and 1960’s men carried a pocket knife with them at all times. Papaw had one, my Dad had one, and my older brother had one. A knife doesn’t sound like a big deal, but in my South Louisiana family, one was handed down by an elder when a child turned 10; a sort of passage to manhood you might say. My tenth birthday had come and gone and there was no rite of passage presented. I was hurt and disheartened; I din’t know what to think, or even what to feel.

Papaw was a carpenter and invited me to work with him. I picked up unusable boards and trash from the building site and placed it on the burn pile. One day, as I stood by the fire, Papaw handed me a small gift, wrapped in the remnants of brown grocery bag. I was excited to say the least. I was finally receiving a rite of passage toward manhood! I gave him a huge hug and ripped off the paper. It was an old beat up, two-bladed Barlow knife (even worse than you seen in the photo above). The white handle was yellowed with age. It was crusty, dented, and the blades were rusted closed.

My eyes welled up in held back tears. I began to step away in a veiled torment when Papaw stopped me and placed his arm around my shoulder. “You know, Andy,” he said. You have an issue with keeping things and not losing them. I am worried that if I give you an expensive knife like the one you admire in my pocket, you will lose it. So, I’m going to make you a deal.”

I gazed at him in disappointment. “If you can keep this old Barlow knife for one year, I will give you a brand new CASE pocket knife just like mine. But, you have to do two things. First you have to keep it and not lose it. If you can give it back to me at the end of the year, I will give you a new knife. Second, this Barlow knife has to look better when you hand it back, than when I gave it to you. Okay?”

Reluctantly, I agreed.

The next year was extremely hard on me. I cleaned up that old rickety Barlow and made it look a little better. I lost it and I ran around like a headless rooster looking for the ladies. I couldn’t tell anyone I had lost it because it would mean the end of the agreement I made with Papaw. I wanted that double-bladed CASE! I was determined! I would look until I found that Barlow if it took me the whole year.

A few days later someone left a note for me in my shoe. Your knife is under the seat in Papaw’s truck.

Running to the truck, the knife was right where the note said it would be. Placing it in my pocket before leaving for the building site, I was thankful Papaw never knew anything; did he?

I lost and found that knife a couple of more times as the year went by. I told no one about it, especially not Papaw. As the year rounded close to its end, I sat on the backdoor steps cleaning and polishing the Barlow everyday for a week. It was beginning to look pretty new.

One day Papaw sat down next to me and asked if I was ready to make an exchange. I sat straight up and assured him that I was.

The reward was not wrapped up in pretty paper; it was just a small box. It said CASE! When I opened it my first thought was that of the maker who said, “Owning a CASE is like owning a piece of heaven.” Wow! He was right! When I placed the old Barlow in Papaw’s hand I felt a sense of loss. Yet, in having that new CASE I was ecstatic. I had worked hard for that reward. Failure had come with its frustrations but I remained confident in accomplishing the challenge.

Papaw hugged my neck and said, “I am so proud of you, Andy! I love you, boy. I knew you could do it!” 

I wasn’t sure what meant the most that day, the exchange, or the fact that God’s love showed through Papaw’s love and pride in my success. The exchange had many lessons for me. Not only did it teach me responsibility, but also that when I make a choice to start something in my life, no matter what obstacles stand in the way, I should finish it. This lesson has taught me the same is true in following Jesus. A very special gift indeed!

While there are many more spiritual implications to consider here, the purpose is more for you to be inspired to write your stories for your generations who will follow.

What stories do you want to share? Don’t wait for them to ask, pass them on to your children’s, children’s, children now. Right Now!

Andy Oldham is the founder and co-creator of Christian Grandfather Magazine. He received his B.A. in religious studies and education from Anderson University. He has served as pastor to senior adults, and fills pulpits when needed. Andy taught memoir classes at the local library and after writing his personal memoirs, wrote Everlasting Cronies, a story of growing up in rural Louisiana. His inspirational column in the Northside Sun Newspaper was well received by his community. A poem, Winters Grace has been honored first place, in category by the Mississippi Poetry Society. He and his wife, Barbara, have six grandchildren and enjoy retirement in Mississippi.

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Feature Photo found here

Photo of CASE Knife