Memories are strong. They bubble up from deep inside us. Sometimes the memory is hard and painful…other times we find an old hurt has healed…other times the memory brings joy. Sometimes the memory can hold joy and sorrow.

Let me tell you of my grandparents’ elopement. I always wondered how many emotions that marriage created.

My Pappy had returned from fighting in WWI. He was in France…in the trenches…mustard gas… heavy enemy fire…freezing temperatures…rats…There is no way to explain what those young men endured. Only those that serve know those horrors.

But now the war was over. Life was returning to “normal”. Pappy had returned home. He saw a pretty blonde named Kate Redfearn at a local event. Love blossomed. They never gave us any more detail of their courtship. But Mama Kate’s sister, Ruth, told the story of how they slipped off and got married.

It was Thanksgiving. Great grandfather, Crawford Redfearn took his middle daughter, Ellie and went to the relatives for Thanksgiving. His wife had passed away and left him with 3 daughters still at home, Kate, Ellie, and Ruth. Aunt Ruth was only 11 when their mother passed. Kate and Ruth remained home that day.

As Aunt Ruth told the story, my Pappy came after Grandfather Crawford and Ellie had left for the day. He and my Mama Kate left together and didn’t come back. When Grandfather Crawford and Aunt Ellie returned that Thanksgiving night, Aunt Ruth was alone…the sweethearts still hadn’t come back.

Aunt Ruth went on to tell that Grandfather got back in the buggy and went down to Mr. Tyson’s house, about a mile and a half away. She never revealed the rest of the details. Maybe they weren’t for us to know. But those two had run off and got married…on Thanksgiving. She was about 17 and he was 9 years older…Certainly it was a different age than the one we live in now.

So every Thanksgiving as I have shared before, it was a huge celebration. More food than several families could eat, the men going hunting in the early morning, laughing, telling stories of when their 3 boys were growing up…and my Pappy presiding at the head of the dining room table. 

This Thanksgiving, as in all other Thanksgivings, I will recount the family stories in my heart. It is one of the greatest grace gifts I have. Not that our family was perfect, far from it. But love and devotion were in large supply.

I’m giving “thanks” for them. Those two young people who ran off together.

For the home and life they built together.

For the love and security they gave us.

For the knowledge of who we were and whose we were.

For teaching us that God is supreme and worthy to be worshiped.

And for a sweet Thanksgiving story to tell the generations.