I left off on my last post with stories about my family, and had reached my Grandparents. In a patriarchal family such as mine, one can hardly help but be shaped by the influences of the men that led the way in the family. Our family had plenty of interesting characters in it. The picture you see here is of my grandfather George Holder and my grandmother Marjorie.

There were brothers of Gr. Gr. Gr. Jesse who married into the Lafitte families, as well as into the Cherokee Nations, making some of my cousins elders in the Indian nations, as well as descendants of the old pirate Jean Lafitte as well. Pirates, Indians, firemen and cops....that's who pops up in my family tree. In my life though, it was my grandfather and my father that have had the biggest influence upon me. Sitting on top of a file cabinet in my home, lies the Bible of my Grandfather George Holder. It is beaten and worn, and the binding is worn out through and through. My grandfather was a self-taught scholar, and he was never tired of discussing the Bible and it's application to every day life. I know some people think of Baptists as pretty dogmatic stiff individuals, who aren't too open to other interpretations of the Word, but in the case of my Grandfather, this was just simply not true. The fact that he always loved discussing the Bible with his Roman Catholic grandson...would surprise some. he was always open to another persons opinion and never made me feel like I was ignorant about anything we ever spoke about...although sometimes I was just so wrong. He always appeared to be very interesting about what I thought about things. This was something that I didn't have a whole lot of at home. Understandably, my dad was tired from many long hours of work as Shreveport Police Officer. He worked long and hard to send my brother and I to a private Catholic school, at the time I never thought about it, but I just don't think I could have worked like that. There wasn't a whole lot of time to talk about the deep things of life in those days. Plus, dad wasn't one to talk much about spirituality. I recently found my dad's baptismal certificate from the early 50's, and I was told that at one time he was a really sincere believer, but that there had been an incident involving the local Baptist minister and his teenaged girlfriend that had soured him on church. Dad had enlisted in the Navy at 16, and pretty much ran away from home into the military right into the middle of the Korean War, and then Vietnam. Dad never was one to talk about his experiences much, but it was obvious that he had been in some pretty horrible scrapes over those years, from war to coming home to an unfaithful wife. It must have been pretty bad. I can remember asking dad what he believed in long ago. I was being a persistent kid and kind of cornered him with this question...something I really shouldn't have done, but you know how things are when you're young and stupid. I remember him looking at me and saying, "I believe in ME son, ME, that's who I believe in! Nobody else was there when I was down...so it's me that I've had to faith in". I didn't question him much after that. I always believed that under that tough exterior was that kernel of faith deep down that he did not express. It's like somehow deep inside, he had his deal with God, and he wasn't letting anyone else in on the deal. In this regard, dad was an extremely private person, and I had to respect that. On my own faith journey, there have been times when I have been in the pulpit proclaiming my faith, and other times when I just wanted to quietly exist in the shadow of the Almighty and acknowledge my ignorance in silence. I often find myself looking at that tattered old Bible and am reminded of the humble, fervent belief that lived in my Grandfather, and I really miss him. So many times I remember seeing him sitting there after dinner studying away with the magnifying glass..because the script was so small in that Bible. The last long conversation I had with him in the hospital was about scripture. My wife was with me there, and he was clear as a bell mentally. I remember asking him how he felt...because he was in constant pain. He just looked up and smiled and said, "Pretty good, but maybe it's because of the good company and conversation". It just killed me inside to see him lying there like that, all shriveled up to a skeleton nearly...after having been such a strong, powerful man for so long. Up to his last day he was trying to lead me into truth. I remember the satisfaction on his face when he realized that I understood the passage that we had been talking about. There have been many times in my life when I wish I had been able to teach from a base of sure pure belief and my grandfather. I guess that purity of spirit is another legacy left to me. Part of being Roman Catholic is believing in "The Communion of Saints", the belief that we Christians are never seperated from each other so I really don't see him as gone anywhere. Occassionally I find myself talking to grampa...I just figure I don't have to shout so much now since his hearing has been cured by the ultimate healing in the presence of God.