Any Grandad of hers is a Grandad of mine

My dear, dear friend Karissa is visiting right now. We were dormies at Trinity Western University, Fall 2003. In May I went to her home in Oregon and stayed about a week with her three sisters, two brothers, and a handful of her brother's friends who were as comfortable there as anyone. I became a family member that week, after receiving the Grandad Lecture when we spent the day at Oma and Grandad's for Mother's Day:

Eat well, exercise, go to school, make sure you marry a good man. That was the gist of it. Within that context came all sorts of advice on dietary supplements, being useful to God (not just waiting around to get married), keeping my head on straight (not using drugs or being generally excessive with anything), getting to know that man before I go committing my life to him.

All good things, certainly. And he'd never met me before, so how could he know what wisdom I'd already been given and had decided to live out in my life?

Thinking of Grandad, I can only smile - he simply cared about me, and I love that. He left no doubt of his affection: when we readied to leave, he requested a hug with a simple, "Come here, beautiful," and open arms. Were only my own kin so generous.