Apr 28, 2020
By Carl Greene
Executive Director
My grandfather simply would not eat fish. Whenever it was served, he would make his dislike for fish very clear at the table. In fact, his disdain for fish made for a great family joke every time it was served. A family tradition organically developed where we made the same prodding comments to Grandpa when fish was served, and every single time we found his response funny.
I always assumed that Grandpa simply did not like the taste of fish—one of those foods that disagreed with his taste buds. In my younger years, I also imagined that he simply found fish to have ugly faces and couldn’t bring himself to eat a filet. Or, another leading possibility was that he was grossed out by seeing too many pictures of birds swallowing fish whole.
My assumptions changed when Grandpa was approaching 95 years old. He shared with my family that he did not always dislike fish. During the Great Depression his family largely lived on fish. They ate what they caught. Day after day. He said that he saw fish so routinely across that time that he could no longer bring himself to even consider another bite of fish.
Grandpa knew about living in want. Like many others of his generation who lived that experience, he saved all sorts of “just in case” items. Bent nails, electric mixers that gave a “slight shock,” vacuum cleaners that no longer worked, canned goods from the previous decade…you know the picture I am painting here. At the same time that Grandpa insisted on living incredibly frugally, he was also generous with his family.
Every time I visited my grandfather, he had time for me. At that point in my life, I figured it was because he was old and what else could be more important to him than visiting with me? (This indicates an issue of narcissism on my part, but let’s assume I outgrew that). As I grow older, I recognize that Grandpa chose to invest time in me—he had plenty of other things that he wanted to get done. Yet, he would put everything on hold for the specific purpose of investing in someone. He was a steward of his time—being sure to invest outside of himself.
Even when it came to finances, Grandpa was surprisingly generous to others, especially when you consider how frugally he chose to live. This generosity flowed even when the payback was poor at best—such as the hours of pipe organ lessons that he and Grandma paid for. I am afraid I never emerged as the next Bach, but they were longsuffering and encouraged me to keep going, recognizing the importance for my own development and growth rather than their personal return on investment. Indeed, stewardship has a focus on the return on investment within God’s Kingdom economy, not simply a financial return.
As I reflect on my grandfather’s stewardship of time and money, I recognize that he was human like the rest of us. He made missteps and mistakes when it came to generosity and stewardship. At the same time, there was a genuineness to his giving nature that I want to emulate. When it comes to stewardship, I long to be more than generous with my time and finances with family and church family. I have a lot more to learn in being consistently generous—funny how circumstances and challenges of life can derail the best of our intentions.
Every time I see fish served at a meal, or even see a bird snarfing down a fish whole, I smirk as I remember Grandpa and how we would turn his face inside out at the sight of fish. That’s a fun memory, but I need to go beyond that. I want to remember his example of stewarding time and finances even after some harrowing life experiences. I want to have open eyes during our current season of life uncertainties and challenges to see how I can be a better steward of what God has blessed me with, living with greater generosity toward family and church family. When fish is on the menu, literally or figuratively in the weeks ahead, I hope to remember this lesson well.
