>A Writing by One of My Ancestors

We’ve been going through my grandpa’s files and pictures. Today we found this hand-written note, apparently written by his mother. Except for a few punctuation changes, I’ve copied the story–grammar errors and all–as it appears on the small piece of paper. Apparently the husband and wife were driving together when the story takes place; maybe they had a bench seat in front. One can argue with different points of theology, but I appreciate that her experience favored love and compassion rather than merely the avoidance of “bad things.”

Chaff

Written by H. O. Boyd

Mother’s own experience at about 18.

The afternoon was warm, the sun had been shining through the window for so long and it made her sleepy. Lenor’s head sank lower and lower towards her husband’s shoulder until it rested there.

Now she saw not the ever changing scenery of early Fall. She saw not the gold of the aspens sent in patches of the dark pines, nor the scarlet Brush of the Hill sides. Instead she saw her Guarding Angel. The large, beautiful, shining being came to Lenor. He said, “It is time that you were being weighed. Every one’s characters must be weighed.

She smiled and answered, “Alright! I ought to weigh a lot. I’ve been so good. Why, I don’t dance, or play cards, or… But she did not finish what she had to say because the Angel looked at her as if he felt sorry for her.

At once she was in a large wide plane. Thousands of people were there to be weighed, none of whom she knew.

Another beautiful being was attending the scales where each one was brought by his or her angel. The weight was marked good deeds.

There was an old colored man. Why he weighed a great deal. Some how their deeds would show up. He had walked as much as 10 miles to pray for the sick. Had did with out necessary food himself to give dainties to those who were poor and sick. There was also a poor old hunch-backed lady. She too weighed oh almost even. How she had cared for the sick and many other good deeds. And then it was Lenor’s turn, and her angel brought her to the scales.

The angels looked as he placed her on. Why, she did not weigh anything scarcely.

“Dross, and chaff, that is what you are, ” said the big angel. You cannot enter Heaven. You must go back to earth and try again. As her angel led her away, he said, “Go back and be a comfort and help those who sorrow. It is what you left undone that is your hindrance. The fallen you have not lifted, nor pointed to Christ, no called, ‘Come up higher. The devil can’t tempt you up here.’ The poor, have you shared what you have with them?”

Just then a sharp honk of her husband’s auto horn as he was passing a car brought her suddenly back to realities. But she kept thinking, “Just dross, chaff, that’s what I am.”

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One Response to >A Writing by One of My Ancestors

  1. Charissa says:

    You have a typed version of this in your family file, but maybe I’m the only one who’s read it. How exciting to find the original!

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