Lexington, KY - by Bob horine | spirituality Columnist
Garrison Keillor created a whole town in Minnesota, and for three decades has delightfully told us the news from there each Saturday night on public radio. We've visited Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility Church and been blessed by Father Emil, learned about ice fishing, marveled at the Norwegian Bachelor Farmers, been in and out of the Pretty Good Grocery Store and the Side Track Tavern, and got to know the Bunsens, the Tolleruds, the Tollefsons.
Because Lake Wobegon is a small town, we've learned a lot of things we really didn't need to know about people's lives, and we listened to stories anyway because, we told ourselves, it was the polite thing to do. Grace Tollefson's troubles, for instance.
It was years and years ago. Grace graduated from high school and started seeing a man named Campbell, who came through Lake Wobegon from time to time. I guess he was a salesman of some sort. Handsome fellow, sandy hair, green eyes. But he kept whisky in his car and everybody knew that was a bad sign.
Grace's family tried to persuade her not to see him, but she kept on, and finally she ran off with Campbell and got married. They lived away somewhere and had three children -
Walter, Earl and Marla. It wasn't a happy marriage. Campbell continued to drink and one night when he came home under the influence Grace locked the door and wouldn't let him in. He went away, disappeared.
There wasn't much Grace could do but move back home and live off the charity of her family and the Lutheran Church. Her brother got a mobile home and put it in the yard behind his house. People gave her furniture they didn't want anymore.
In that little town it was hard to live as she had to live. No one said anything mean, but Grace felt the pity when she walked along the street.
The older boy, Walter, asked about his father. Grace told him only that he was handsome and descended from Scottish royalty. When Walter asked his Grandmother Tollefson about his father, she just said, "Humpf." Sometimes after dinner as Grace and the children washed dishes, they would dream, talk about what they would do if their ship ever came in. But life didn't change.
And then one day Grace received a letter from a man in Philadelphia who said he was doing research on the Campbell family tree. He had some questions and Grace replied, telling him all she knew about her husband's family. Some time passed and then another letter came. It began, "Your Royal Highness," and told Grace that she and her children were the rightful heirs to the Scottish throne. The man sent a chart showing their lineage.
He said finding them was the happiest accomplishment of his life and that he would spend all his energies working to see that they were returned to their rightful place.
Grace, Walter, Earl and Marla continued to be poor, to live in the same dismal little place, but life was changed. The story goes on, but I pause to think about what a difference it makes when you know who you are, and what, and to whom you belong. They didn't tell anyone, but inside they were different people. They were royalty. And I expect the knowledge they carried in some small ways shone out of them. As it often does for those who know they belong to God.
There is in us, no matter how beaten and woebegone we may be, a "fearfully and wonderfully made" being, beloved by God, waiting to be recognized and set free.