LEGACY

It’s ironic that even though my grandfather wasn’t born with the proverbial “silver spoon” in his mouth—meaning born into wealth—it’s a silver spoon that helps me remember him.  It was among family treasures that came to me after my parents died, and I’m grateful there was a note telling me of its significance.

Martinus (Martin) Berge was born in Norway in 1882. His family had a farm on the steep hillside above one of Norway’s famed fjords. However, because farmable land was so scarce, it would be inherited by the oldest son—and that wasn’t him. A kind person paid his way to carpentry school where he learned a valuable trade. He also served in Norway’s army, which had been ramped up for a possible conflict with Sweden. That didn’t happen, but his marksmanship skills earned him a special prize of that day: a silver spoon. I can’t verify it in my copies of family history, but I heard it was presented him by the king of Norway.

There was also a woman he loved...but her father didn’t think Martinus was wealthy enough to support her. Marriage hopes dashed, in 1906 he immigrated to America, hoping for a fresh start. His carpentry skills served him well as he eventually homesteaded in the drylands of Eastern Montana, where he met and married Ethel Corinne Norstad, a local woman with a bright smile and one leg shorter than the other from polio.  They would have ten children (including the last one, stillborn).  My mother was the firstborn in 1919, meaning she was a young teen when the Depression came upon their large, impoverished family and she pulled her share of the daily survival tasks.

I have no information about my grandfather’s spiritual walk, just that the local Lutheran church was the community’s social and spiritual center and his family was a part of that. He would die at 65 just two months after my birth two states away. He never saw me.

I have pictures and a silver spoon to remind me of that heritage. But I’ve been thinking lately of other parts of my heritage that came to me as a young adult. Caring pastors and their wives, and godly older people, all helped shape who I am in Christ today through their counsel and prayers.  I think of them whenever I come to 1 Peter 2:9: “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.”

Today, when I think of my grandfather, I consider his heartbreak as a young man and the courageous decision to start all over in a foreign land. That’s what God wants to do: give us  fresh starts in our disappointments so that we can declare His praises in the light of His love.