As a young girl, I learned much about my ancestors through my grandparents. Often, I snuggled on the sofa with them and listened to the stories they told. I asked a lot of questions.

In 2018, long after they and others of their generation were gone, I began a journey to document the stories I learned through the years. Old photos, letters, and recipes gave me insight into my family history, but pieces were still missing. The research began, taking me down roads to overgrown cemeteries and old abandoned home places. I met people who enriched my life and gave me a deeper insight into my family’s history.

Knowing our family stories helps us understand who we are, where we came from, and how the choices made by our ancestors continue to influence us today. Our family stories connect us to the past but also keep a light burning for future generations.

I encourage you to discover your family history. Don’t be afraid of the facts you find, both good and bad. It’s a journey you will not regret.

Those who are wise will shine as bright as the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness will shine like the stars forever (Daniel 12:3 NLT).

In the summer of 1943, my grandfather bought a farm and moved his family from Alabama to Mississippi where his family lived for generations. Like those before him, he was a farmer, but he also was the mail carrier for the community. Always thinking of others first, if a letter arrived from servicemen away at war, he delivered the letters without delay, even if it was his day off.

The following is a story I discovered about my grandfather during my research. This story is based on facts told to me by a lady who lived across the road from my grandparents when she was a little girl. I asked questions and listened, learning things about my family I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

Summer 1943: The New Neighbors

Across the road and behind a large oak tree, ten-year-old Mary watched the new neighbors unload furniture and all their belongings. She spotted a girl that appeared to be close to her age. The thought of having a playmate thrilled Mary.

Edie, the youngest of my grandparents’ children, was an inquisitive seven-year-old. She noticed Mary, then walked to the edge of the dirt road, curious to meet the girl behind the tree. Like Mary, Edie was looking for a playmate. From that moment forward, the two became close friends, spending their childhood days together.

Screen doors, fields of corn and cotton, swimming in the creek, drawing water from a well, and walking barefoot down a dirt road paint a picture of their way of life.

The first spring after they moved to the farm, my grandfather borrowed the neighbor’s horse to plow the fields. Dixie was a workhorse, but mainly she was Mary’s pet. Each time my grandfather attempted to put the harness on her, she would bolt and run as far from him as possible. She preferred play over work.

My grandfather would knock on the neighbor’s door and say, “Mary, you need to get Dixie for me.” All Mary had to do was walk to where Dixie was standing and lead her by her mane to where my grandfather waited.

Life was hard, days were simple, and as neighbors, they looked out for one another. That never proved truer than it did the Christmas of 1944 when Mary was eleven years old.

December 1944: New Blue Shoes

“Stand still, Mary.” Mrs. Headrick stuck another pin in the hem of Mary’s skirt.

Standing in a chair, Mary shot an impatient look at her friend, Edie, who sat on the floor nearby.

“Mama, hurry. I’m ready to play.” Edie was impatient for her mama to finish so she and Mary could play with her new paper doll set.

Mary glanced down at her new blue shoes that matched the red and blue plaid outfit Mrs. Headrick was making. Since the war began, new shoes or clothes were rare. She was eager to play with Edie but wanted her new outfit finished so her daddy could see it.

“I’m almost finished. Stand straight, or your hem will be uneven.” Mrs. Headrick laughed softly as she gently tugged on both sides of the skirt. “No one wants a crooked hem.”

Mary nodded and stood straight and tall. “I can’t wait for Daddy to see my new outfit.”

For months, Mary’s father had not been well. He mostly stayed in bed. In the quiet of the night, Mary could hear him groan with pain. She hoped her new outfit would make him smile and twirl her around the room as he did in the past when she was dressed for Sunday morning church.

“Mrs. Headrick, I’m praying for my daddy.” Mary swallowed the lump forming in her throat, doing her best to hold back the tears. “Praying for him to get well.”

Mrs. Headrick paused and looked at Mary with kind blue eyes. “Mary, God always hears our prayers.”

“That’s what Mama keeps telling me.” Mary took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Mary wanted the war in Europe to end. She wanted to wake on Christmas morning to find gifts from Santa underneath the tree. But most of all, she wanted her daddy well and life to be as it was before the sickness came.

After a few more pins and a tuck here and there, Mrs. Headrick gently helped Mary out of the skirt. “I’ll finish your new outfit this afternoon so you can show your daddy.” She gave Mary a tight hug. “I made enough potato dumplings to share with your family. You two girls take it to your mama before you start playing.”

Mary jumped down from the chair and quickly changed into her old clothes and shoes.

The two playmates headed across the road with the bowl full of potato dumplings. Mary hoped her daddy could eat the dumplings and feel better. She longed to see him smile again.

A few days later, Mary showed her daddy her new clothes. He was especially proud of the new blue shoes. And he smiled.

Christmas Day

December 1944 was cold and rainy, especially on Christmas Day.

After a traditional family dinner of chicken pie and baked sweet potatoes, Mary’s family gathered in the living room for coffee and apple cobbler.

Mary sat at the kitchen table, playing with her new doll from Santa while overhearing bits and pieces of the mumbled conversation of the adults. It was not a normal Christmas Day. After a while, Mary asked if she could walk across the road and show her doll to Edie.

“Yes, but don’t stay long.” Mama said, “Wear your coat and take your shoes off before you go into Mrs. Headrick’s house.”

Mary grabbed her coat and rushed out the door, sloshing through the muddy road to Edie’s house.

Edie and Mary sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, playing with their new dolls while Mrs. Headrick put the final touches to Christmas dinner. The aroma of chicken and cornbread dressing and homemade yeast rolls fresh out of the oven filled the house. On the table, a pecan pie was cooling. Foods baking, the fragrance of a pine Christmas tree, and the crackling of a log burning in the fireplace—it smelled and felt like Christmas.

Mr. Headrick sat in a chair by the window reading the latest Reader’s Digest. He glanced out the window, then stood, walked over to Mary, and gave her shoulder a tender squeeze. “Mary, your aunt needs you to come home.” His voice broke. Mary saw tears in his eyes.

When he opened the front door, Aunt Mattie was waiting for Mary. They walked silently across the muddy road to where Aunt Lula stood on the porch. She held Mary tight for a few moments before saying, “Mary, I’m so sorry. Your daddy is gone.”

Later that afternoon, the coroner came. Mary watched her daddy leave their home for the last time.

Acts of Kindness

For her daddy’s funeral two days later, Mary wore her new blue shoes with the outfit Mrs. Headrick made. It was a cold day, and the pelting rain made the muddy road to the church service almost impassable. Family and neighbors attended, but Mary noticed Mr. Headrick was not there.

After the service, Mary dreaded going home, the place that now, without her daddy, would be cold and lonely.

When the grieving family arrived at their house, they noticed smoke spiraling from the chimney and the soft glow of a lamp in the window. As they stepped out of the car and headed up the front steps, the door opened, and Mr. Headrick walked out onto the porch. He wrapped his arms around Mary, holding her tight as if shielding her from grief.

Nothing could take away the pain in Mary’s shattered heart, but Mr. Headrick’s thoughtfulness was a gift of love to a grieving family. They came home to a place filled with warmth instead of a cold, dark house.

One small act of kindness changed a day of sadness into one of hope for a little girl.

Forever Remembered

It’s been many years since that day. Mary can’t tell you who attended her daddy’s funeral, but she can tell you who greeted her when she came home. It was a neighbor with a heart full of love. And I’m proud the neighbor was my grandfather.

I am thankful Mary shared this story with me because my grandfather never did. He was that way, always praising the deeds of others and not himself.

As neighbors, we can share a cup of sugar, offer a meal of potato dumplings, or even loan your horse to plow a field. But it is often the small acts of kindness that have a lasting impact.

My grandfather knew what it meant to be a neighbor, to love people and show it. Creating a warm, loving environment for an eleven-year-old and her family when it was most needed did not go unnoticed.

In their nineties today, Mary and her brother still remember an act of kindness from a thoughtful neighbor in December 1944.