A Link to Grandpa Salte

Here are some general facts I know about my Grandpa, Norman Salte:

1. He was a wonderful husband.

2. He was a wonderful father.

3. He was a wonderful pastor.

4. He was a wonderful son, brother, and friend.

And now I can add another general fact:

5. He loved his '54 Buick and liked to go fast.

My grandpa was killed in a car accident (unrelated to his need for speed) some decades ago, back when my mom and uncles were children, and when my aunt was miraculously protected inside Grandma's womb. A farming truck, which ignorantly sped off a side road to cross the main highway, T-boned their vehicle, sending the whole family (and two other passengers) into a chaotic roll. There were no seatbelts in the car, so Grandpa was tossed from the vehicle and ended up underneath it when the rolling stopped. My mom says she can still remember hearing him moan under the upside-down car, and she can still hear her little-girl voice crying, "God, don't let my daddy die!" Yet although everyone else walked away with only a few scratches, Grandpa Norman passed away that day.

I consider the Saltes an incredible family. Grandma, thrust into the role of a single parent, raised her four children as best she could, and her faith in God was refined to the purest gold. Anyone who knows her today knows that she absolutely radiates joy and peace because of her intense relationship with God. Her kids have all grown up to be successful, loving people, and her grandchildren (myself included) have a strong sense of home, comfort, loyalty, and happiness toward our extended family. We all get together once a year on average, even though we live in different places, and as the in-laws and fourth generation are brought in, they become a very valuable part of the Salte tapestry as well. It's a beautiful thing...but there has always been a part of me that wonders how it would have been if Grandpa were an everyday part of this as well.

On that note, Bryan and I had the privilege of attending church at Carrot River Valley Lutheran this past Sunday when we were "camping" in the Melfort area. (Camping turned into Travelodging due to extremely windy, rainy weather.) Anyway, on Sunday morning we drove to the church that's based out of Fairy Glen, where Grandpa had served as pastor for a number of years. Part of the pull was, for me, to see the wooden cross at the front of the church, which Grandma had talked about many times. It had been made by a local carpenter at Grandma's request, for the purpose of serving to honour Grandpa's memory. I also wanted to see bits and pieces of one of my mom's childhood homes, and to meet some other people who'd known Grandpa, as I'm always curious to learn more about him.

During communion, shortly after the sharing of the peace, I name-dropped grandma and grandpa to an elderly couple sitting nearby who'd whispered a greeting and asked where we were from. Right away their faces both lit up, and by the time communion was done, a few people around us had found out who we were, and immediately we could see that they were as excited to make a connection as we were! When the service was over, we visited with several people, and that's when I learned, from a few different men at different times throughout the visiting, that Grandpa was partly remembered for his heavy pedal foot and his beloved '54 Buick. I also learned that Grandpa used to claim that he could milk twelve cows in an hour. Of course, I know nothing about how possible that is, but none of the people who'd heard that tale seemed to think it was anything but a slight stretch of the truth. I also had someone tell me that I had the long legs of Grandpa Salte, and another person said, "You know, I recognized your face, and when I found out that you are Helen's granddaughter, I can see why!"

Something inside me was swelling with pride when I heard people talk about Grandpa, and when I saw the looks of fondness and remembrance that swept across their faces. He was obviously loved and loving, and had left a lasting impression on those who knew him.

Another profound moment for me was standing next to the cross that had been made to honour his memory. The current pastor was kind enough (and, in fact, extremely excited) to let me take some pictures there. For some reason, standing next to the cross and touching it made me feel a connection with this mysterious relative with whom I've always been fascinated. I've always wished I could've known Grandpa.

Bryan and I stayed for the potluck, and were treated like honoured guests. Many people wanted to talk with us to learn about how Grandma and her kids were doing these days, to share stories of the past, and to let us know how blessed they were that we'd come to visit. The current pastor explained that he and the congregation were very encouraged to see that future generations still held an interest in churches from their family's histories. I suppose it showed a lot of the people there that they had, indirectly, blessed future generations by their influence in the lives of my grandparents and their children. Bryan and I had gone there expecting to gain some insights and be encouraged ourselves...we hadn't anticipated how much joy it would bring to the people we'd meet!

It was a very rich time -- from seeing the cross, to learning more about Grandpa, to meeting some wonderful people and knowing that we had encouraged them just by the curiosity that had led us to Carrot River Valley Lutheran Church -- and as we drove away, I was so thankful. It felt like something had come full circle, in a small but profound way. I also had a bit of a clearer picture of who my grandpa had been...a man after God's heart, a loving husband and father, but also just a guy who liked his toy and liked to push the limits, both on the highway and, perhaps, in the telling of his abilities. It makes me even more excited to meet him in heaven someday!