The Coordinates of Time, Treasure, and Truth: A Story of a Love...which spans the generations...

By Arlene DeMar

...Saying goodbye to the ones we love is never easy... 

Fall in love with Gloria Morelli, the family matriarch, and meet a host of family and friends spanning the generations. Travel through time as she lives and recalls the various stages of her life, reflecting on the many joys and sorrows she has known. Witness how Gloria

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Nov 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637690352

Arlene DeMar

Arlene DeMar, MA, received a Certification in Spiritual Direction and has also been trained to accompany another praying with the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. She holds a Master's in Christian Spirituality from a Catholic Jesuit university. Her love of God and her desire to share what she has learned of the Christian faith have moved her to write her second novel, In the Image of the Gardener.

Book preview

Preface

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves received from God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

You hold in your hands a short story of a long tradition of love that spans the generations, standing the test of time. The characters portrayed in the story are fictitious, with the exception of occasional references made to historical figures such as St. Francis of Assisi and St. Ignatius of Loyola, as well as the apostle Paul and other individuals found throughout the Old and New Testaments. The Love that you will find threaded throughout the story is very real.

I was able to include a few pieces of my artwork. I also incorporated several poems I had written throughout the course of my life into the storyline, placing my name on one in particular simply because it worked well within the context of the story. I completed my project with yet another poem, which appears in the Afterword.

I believe the story was inspired by the Holy Spirit and that it is grounded in Truth. It has been my pleasure to allow the story to germinate within my imagination and come to life as I articulated it into the book you now hold. It has truly been a labor of love, and I hope within its pages you will prayerfully discover what you seek (even if you’re not exactly sure what that might be).

Blessings,

Arlene

Grandma

It was a brisk, beautiful autumn day when the children were coming to visit me. Their youthfulness strikes me lately because I have been noticing that it takes me a little longer to stretch out my arms for a hug. I love them as though they are my own grandchildren, especially since I have none of my own. These little ones are the grandsons of my sister, Laurel, who left this world a long time ago. As a good sister would, I promised her I would look after her daughter, Cassandra, and so I have. Cassandra has always been grateful that I kept my promise to her mother. Although she was candid with the boys that their grandmother is in Heaven, she told them that it would be a nice gesture for them to embrace me as a grandmother instead of as Aunt Gloria. Both Cassandra’s dad and husband are agreeable that it is a very nice gesture given how close Laurel and I were.

To the boys, I am Grandma, and this brings a thrill to my heart—a thrill much like the one I felt long ago as a young woman when I had caught the eye of a beautiful young man whose friendship I still maintain. Like this friendship, the joy that Cassandra and her family bring to me is a priceless treasure. The kindness of her family and the sparkle in their eyes help lift the spirit of this tired, elderly woman who knows that most of life lies behind her yet also knows that the best is yet to be.

Cassandra’s car pulled up the driveway, and minutes later, I heard the beautiful name: Grandma! Grandma! they exclaimed as each child let go of their mother’s hand. Excitedly racing through the living room, they headed straight to the den where they knew they would find me. As usual, I was sitting in my favorite chair gazing out the window, my hands gathering warmth from a fresh cup of hot tea. I had been perfectly content contemplating the brilliant colors of the autumn leaves, and upon hearing my name, I immediately felt my eyes welling up with tears of joy. Showering me with hugs and kisses, the boys took breaks only long enough to take a breath so as to tell me some of what was happening in their childhood world. Sunlight and laughter filled the room, and the joy felt like it would last forever! I have always treasured such moments!

We are like bookends, the boys and me—they on the left side and I on the right with life itself flowing overwhelmingly between us. The boys mostly have everything to look forward to, yet by now, I can recollect the many seasons of my life. In this present moment, we are meeting in the middle where the cycle of life neither begins nor ends, with Love holding together the span of generations.

I was planning to clean out the attic today, or more accurately, the large room on the second floor that turned into an attic after my parents passed away. I don’t know of anyone who is particularly eager to clean out a dusty, old attic filled with archaic items, each of which, if able to talk, could tell its own story. I was no different in this regard. I have found that when families move, they are forced to face this daunting task and usually end up making endless trips to Good Will or the dumpster, whichever seems more appropriate. I had never experienced this phenomenon because I have lived in this same house my entire life. I’m not moving, per se, but I know that soon enough, this might change given my age. This reality is what stirred a tired, old body into action.

I began my Journey Through the Attic, as I like to call it, a few days ago, and when the boys found out what I was doing, they insisted they come and help me, though the youngest is only seven years old and the elder had just turned nine. I know that little boys are curious fellows with vivid imaginations and surmised that for them, a journey through an attic was nothing short of an adventure. I also knew immediately that their help might not be very helpful, but I also believed that in some way, my allowing them to make the journey with me might in some way afford me the opportunity to help them. I wasn’t exactly sure how they would benefit, but I trusted Providence to guide me, and besides, I am always grateful for their company.

The Journey Begins

Thanks, Aunt Gloria, Cassandra said. I’ll be back later this afternoon. I hope you all have a nice day. If you need me, please call, and I can come back sooner. You boys listen to Grandma and mind what she says, okay?

The boys responded to their mother practically in unison. Yes, Mama; I love you. This was music to Cassandra’s happy ears and grateful heart.

I chimed in, I made a nice pot pie for lunch and baked some cookies for later this afternoon. I’m sure you boys will work up a hearty appetite helping me in the attic.

Hooray! they exclaimed again, almost in stereo. With that, Cassandra left.

The time had come to make our way up to the attic. Joseph and Anthony marched up the stairs like little soldiers or pirates on some type of expedition. I followed them with a bit less eagerness knowing that many emotions awaited me there. Oh fellas, wait… I forgot to bring a box of tissues, I said and returned to the first floor to fetch the tissues because I knew they might very well be a close companion on my Journey Through the Attic. With that, we successfully made our way up the stairs. We decided to begin our work in the right corner since it was there that Cassandra and her husband, James, had already set up boxes. They had labeled the boxes to distinguish what would be given to Good Will, what would be tossed, and what would, at least for now, remain in the attic. I could already sense the tears in queue beneath the surface, though I wasn’t exactly sure why.

Oh boy, this is going to be fun! Anthony, the younger of the two boys,