My dream clock stands in our living room. It is not an heirloom—though it may become one. The Clock has been in our family for over forty years. It is a 7 foot tall, Mahogany, cable weighted, tubular bells, grandfather clock, by Herschede. It offers a choice of three melodies; Westminster, Wittingdon, and Canterbury. It chimes on the quarter hour, and strikes the hour. I prefer the Westminster. It also offers a silent option.
Here’s the back story; years ago, while visiting an upscale furniture store, I gazed lustfully at grandfather clocks. A Herschede clock with tubular bells charmed me like an Indian Fakar charms a snake. Mellow tones echoed in my head like a soft waterfall; tones more melodic than the typical metal rods. Sorry, but I coveted that clock. Until. I. Saw. The. Price. — it was more than my annual salary back then! My heart sunk like the Titanic, and just as hopeless.
Time passed. Lots of time. One day while shopping —in a huge furniture warehouse—-in Odom, GA (a town of almost 300 population). I spied an array of grandfather clocks in the back. I looked closer. Several were Herschede clocks. Their prices were low like fire sale prices. I asked to see their catalog. There in bold color was MY clock! I asked the price—and the Titanic arose from Davy Jones’ Locker! — “Fire Sale” prices lived!
Then came some unexpected income—close to the price of the clock—and a miracle began to unfold before my eyes; I bought the clock! Herschede clocks are treated with almost sacred rituals and traditions. The store sent a horologist to unpack and set up the clock in our home. He wore white gloves. He moved magically, with the delicate touch of a brain surgeon. He instructed to, among other things, wind the clock every Sunday morning (Well, Saturday night works best for me!), don’t touch the brass works with bare hands. He started the clock and it chimed mellow tones—as if angels had come to visit. The chimes soon became the soundscape of our home.
Each time we moved, the clock had its special place and was wound. As it began to chime, our daughters would say, “We are home, now!” “Home!” they said. Always living in a parsonage—-someone else’s house—there is little of your own personal touch. Familiar sights, smells, and sounds in a house help make it a home. And now, Thanksgiving and Christmas 2022 are on their way; certain rituals, sights, sounds, and smells are virtually inherent in these celebrations. They meld with accents, that help you feel “at home.”
My heart is warmed with the “glad-you-are-here” sound of hospitality in our family. Hospitality is a constant in the Bible. There’s the story of the abandoned slave—-tired, hungry, and alone. David and his cohorts fed and nourished him, making him feel welcomed. I am also reminded of a story Jesus told of a wayward son who, uncertain of how he would be received, came home to warmth and celebration. He could say with confidence, “I am home, now!”
©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2022