I found the four-leaf clover in an unusual place. A small clover had been sealed between two small plastic discs and then encircled with a gold-colored band. The thinnest gold chain served as a necklace.
As I held it, I wondered how old it was. I’d found the clover necklace in my great-grandfather’s Bible.
My aunt had given me the Bible when I had visited her. Grampy, as I called my great-grandfather, had been a man of quiet faith. The Bible was worn—not just with age, but with use.
As a child, Grampy had been a bonus grandpa to me. He could hardly hear, and his vision wasn’t much better, but we both loved spending summertime at the family lake cabin.
At home, he’d sit and listen as I played the piano. Even with my marginal skills, he was my most appreciative audience.
He was part of every family gathering, and his loud laughter made everyone else laugh. Grampy passed on when I was thirteen—long before I knew how valuable his stories were.
So, I called my aunt and asked if she knew about the quarter-sized gold encircled clover. She did.
She remembered Grampy telling her about finding that clover when he’d shared a picnic with his girlfriend, Alice.
As they’d sat in the grass and talked about the future Grampy hoped to share with her, he’d found the four-leaf clover and tucked it in his wallet.
After they’d married, he’d had the clover sealed and made into a necklace for Alice. It had nothing to do with luck—it represented the day he knew his love would always be enough.
Who would marry a woman with young children, a rundown boarding house, and barely enough money to pay for food—especially on the salary he earned in the sawmill? Grampy did, with a heart of love that lasted both their lifetimes.
Grampy must have known that luck will never take you far, but daily love will take you all the way, the rest of your days. And it did.
