Hokan, Dawn, Hannah (15), Julia (13), Ryan (11)  and Zach (10).

We live in Becker, MN.  I, Dawn, am a labor and delivery nurse in Princeton, MN where I work part time.  Hoke is a 6th grade teacher and also coaches football (the Becker Bulldogs are in the state championship this year), and boys’ tennis.

Having four kids in their own activities makes for a busy life – but we are grateful for it, knowing it will soon be passed.  Our kids are involved in football, basketball, cross country, tennis, piano and guitar.  We love our local church family at Becker Evangelical Free Church and are grateful to be equipped there to go out into the world and impact others to know Jesus.

That previous paragraph makes us sound perfect.  We are not.  We constantly make mistakes, need to ask each other for forgiveness, unknowingly hurt each other, struggle against selfishness and putting others ahead of ourselves.  But we know that we have a Savior who died for these sins.  Who, out of his great love for us, took our inadequacies on Himself and gave us His perfection, completely undeserved.  And we remind our kids often how much we need a Savior.

Now THAT paragraph better encapsulates who we are.

As Jim asked us to write something about being part of the Peterson legacy, I have fresh thoughts about this.  As you all know, and lovingly supported us through, my sweet Dad died this past May.  Now, he was not a Peterson, but he married one and was buried in Wood River Cemetery.

About a month after Dad died, I made my first trip out there by myself.  I took my morning run to the cemetery from the cabin on North Shore Drive – about a 5 mile run.  I was dripping in sweat as my eyes filled with tears walking in the gate.  Now, I have visited this cemetery many times.  I remember as a young girl hearing mom tell me about how she went to church out here.  How Uncle Delroy gave her confidence to accompany  when he’d make her play piano, how all the aunts and uncles were at church together, how she and Jim and Val would play together and go down into the church basement.  That the church seemed so big when she was young.  This was hard to imagine as I stood on the remains of the foundation of the church that morning, now just a footprint of what was left, covered over by grass now.

As I walked into the cemetery, I went straight for my Dad’s grave and cried, still not believing that my Dad, who, less than a year before, was vibrantly alive.  And then I began to walk to my right.  Parnell and Don, Lavone and Irvin Olson, Annie and Fred, Othelia and Vic, Delroy and Verone, LaVerne and Irene…pillars of faith.  I can think of stories of each one of them.  Some I never really knew, but their legacy lived on in my mom, my aunt and uncles.  Auntie Teela bringing soup and cookies to sick people, Aunt Annie giving soap to us each time we visited, Aunt Irene being a Bible teacher, Uncle Delroy making me laugh when I was a little girl, Auntie Vone’s commitment to prayer and her faithful following of Jesus long after the love of her life died, Grandma’s devotion to her church and her hospitality – herself dying in a car accident as she went to get a gallon of milk to prepare a meal for guests…

I was humbled.  Amazed.  Who was I?  I felt like the richest girl in the world to have such a heritage.  Surely everyone must know how rich I am!  I’m a Peterson!  From a long line of saints.  Humble saints who plugged along where God placed them, not doing anything extraordinary–other than faithfully serving and trusting solely on the grace of God for their hope.  Living not for riches here on earth, but storing up treasures in Heaven.

So here I was walking on the graves of ordinary people who never were wealthy here on earth, who were never famous.  But they were dearly loved by those around them.  I could only imagine what riches they were experiencing right that moment as I was standing over their earthly bodies gone to dust.  For they knew that their home was not this world.  They knew they were made for much greater things–they had spent their lives storing up treasures THERE.  They were now in the presence of the One they’d been created for and lived their lives for.

So in my sadness that morning, in my sweaty running clothes, I lifted my hands in praise to a God who in His grace chose to place me in this family, make me part of this legacy.  In my unworthiness, in the unworthiness of these pillars of the faith whose graves I was standing on, He chose to give them -and me – His righteousness and take on our sin.

Whatever defeat the grave holds – it is not forever!  Praise Him.

My most treasured memories are of times when all four families (Peter’s Paul’s ours and Connie’s) were at Grandma and Grandpa’s for Christmas. Singing Christmas carols around the tree before opening presents with four-part harmony, sledding at the golf course with the cousins or playing hide-and-go-seek.