Dear Grandchildren,

In November 1940, I stayed for Thanksgiving break at the McCleerys with a girl named Mary. One night, after we got ready for bed, she took a picture of her boyfriend in her hands and began saying sweet nothings to him.

“I know who that fellow is,” I told her. “That’s Bob McMillan.”

Bob and I had been in several different classes together. I knew he was very smart, but I didn’t think about him romantically. After he broke up with Mary, he asked me out. At first I said no. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, although he seemed very devoted to me. But I soon changed my mind. When he took me home to his family, I fell in love with them. And then I fell in love with him.

After his graduation from Muskingum College in 1941, Bob went to study at the Reformed Presbyterian Seminary in Pittsburgh, Pa. We planned to be married in a few years. However, as soon as I graduated in 1942, my student visa became invalid. In February 1943, I received word that the Immigration and Naturalization authorities labeled me as an “illegal alien.” The only way I could stay in America was if I got married right away; otherwise, they would send me back to Poland where there was a war! Nervously, I called Robert.

“Jadwiga, what’s up?” he asked with concern. “Do you want to marry me now?” I asked hesitantly, and feeling desperate. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Yes, I’ll marry you now,” Bob answered.

We were married in March 1943, during a snowstorm. Before he was through with his seminary studies, our first child, Margaret, was born on our first wedding anniversary. We were married for nearly 60 years, and Robert was a pastor for more than 40 of those years. His first pastorate was at the Connelsville RPC in Pennsylvania, where he was ordained and installed in 1944. Together, he and I went on to serve in seven more locations across the country. During those years the Lord blessed us with four more children: Rosalie, Bobby, David and Barbara.

During these years, I also had the chance to reconnect with my mother and my sister, who were both living in South America. In 1960 my sister Olga came to visit my family and me. Olga had never married and had no children. It had been a long time since we had seen each other. When we parted in Poland in 1936, we were still teenagers. We laughed during her visit about how we were now middle-aged ladies.

In November 1965, I received word from my stepfather that my mother was ill. When I arrived in Buenos Aires, we embraced and clung to each other just as we had many years before when I was six years old and she came to visit Olga and me in the orphanage. Her last wish was to see me before she died, and that wish was fulfilled. She had sacrificed so much, years before, when she had taken me to the orphanage in Poland. Because of her sacrifice, I was able to reach the potential that God had planned for me. God allowed us to be together for this brief time at the end of her life.

In 1983, when we were living and working in Coldenham, N.Y., Robert fell from our roof and hurt his head badly. The doctors told me he would die, but in God’s mercy he survived. It took him a long time to recover, but he lived another 19 years with me. In 2002, four years after we moved to the RP Home in Pittsburgh, Pa., he died at the age of 82.

Now I live in the RP Home, and attend Covenant Fellowship RP Church. I have many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The Lord has been very good to me! I can truly say, in the words of the psalmist:

“I will praise the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.” (Ps. 146:2)

—Grandma Nadzia