Grandma Studebaker’s Lapboard

Scarred. Marred. Worn. But still working.

It isn’t much to look at—just a rough-sawn piece of board, edges softened by years of use, corners worn… rounded from countless shifts and shuffles. Cracked, rust-tacked nails still hold the frame. The once-smooth surface now bares the scars, grooves and notches of time—decades of marks from mending, stitching, peeling, snapping beans, shelling peas, and doing it all over again and again and again—season after season, year after year, decade after decade. But somehow, it never quits.

It was Vicki’s grandmother’s lapboard. Her name was Cyntha—mother of eleven, grandmother of forty one, and 76 great-grands at her passing. She was a Smith and married a Studebaker. When we first met, she smiled wide, hearing from Vicki that I was also a “Smith.”

Her board balanced across knees that never stopped moving, it was her workstation, prayer bench, writing desk, and sewing table. On this humble plank, she hemmed pants, patched lives, penned grocery lists, and prayed for family. It was industry holding hands with intercession. It was wood, rubbed with oil, anointed with prayer, and operated with love and effort.

Her weathered hands—like the board itself—moved with purpose and devotion. No wasted time. No wasted motion. Just love and grace in action. There, on that lapboard, she crafted not just garments but a life of service and giving. Her legacy wasn’t in lace or linens… in fame or fortune—it was in the steady rhythm of faith poured out in the faithful dailiness of doing.

She’s moved on to a Place Prepared for Her. But her board stayed behind—a relic, maybe, but more of a reminder. A bridge from yesterday to today. An heirloom? Perhaps. But more of an altar—holy, worn, splintered, cracked, a testament to holy work.

And that old lapboard?

It’s still at work—just like her prayers. It still carries a calling. Because memories—the important ones—don’t gather dust. They gather hope. They sew courage. They teach us to build. To mend relationships. To pen prayer lists. To offer love, mercy, and grace. To keep working, even when the nails are rusted.

When I work on this old board—like today—I sense a specialness… her simple life… her industrious nature… her deep faith… and a soft whisper: “Don’t despise small things. Sacred things. Worn things still working.”

Lapboard Prayer:

Lord, let my life—like hers—be a faithful lapboard supporting the work of Your hands. Worn, yes. Scarred, surely. But still steady—wanting to be so steady. Still usable. Still available. Still bridging faith from generation to generation to generation. In the name of the One who used wood and nails to accomplish your highest calling… Amen.

© 2025 Craig H. Smith