Appropriately Honored

Today is the two year anniversary of when my Grandpa walked through those Pearly Gates. Two years ago today he breathed his last laboring breath after a brief battle with lung cancer. I had intended to stop by the cemetery where his ashes were buried, but time ran out ahead of me and I failed to catch up with it. But as the evening progressed, and my commitments met, I realized that the way I ended up spending my evening would be much more honoring of my Grandpa and the way he lived his life.

Grandpa was almost constantly serving others in ministry. He spent countless week hours at nursing homes holding Bible studies and singing old hymns. During the last years of his life, he also began serving at the Open Door Mission, the local homeless shelter. He would sing in his usual style, with his banjo, harmonica or guitar, and preach the sermon before the men and women would be served their meals. Grandpa was passionate about telling others of Jesus' love and forgiveness, and the Open Door was a ministry he supported wholeheartedly. And this evening, exactly two years after he passed into Glory, that was where I spent my evening. The community group that I attend Bible study with, had arranged to help serve dinner at the mission, and we spent a couple hours there scooping hot meals onto plates. This was a much more appropriate way to honor my Grandfather, much better than a flower on a gravestone.

Remembering

I can't believe that it's been one year already. Today I thought of the last thing my Grandpa taught me. I was out in the garden with a pitchfork in my hand loosening the soil around the carrots so the kids could pull them up. My Grandpa taught me how to do that. That was only a few days before he passed. He had been sitting on the couch and he was tired. Even the bowl of peaches he was trying to eat was wearying him. But he was thinking of the hard work he had put into his garden that year. He told me exactly where to find the pitchfork, in his well kept wood shed. Grandpa explained how to poke the fork in around the carrots and loosen the soil just a bit... And he sent me off on a mission to see if those carrots were ready to be harvested... My Grandpa and I had always shared a love for gardening. We compared the progress of our gardens during the summer. His was weed free and the weeds growing in mine were nearly sky-high. My garden was large. His was small. His tomatoes were dying and so were mine. Our gardens gave us something in common. He was more than willing to hear about how things were growing at my house, though I was always a little nervous that he might stop by unexpected and see how I had let the weeds grow too. I thought of my Grandpa probably every time I was out there in the dirt this year. I think I tried extra hard to keep the weeds out this time. This year was the best that my garden has ever looked and I blame Grandpa for that. Even though he wasn't here to see it (and even if he could see it, I'm sure he'd be preoccupied with praising our Lord), I think my garden would've made him proud this year. Especially my "prize-winning" Brussels sprouts, which have been producing edible sprouts since July.... I can't wait to see him again.

Heart Thoughts

It's been a week... On one hand, a good week. On the other, a trying week. This week I have spent an ample amount of time painting the staircase to our basement. It's the last part to be done for our basement project, with the exception of tiling behind out wood stove, which may never happen. I have crouched high and bent low to paint all the surrounding molding, risers, nooks and crannies, caulked till my fingers were raw, and still have more to do. But seeing progress for the first time in a month and a half is encouraging. This is the good portion of my week.

The trying part is more an emotional straining than anything, and I'm not even sure if I can call it that. I have found myself mourning the loss of a man I only met a handful of times and never spoke much more than a few dozen words to. The length of time between our meetings were long and that made any attempt at conversation especially awkward. When I was young, a grandfather was a man to be loved and cherished, even if he lived on the other side of the country. A man to be adored no matter how little you knew of him, a man who's attention you desired to seek and to obtain. I think as a person grows older, those childlike desires begin to wax and wane with time, especially if they go long untended. Having only met my paternal Grandfather maybe 5 times over the course of my life, I feel distanced from his passing, yet strangely disconcerted by it. My heart is sad and I wish I had known more of my Grandpa. I wish I had the opportunity to love him and to know him, as I had with my other Grandpa. And yet, maybe it is a blessing, in an odd, selfish way, because I'm not sure my heart could handle losing two such men so close together. I hurt for Grandpa Jim's family, for his adopted daughter, for his wife and his children. They are in my heart and in my prayers. And somehow, no matter how distant we actually were, I still loved that man. Good-bye my Grandpa Jim..... May 26, 1938-February 4, 2010

I'll Be Seeing You

He said, "This is the time of weeping, but joy comes in the morning." That was last night. I kissed his forehead and told him that if I didn't get to see him again here, I would see him there. "Yes!" was his reply. That was the most clearly spoken word I had heard him speak all day. I lingered by his bedside, not wanting to leave. I said, "I am going home now Grandpa." His reply, in his usual teasing manner, was, "No, you have to stay with me." He was weak and tired and we could barely make out his words. But his love for us and for his Savior was still evident. I was afraid that last night was the last time I would see him, this side of eternity. It was the last time we spoke to each other. Before I left, I gave him one last kiss and heard him whisper the words, "I love you, dear." Just like always. Jesus came to bring my Grandpa home this morning. We were gathered around him, his wife, his girls, my Dad (as Grandpa put it on Thursday, like his own flesh and blood), a few of his grandchildren. As Grandpa breathed his last, the sun broke through the clouds and came streaming into the window. It's funny how God did that for us. Five minutes later it was raining again. And Grandpa was gone. To be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord. 2 Corinthians 5:8

I'll see you there Grandpa. I love you too.

The March of Time

My brain feels empty. Not that I don't have anything to think about. Cause there is a lot on my mind. I have found myself with more spare time these, having let go of my restaurant hours and working every other Friday at daycare. It is a very good time to have "extra"time, with Grandpa being sick. I love being able to go visit my Grandparents on Thursdays and being able to help my Mom watch "her" girls so she can go visit too. Like today for instance. I am here at my parent's house with the two girls she babysits, so she can go see her own parents. I guess Grandpa had a rough night last night. It's hard to know what to think and how to sort out thoughts about his sickness. We know where this road is going, but the journey there is difficult and trying. Please keep him and Grandma in your prayers. They seem to be taking it all in stride. Grandma is strong and she knows that Jesus is waiting on the other side, so she seems unafraid to say good-bye. Grandpa is reflective, speaking always of God and things of God, and of those who have gone before. Yesterday, he made me smile. He and Grandma got talking about this deli they used to go to together, before they were married. Grandpa was describing this sandwich they would eat. "The ham was sliced so thin... Paper thin. And the cheese was sliced thin. The bread was freshly baked. That was the best ham and cheese sandwich..." And Grandma agrees... I had to smile. Grandpa hasn't been able to enjoy food for a while. Of course he hopes that will change. He had a bowl of peaches in front of him which he was poking along at very slowly. Every once in a while, Grandma would say, "You ARE going to eat that, aren't you?" or "Are you going to eat those?" They are such an example to me; loving each other so much for so long. What an encouragement. What a Godly heritage.

Days of lazy blogging... Or non-existent blogging. And I return with a heavy heart.

Thoughts of him are almost constant. Who is this man, one that I love? Why do so many hold him dear? Why must he go so soon? And who will fill his shoes? He is faithful. He is God-fearing. He is young, but also old. Who will tickle me with their beard? Upon who's knee shall I climb onto, when I get that hankering to draw? Who will always welcome me with a kiss and a hug like he does? Where can I go where I will be so welcome and never be turned away? No one will be able to do those things, quite like this man. He is tall. He is scrawny. He is strong. He is wise. Who will play his banjo for me? And sing to me about fox's, Jesus, Jesse Taylor and trains? Who else could be so excited to hear of my gardening adventures and be so willing to share his own? Who will be my Grandpa, when he is gone? I dread the day when I will have to say good-bye, though it be only temporarily. I know Jesus will welcome him home with open arms and we will be reunited one day. But in the meantime, I will soak up all I can of this man. We may not have many days together, but I will enjoy every minute I can. I will listen with open ears as he recites scripture and to the stories he tells. I will cherish this time. There will be time for tears later. I am grateful that God has given us this opportunity to say good-bye, rather than abruptly taking him from us. I am so grateful. Thank you dear Lord.

The Joys and Sorrows of a Marriage

Ah, weddings are such happy occasions! One might ask, "Then why is the boy in the photo so sad?" Perhaps the bride was his true love, the object of all his young affection, and sadly she was marrying his arch rival. Or perhaps he didn't want to see his best friend marry at such a young age. Who can tell the secrets of this tender soul? I suppose he could be asked... I wonder if he would even remember why he had such a sad heart on this day, so many years ago. My Grandpa was such a sweet looking little boy, don't you think? He probably just didn't want to be the ring bearer in his aunt or uncles' wedding. But he, most likely, was the cutest member of the bridal party... but then, I am rather partial.
Speaking of weddings, in April I am going to Texas for my cousin's wedding. She is marrying on April 22nd and I just bought my plane ticket yesterday. I am so excited! It will be the first plane trip I have taken since I was six and the first time I'll be traveling alone. Unless Mom or Adam decide to come with me. But that is doubtful. I'll leave Tuesday right after work and come home Sunday before having to go back to work on Monday. Long enough to visit, but hopefully I won't get in the way, as they are sure to be very busy. It will be great to see everyone again. I can't believe I'm really going!