grandpa
Today is my grandpa's first birthday in the heavenly realm.
We got a phone call on a cold January morning that he died peacefully, alone in his Arizona home. He was found in his chair where he spent so many hours praying and studying God's word.
This was the first time in my life I have experienced grief. I've been to a handful of funerals of acquaintances of mine. When my grandmother passed away, I was too young to understand the implications of death.
So a few months ago, grief introduced itself to me. She hit me like a wave, flowing and ebbing and filled with memories and regrets that sunk to the pit of my stomach. I wish I had called him more. I wish I had spent more time asking him questions about Jesus and life.
I miss his thick Bostonian accent. His phone calls always made me smile. As a child, I'd answer the ring and immediately recognize the person on the other end when I heard, "Can I come play in your backyard?"
When I was a teenager, he'd start off phone calls saying, "How's the boyfriend?" which was always answered with a sigh and, "Grandpa. I still don't have a boyfriend." He'd laugh and tell me the right boy would eventually come around.
Then one day just over a year ago, he asked faithfully, "How's the boyfriend?" to which I answered "He's doing well Grandpa. I can't wait for you to meet him." Grandpa went all silent. Grandpa didn't like seeing any one of his eleven grandchildren growing up. A couple weeks later he told me he looked forward to meeting this young guy from BC, to see if he would "pass the Smith muster."
They never did meet. I wish they had. I think the boy would've been quite fond of Grandpa, and Grandpa would've been quite fond of the boy too.
Grandpa always seemed like a man filled with paradoxes. Gruff yet gentle, stubborn yet kind. I miss his witty sense of humour and the way he always charmed waitresses with his banter (it was both sweet and a bit mortifying).
I am so thankful for the legacy he leaves us with. He lived missionally, with reckless abandon. His faith had ripples in the lives of people all over the world. After his death, we read messages from hundreds and hundreds of people who were impacted by his life. Such a powerful testimony to who he was.
Grandpa ran the race and finished the course. Oh, he ran so well. I have no doubt he heard "Well done, good and faithful servant!" when he eagerly walked through the gates of heaven.
Not long before his unexpected death, I asked him, "Grandpa- you're from Massachusetts, have a home in Arizona, raised your children in Michigan, all your children now live in Canada, spend a big part of the year serving people in Romania and you still to this day travel to Southeast Asia and Europe and Central America... What is home to you?"
I never forgot his answer.
He grinned and said, "What's this talk about home? My home is with God. As long as I've got a pillow, I'm happy."
He would have been eighty-eight years old today. Though I wish I could celebrate with him over some chicken wings and lemon meringue pie (his favourite), I can't help but rejoice as I rest in the truth that he is home.
Happy birthday Grandpa!
We got a phone call on a cold January morning that he died peacefully, alone in his Arizona home. He was found in his chair where he spent so many hours praying and studying God's word.
This was the first time in my life I have experienced grief. I've been to a handful of funerals of acquaintances of mine. When my grandmother passed away, I was too young to understand the implications of death.
So a few months ago, grief introduced itself to me. She hit me like a wave, flowing and ebbing and filled with memories and regrets that sunk to the pit of my stomach. I wish I had called him more. I wish I had spent more time asking him questions about Jesus and life.
I miss his thick Bostonian accent. His phone calls always made me smile. As a child, I'd answer the ring and immediately recognize the person on the other end when I heard, "Can I come play in your backyard?"
When I was a teenager, he'd start off phone calls saying, "How's the boyfriend?" which was always answered with a sigh and, "Grandpa. I still don't have a boyfriend." He'd laugh and tell me the right boy would eventually come around.
Then one day just over a year ago, he asked faithfully, "How's the boyfriend?" to which I answered "He's doing well Grandpa. I can't wait for you to meet him." Grandpa went all silent. Grandpa didn't like seeing any one of his eleven grandchildren growing up. A couple weeks later he told me he looked forward to meeting this young guy from BC, to see if he would "pass the Smith muster."
They never did meet. I wish they had. I think the boy would've been quite fond of Grandpa, and Grandpa would've been quite fond of the boy too.
Grandpa always seemed like a man filled with paradoxes. Gruff yet gentle, stubborn yet kind. I miss his witty sense of humour and the way he always charmed waitresses with his banter (it was both sweet and a bit mortifying).
I am so thankful for the legacy he leaves us with. He lived missionally, with reckless abandon. His faith had ripples in the lives of people all over the world. After his death, we read messages from hundreds and hundreds of people who were impacted by his life. Such a powerful testimony to who he was.
Grandpa ran the race and finished the course. Oh, he ran so well. I have no doubt he heard "Well done, good and faithful servant!" when he eagerly walked through the gates of heaven.
Not long before his unexpected death, I asked him, "Grandpa- you're from Massachusetts, have a home in Arizona, raised your children in Michigan, all your children now live in Canada, spend a big part of the year serving people in Romania and you still to this day travel to Southeast Asia and Europe and Central America... What is home to you?"
I never forgot his answer.
He grinned and said, "What's this talk about home? My home is with God. As long as I've got a pillow, I'm happy."
He would have been eighty-eight years old today. Though I wish I could celebrate with him over some chicken wings and lemon meringue pie (his favourite), I can't help but rejoice as I rest in the truth that he is home.
Happy birthday Grandpa!
Comments