Wednesday, May 03, 2006

To Grandpa

*** THIS IS THE TRIBUTE I WROTE TO MY GRANDPA AND IT WAS READ AT HIS FUNERAL. I'M BLOGGING IT SO IT IS IN MY BLOG-BINDER AT THE END OF THE YEAR!

Today is a day we say goodbye to a man whose life was an expression of God’s goodness. He had a love for people and showed it by the time he spent praying for them. The following is a gathering of my random thoughts and memories that I’d like to share as a final tribute and goodbye to the man I loved so dearly.

I remember as a child that days would start early on the farm and I would wake up hearing grandma cooking in the kitchen. The morning sun would greet me as it peaked into the window by the kitchen table. Just above the old metal table sat an AM radio blasting their favorite Christian radio station: KJRG. I would somehow always time my waking up to about 5 minutes before Grandpa was expected in for breakfast. I was so excited every time I heard the back door fly open and the wash sink crank on. By this time, Grandpa had already been choring for a couple of hours. He would wash his hands and his face and sit beside that window where the sun shown in on him. He would pull out his bible and his “Our Daily Bread” and then stand again, leaning over to the radio on the shelf beside the window and turn it down so he could lead devotions. He would spend time nourishing his spirit and praying before he would nourish his body with eggs over easy, toast, and occasionally cereal. This routine happened like clockwork every time I would sleep at my grandpa’s house. I never doubted that he nourished his spirit every day before feeding his physical body, even when I wasn’t there participating.

I remember the fear Grandpa had of lightening. He would shoo everyone off the tractors and out of the fields to the inside, whenever lightening shown in the sky…even if it was far away. The cool thing I remember was seeing the hat he was wearing on a day when he was struck by lightening. In all Grandpa survived 2 lightening strikes. He had countless car accidents, none of which he caused. I often thought of him like our cat Patches who seemed to have nine lives. But deep in my heart I knew why God kept him around. He was leading people to Christ, not by forcing Jesus down their throats, but rather by personal example, persevering prayer, and loving people like Jesus did.

Late into the evenings I would wait in the family room at the farm watching out the windows towards the road hoping to see the headlights of Grandpa’s tractor nearing the house. I would wait impatiently, begging him for a game of checkers or Huskerdoo the minute he walked in the back door. Although he was exhausted and often times fell asleep during a late-night game he rarely turned me down.

In church I would lean on him and he would light up with a smile and squeeze me with his strong farm-bred arms. He would reach in his pocket a pull out his roll of Certs and offer me one to keep me awake. This week, when my brother, my dad and I cleaned out my grandpa’s room, we found a partial roll of Certs in the medicine cabinet of the bathroom, bringing back the memories of my grandpa sitting in a pew with his arm around me. I should also mention that I was “caught” several times steeling Certs out of his top drawer in his bedroom.

On Christmas Eve we would all gather at the Central Heights church out by Grandpa’s house and I was sure I couldn’t sit through the service as I anxiously thought about the goodies of apples, peanuts, orange slices, colorful hard candies, and hand-made chocolates packed lovingly in brown lunch sacks as we left the building. My side-tracking would quickly halt when my grandpa would get up front, sometimes by himself, sometimes with a trio or quartet of men, playing harmonica and leading the congregation in worship. I loved to sit and listen to him play and he enticed me in worship at a young age by his love for playing his harp as and expression of love for his God. “Praise the Lord with harp.” Psalm 33:2 was written on a scratch paper in his bible.

I loved to ride along with Grandpa on the tractor and combine. He would let me have the seat and he would stand in front of me, driving the tractor. He would jump off to do this or that and I would get to sit there pretending I was driving. I was glued to the seat of the tractor for many years.

One time my Uncle Melvin and Grandpa tried to teach me German at a family gathering in the basement of the bank in Moundridge. I’ll never forget the phrase, “Y it bit stucherich”. Unfortunately I never could remember what it meant and whenever I repeated it to Grandpa he would laugh for years to come.

Grandpa loved ice cream. Sometimes I wondered if it was a vegetable out of his garden as it was always on hand and we had it every evening after dinner. Speaking of vegetables, Grandpa was so proud of the huge tomatoes he grew, the perfect looking potatoes or the yummy fresh cucumbers. He always attributed the great harvest to planting the vegetables in the “old pig pen”, even though pigs had not lived there for many years.

One day Grandpa showed up at my house with a long skinny shelf he made for me to store my threads on the wall.

I have countless pictures of my kids as toddlers shaking their hips from side to side as Grandpa played his harmonica for them. In more recent visits the kids would dance with each other enjoying the familiar songs they now remember by heart just as I do.

My grandpa was a man without commentaries. He was a man who interpreted the bible led by the spirit. He was a simple man who struggled in life like we all do, yet relied on God to fulfill his needs and Band-Aid his boo boos. He was a man I trusted with my deepest hurts. He was the only one I knew prayed for me every day. Selfishly, I’m sad that I have lost a prayer warrior. I’m thanking God today that he didn’t take Grandpa 10 years ago, or 20 years ago, or any other of the many times he could have. Grandpa was here to see each of my kids come into this world, to pray me through Jake’s surgeries, to pray me through a tough move away from home. After I moved to Iowa there wasn’t a month that went by that I didn’t get a letter from Grandpa. I fervently wrote him back, confessing my heart to him, confiding my hurts and disappointments, sharing the milestones of the kids. In fact, I told my dad last night that since I am full aware that Grandpa kept every letter he ever received that I might have to break into his stuff and steal the letters I wrote him… and burn them!

Today I say goodbye to a man who always smiled, the person I received my naturally curly hair from, the man who “got” my jokes, the man who always had time to hear me pound out a song on the piano. I am saying goodbye to the man who laid a foundation of faith and expressions of Jesus’ love for our entire family to continue building upon. He was a spirited man whose mind was constantly in overdrive. He was my dad’s best friend. He was a rock of stability for everyone. We thank God today that he lived a long life. We thank God for the memories we still have and the legacy that still lives. We thank God that we will see him again someday in heaven. Goodbye for now Grandpa. We love you.

2 Comments:

Blogger Heather said...

Thanks for sharing even though it was "just for your binder"! Very nicely written - what awesome, vivid memories you have of him.

I too recently lost my grandpa(my best friend) and wrote a story to be shared at his funeral. So I know full well how you hurt and how healing writing this story probably was for you.

Sounds like he was a wonderful man that was loved so much and will be missed by many.

2:42 PM  
Blogger Cassie said...

he sounds amazing...

9:41 PM  

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