Thanks, Grandpa

“I guess I just want to thank you for naming you son after me,”  he said with a hint of uncustomary shyness in his voice.

I replied, “And I want to thank you for being someone I would want to honor in this way.”

Now my grandpa’s gone to be with Jesus, and I’m reminded again of how true my quick, although sincere, reply was. At times, especially as a teenager,  I felt restricted by his standard of expected conduct, and at times I felt hurt by comments he made, but that’s not what I’ll remember. I’ll remember the apology he brought to me after finding out he had really hurt my feelings. I’ll remember all the times I expected a judgment or at least a comment (okay, sometimes I did get a comment,) and found nothing but love and acceptance. I found out really quickly that whether I cut my hair or wore earrings or painted my toenails really didn’t matter to him deep down as much as the condition of my heart before God. Every encounter served to deepen the love and respect I held for him.

As he handed out bulletins and greeted the sea of humanity flowing through the doors of Grace Fellowship, I was often struck anew with the knowledge that his heart truly desired to see God at work. Sure, I church was probably way too upbeat for him, but I’d even heard him comment that the drums “weren’t that bad.” I know he gave his share of criticism and suggestions, but he was happy that people were being reached with a message of hope. He loved the song, Days of Elijah, and I’m sure what he’s hearing now doesn’t even compare.

I know there are countless lives he touched — as a farmer in Pennsylvania, a farmer in Alabama, a prison chaplain, a hotel/restaurant owner, a prison ministry pioneer, an evangelist. But even if none of that existed, if he had never done anything great, he would still be important to me. Sometimes people forget that he was also a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather. He was my grandpa. I’ve never known life without him. I can just barely remember when they built a house a couple hundred yards from us. After that, they were always so close. He is inextricably wound throughout my childhood and into my adulthood.  He is in almost every holiday memory, at nearly every birthday. My children both met him within hours of birth, and Ava loved him as her special “Grandpa Weber.”

I know that he is happy now, that he is with his Savior and his son. His life, although well-lived, is still covered by the grace of Jesus Christ. In that I find peace and I know that grace extends to me as well. I’ll see him again.

He began the prayer by reminding  Jesus that Luke’s life would be lived without his influence and ended the prayer with this: “. . . and we want to meet him again in heaven someday.”

Grandpa, I promise I will do everything in my power to raise my children to honor and serve the same Jesus who has by grace through faith saved you and me. You’ve kept your end of the deal — you enjoy the rest and glory of Heaven and I’ll work to continue your legacy here. One day, I pray with all my heart that my Luke Martin will have a chance to meet the wonderful man we named him after.

I love you. I’ll miss you.

Lynette