our granddaddy.

Today in Kissimmee, Florida, was the memorial service celebrating my grandfather’s life.  I am heart-broken to have missed it.  My mom says it was a very special service, and that my Grandma was at peace.  

I was asked to write something about Granddaddy, and one of the best parts of my month was sharing stories and memories with my cousins and brothers over Facebook in preparation for the writing, remembering together how special he was.  I’m thankful for a chance to participate from very far away.  I’m thankful for my cousin, Amy, who read this at the service today.  I am thankful for my family, and I’m thankful to have had a grandfather like mine.

Our Granddaddy was very tall, with silver-grey hair and a rumbling, happy voice.  He was the most gentle man you’ll ever meet.

Whenever we walked in the door for a visit, his whole face lit up with his smile.  He  came and greeted us with a hug and a kiss, and clasped our hands in his.  For the boys, there was the usual: “Gimme five!” followed by a teasing wince, which made them feel big and strong.

When we were little, we climbed up onto his lap in the big recliner for special Granddaddy tricks.  He showed us how he could slide his thumb apart at the knuckle.  He grasped us gently by the chin and shook it so that when we talked and laughed our voice quavered and shook.  And as we sat there with him, we were captivated by those big, strong hands of his.  His hands made a person feel safe and loved.

There was a certain smell in Granddaddy and Grandma’s house.  It was the smell of coffee and the dark wood of their Asian curios and the scent of Grandma’s powder all mingled together.  Our grandparents’ house was filled with books and pictures of missionaries serving in far-off places, of family photo albums and shelves of framed pictures of us grandchildren.

All of these things made their house unique and special, but they were never really big on things.  They were big on people.  Theirs was a house of laughter and watching football games on TV and going out to the back porch to choose our favorite ice cream flavor from the deep freeze.

Visits to Granddaddy and Grandma’s always included playing games around the big oak dining room table: Yahtzee or Chicken Scratch or Sequence.  Though normally a quiet, reserved man, Granddaddy would get downright rowdy during game time.  The corny puns flew left and right, and his exclamations of “Gooood night!” or “Help!” when he was getting beat could be counted on.  He raved over whoever was winning, making us feel like a million bucks.

Granddad was the kind of person who enjoyed his life.  He loved old movies—especially musicals.  He loved singing and finding stamps for his collection and working crossword puzzles in the daily paper.  He loved spending time with his brothers.  He loved serving in his church, and he loved his family.  He was a loyal friend to both his siblings and Grandma’s, to his sons and daughters and their spouses, and he was a loyal friend to us.

There are seventeen of us grandkids, and Granddaddy somehow knew how to make each of us feel special.  He treated us like he believed with all his heart that “Children are a gift from the Lord.”  He played golf with Ralphie and took Kenny out for two-dollar packs of basketball cards.  He jumped up to rescue Brad’s action figures from the air conditioning vent as many times as they needed rescuing.  He took a group of us out for golf cart rides, and let Rachel sit on his lap and steer when she was the littlest.

As we grew older, he would sit, and look at old photo albums with us, one-on-one, and talk about our family history, as we listened with fascination.  He asked how we were doing and remembered the things that were going on in our lives.  He had all the time in the world for us.

He loved our Grandma.  Their marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was a marriage that stood the test of time and suffering and kids grown and gone.  He loved her in health and then, he loved her in sickness.  When Grandma’s Alzheimer’s disease was such that she needed to move into the care center at Good Samaritan Village, he grieved.  And he got out of bed every morning and went to sit with her there.  He had all the time in the world for her.

Granddaddy lived a simple life.  He worked hard.  He trusted God.  He chose the treasure of a big family over the treasure of nice cars and exotic vacations.  After reflecting on these very same qualities in his own father’s life, Benjamin Franklin wrote, “From this instance, dear reader, be encouraged to diligence in thy calling, and distrust not Providence.”  Granddad inspired diligence in work and trust in God.

He said often that he prayed for each of us every day, and we know that it was true.  His love for the Lord shone from his eyes and his words and his actions as he loved Grandma and his whole family.  In these last months, he told us he was ready to go home and be with Jesus, and we were filled with wonder that a person could be so much at peace with dying.

And now, we praise God that he’s Home.  He’s all done with dying, and from now on, he’s really living.

We miss him so much.

Granddaddy and my cousin Lindsey