What I did (and didn't) say to the crowd at the church.

My grandfather died on Monday. He was a month shy of 89 years, and had been pretty much slowly dying with congestive heart failure since his heart attack in 2004, so it was neither surprising nor terrible that he passed away. I'm sad to lose him, but he was a wonderful Christian man who has been ready to die for quite some time now, so I know he's happy. As both my grandparents are/were especially proud of their grandchildren, we were asked to do something at his funeral, which was yesterday. It was a beautiful funeral, but I laid awake in bed for many hours last night thinking of what else I could have said, that would make people understand how wonderful he was. And it bothered me until I thought I could use this blog for therapeutic purposes. For those of you expecting a smile from a lighthearted blog, you'd better skip this one today. So all eight of us grandchildren, ages ranging from 34 to 6, got up to the stage as a group, my brother went first talking about how when our other grandfather was dying in the hospital, my Papa (that's the one who just died) spent hours talking and praying with my Grandpa bringing him back to Jesus, whom he had left so many years before, and because of him, they are both in Heaven today. One cousin talked about how Papa could fix anything and how he was the reason that my cousin wanted to have a job where he could work with his hands. Another cousin talked about the wonderful times at the lake and my grandfather water skiing at 75 years of age. Someone read a poem, someone played a piano solo, and a couple we too distraught or too young to speak, but we all went up together. I mentioned sitting in my grandparents' basement listening to him play Red River Valley on the accordion. We always loved when he'd pull out the accordion, which he taught himself to play, because that meant my grandma would let us sneak sugar cubes out of the china cabinet to suck on while he played. Lucky for my teeth he didn't play too often. Now I can't hear Red River Valley played without thinking it sounds better on the accordion, or without getting a sugar craving. I didn't tell the congregation of how embarrassed I was one day when my Papa and I walked up to the nearby mall for some groceries and he noticed an old cot in the dumpster. After we had brought the groceries home the two of us rode bikes back, and he pulled the cot out and we brought it home. I was probably about 8 then, and was mortified that my grandfather was a garbage-picker, and even more worried that someone might see us. But, I was sure proud that Christmas when my brother got a red metal hockey net built stronger than anything you could buy, probably even in the NHL, and my grandfather told everyone how we brought the cot home together, and then downplayed the fact that he was the one who transformed an old cot into a hockey net.
I had so many fond memories as we would often stay with my grandparents' when we'd come into the city, but probably the most important was the Godly example they set. From a young child I remember sitting at the breakfast table, everything ready to eat, waiting for my grandfather to finish reading devotions. I remember hating the wait which seemed like forever on the mornings that my grandmother served cracklings (which is like tiny bits of pork fried in lard until they're crispy then strained out to get the dripping lard off and scooped up with bits of bread...I know amazing my grandfather made it to 88 eating like that). As I got older I'd try to listen a little more to the devotions, sometimes more successfully than others, but it taught me the importance of spending time with the Bible instead of letting it go dusty on a shelf. My grandparents both lived as Christian examples, but I told the congregation that the best Christian example was the love my Papa demonstrated for his grandchildren. He not only loved us unconditionally, he treasured us. And it didn't matter what we did or where we went, he was always so happy to see us. And he was so proud of all of us. When I was in Junior High I flew out for a week to meet them in Arizona where they spent part of the winter, and all week he walked about bursting with pride about his granddaughter in for a visit. In recent years, whenever I'd visit him at the care home, or the hospital, anyone who walked in the room would be subjected to "this is my granddaughter Tanya, she's a nurse", and many of them had obviously heard about me from him before I arrived. He bragged about all his grandchildren that way, because he was so filled with love for us, that it overflowed. And no matter how long it had been since we'd been to see him we were always welcomed with an "I'm so glad you came". I can't think of a better example of how God feels about us, and that God not only loves you, He treasures you.