My Granddad
My Granddad has always been a facilitator of dreams for me, a quiet oak waiting for someone to sit under his branches and hear his wisdom, and an example of the power of being oneself.
I was the first grandkid for my grandparents on my mom's side, and that position granted me a bond with them that has lasted throughout my life. Every summer, every possible vacation, I was at their house even despite the three or four hour drive between us. Because I was homeschooled for five years, that made time with them even more possible, and now, I see how precious it was. My grandfather was a social worker before he retired, and I remember accompanying my grandmother, a nurse, to see him in his office. At the time, I'm not sure I understood the concept of a social worker, but I did know clearly that my Granddad helped people just as my grandmother had helped people as a nurse. I've since imagined what those interactions with others in need may have looked like--my grandfather's calming voice and practical, no-nonsense attitude being shared across a desk or the godly discernment he must have used when reading someone's file. This mark of caring for others in practical ways is one that so many of my family members and myself carry. We have a couple more people in the medical field, some educators, and a future social worker among us, which is in part a product of the example my grandparents gave us.
Many afternoons, before my Granddad retired, he'd come home for lunch. His office wasn't too far away, and Grandmom would sit us three around the kitchen table with whatever she'd prepared. I was always a creative kid, and I spent many of those afternoons imagining that her kitchen was a restaurant called the Bird's Nest Café. (Birds are a passion of my grandmother's; one she shared in teaching me to really look at the birds she attracted to the seed she set out and to know their names, their uniqueness.) And my Granddad would play along as I asked him for his order, pen and notepad in hand. He'd shake salt and pepper onto his food in massive amounts, and his white and brown-rimmed coffee cup was always close at hand. We always had cookies or cake ready for Granddad's sweet tooth. He'd smile and wiggle his eyebrows up and down while Grandmom dished out his sweet onto his plate. Granddad's presence has always demanded a sort of respect, but it's because of his wisdom and calmness. He doesn't have to ask for it because he just deserves it. Yet, in the midst of that constant, solid air of security, he also has always known how to play. When we were little, he'd astound us by "removing" his finger, and his laugh is the least reserved thing about him. He has always facilitated play for us grandchildren. Good with his hands, he'd find a project in some corner of the yard, some new spot for a swing, and his garden was his frequent friend, always receiving his careful eye and attention. Over the years, he's put up swings and hammocks and pools that have occupied hours of joy for me and my cousins. In the evenings, Granddad and I would watch Relic Hunter drinking chocolate milkshakes he'd made for us (with so much sugar and chocolate syrup, I'm sure Grandmom was mortified). We'd sit together mulling over puzzles or spending hours playing Scrabble. I learned that my love of books and words was something to be proud of because my Granddad was always a lover of books and words first.
One of the things that I most love about my Granddad is a characteristic that I also see in myself. He has a natural curiosity about life and is able to see treasure in the discarded relics of others. The last time I visited with him, we talked about how he's always been one who went to the library to learn something new. If he wanted to know how to do something, if there was a task to be done, he'd learn first from a book. He was always finding new interests--bike riding to get in shape and playing guitar. The pursuit of knowledge and the practice of wisdom will always be synonymous with my Granddad for me, and it's a quality I'll be sure to embody for my own children. One of our traditions when I would visit my grandparents was yard-sale-ing. We'd get the newspaper out and sit down with a pen marking those yards and garages of interest.
"No, not that one. They just set up last Saturday and all they have are old clothes and glass knickknacks."
"What about this one, Willie? It's not too far away. They're advertising some good stuff."
And we'd get up early and head out to see what we could find. When something new appears in my grandparents' home, nine times out of ten, it's a yard sale find. And Granddad has always had the best eyes for ignored treasure. He has always found a purpose no one else can see.
If you want to find my Granddad, you don't look to the center of attention unless God's put him there, and even then, he does what he's asked in obedience and sits down. If you want to find my Granddad, you always look for him in the quiet corners of the yard under the trees sitting on his swing with coffee in hand. If you want to find my Granddad, you look in the basement in "Granddad's area" with a myriad of nuts and bolts, canned foods, and an extra freezer around you--the same area he'd share with us to roller skate in. If you want to find my Granddad, you walk around his truck under the carport or dip into the darkness of his tool shed where it smells like cut grass. If you want to connect with my Granddad, you sit down beside him on that swing and wait quietly. If you're patient enough, he'll tell you what's on his mind. My Granddad, for as long as I've been alive, has loved God and has been both a student and teacher of His Word. Most of what I can remember him sharing in those conversations rocking on the swing was about God, His nature, and what certain verses could mean.
I can't help but draw a parallel to what the nature of my Granddad has taught me about the nature of God Himself. Granddad has watched us over the years from quiet corners--playing kick the cans with cans of Pepsi he'd given us, twirling each other on the rope swing he put up, and splashing in the pool he had to drag out in the summer and store in his shed in the winter. And as an introvert myself, I was often aware that Granddad was on the perimeter watching us enjoy his creations, and I always felt a quiet yet protective approval. He was present with us even when we weren't always paying him attention. The way that I connect with my Granddad is often the way I feel that I connect with God. I sense His presence, protection, and approval even as I enjoy the people, nature, and simple joys He's placed in my life. I feel like I bring Him joy by relishing His creation. But, I also learned how to interact with God from my interactions with my Granddad. I know that if I want to hear God speak, I need to sit down beside Him and wait patiently for Him to tell me what's on His mind. I need to turn His words over in my mind and heart just as my Granddad has done.
It's because of my Granddad that many in our family came to know Jesus. It was his example, prayers, and faith that led us toward the path of salvation, and it was his own experience, passion, and joy that led us to receiving all that the Holy Spirit has to offer. I imagine that his treasures in heaven are many.
My Granddad has always said the same prayer as grace for dinner. He starts with his deep, reverent voice saying, "Father, we thank you for the day that you've given us..." And, for the life of me, I can't remember all of the words that go in the middle even though I've heard them from his lips a thousand times over spaghetti and grilled chicken, salad and buttered bread. But, it rhythmically ends with, "we ask that your blessing be upon it, and we do so in the name of Jesus Christ." He always knows what he is going to say as a truth that bears repeating. The last time I heard my Granddad pray that prayer, standing with more strength than he'd ever had before, and with a reluctance over a quieter, less steady voice, he did so with a new richness to his soul. He was unsure of how to start, like a child finding his way. He hesitated, searching for the familiar words. He soon found his rhythm and his well-cadenced truths, but it was the vulnerability that made the prayer heartfelt and sincere. It made me like his grace that time in a special way, different from the ones before because of the tenderness of a man standing before Jesus, walking a weary road but choosing to stand in His mercy.
My Granddad, as I know him, has always been himself. He's never tried to be anyone else. He's never messed with appearances or put on airs. You can know where you stand with my Granddad easily. He doesn't apologize for his quietness or his tendency to observe. He's always seemed to know who he is, and that has always been comforting for me as someone who has struggled with being quiet and sometimes being very different from those around me. Seeing my Granddad be exactly who he is--no more, no less--has given me permission and encouragement to also be myself.
My grandparents are some of the biggest supporters I've ever had in my life. When I was growing up, they facilitated my imagination and daydreams through their peonies and bike rides, evening walks and fishing excursions. Now, they often facilitate my daily adventures in Honduras through their prayers and generosity. I write all of these words because I often lay in bed at night with the darkness lingering over me, reminding me that my Friend, Jesus, is close by, and I think about my Granddad. I think about what kind of day he's had, how he's feeling, and if he's drifted off to sleep at his perch on the blue, leather couch. And, in my head, though I don't know that I'd do so in person, I hold his hand because I want him to know what he means to me, what he's given to me over the years, that he's not alone, and that nothing has ever been in vain. Before I drift off to sleep, I often imagine Jesus sitting beside my Granddad waiting patiently to hear what's on his mind, and I ask Him to hold my grandfather's hand in my place.
I was the first grandkid for my grandparents on my mom's side, and that position granted me a bond with them that has lasted throughout my life. Every summer, every possible vacation, I was at their house even despite the three or four hour drive between us. Because I was homeschooled for five years, that made time with them even more possible, and now, I see how precious it was. My grandfather was a social worker before he retired, and I remember accompanying my grandmother, a nurse, to see him in his office. At the time, I'm not sure I understood the concept of a social worker, but I did know clearly that my Granddad helped people just as my grandmother had helped people as a nurse. I've since imagined what those interactions with others in need may have looked like--my grandfather's calming voice and practical, no-nonsense attitude being shared across a desk or the godly discernment he must have used when reading someone's file. This mark of caring for others in practical ways is one that so many of my family members and myself carry. We have a couple more people in the medical field, some educators, and a future social worker among us, which is in part a product of the example my grandparents gave us.
Many afternoons, before my Granddad retired, he'd come home for lunch. His office wasn't too far away, and Grandmom would sit us three around the kitchen table with whatever she'd prepared. I was always a creative kid, and I spent many of those afternoons imagining that her kitchen was a restaurant called the Bird's Nest Café. (Birds are a passion of my grandmother's; one she shared in teaching me to really look at the birds she attracted to the seed she set out and to know their names, their uniqueness.) And my Granddad would play along as I asked him for his order, pen and notepad in hand. He'd shake salt and pepper onto his food in massive amounts, and his white and brown-rimmed coffee cup was always close at hand. We always had cookies or cake ready for Granddad's sweet tooth. He'd smile and wiggle his eyebrows up and down while Grandmom dished out his sweet onto his plate. Granddad's presence has always demanded a sort of respect, but it's because of his wisdom and calmness. He doesn't have to ask for it because he just deserves it. Yet, in the midst of that constant, solid air of security, he also has always known how to play. When we were little, he'd astound us by "removing" his finger, and his laugh is the least reserved thing about him. He has always facilitated play for us grandchildren. Good with his hands, he'd find a project in some corner of the yard, some new spot for a swing, and his garden was his frequent friend, always receiving his careful eye and attention. Over the years, he's put up swings and hammocks and pools that have occupied hours of joy for me and my cousins. In the evenings, Granddad and I would watch Relic Hunter drinking chocolate milkshakes he'd made for us (with so much sugar and chocolate syrup, I'm sure Grandmom was mortified). We'd sit together mulling over puzzles or spending hours playing Scrabble. I learned that my love of books and words was something to be proud of because my Granddad was always a lover of books and words first.
One of the things that I most love about my Granddad is a characteristic that I also see in myself. He has a natural curiosity about life and is able to see treasure in the discarded relics of others. The last time I visited with him, we talked about how he's always been one who went to the library to learn something new. If he wanted to know how to do something, if there was a task to be done, he'd learn first from a book. He was always finding new interests--bike riding to get in shape and playing guitar. The pursuit of knowledge and the practice of wisdom will always be synonymous with my Granddad for me, and it's a quality I'll be sure to embody for my own children. One of our traditions when I would visit my grandparents was yard-sale-ing. We'd get the newspaper out and sit down with a pen marking those yards and garages of interest.
"No, not that one. They just set up last Saturday and all they have are old clothes and glass knickknacks."
"What about this one, Willie? It's not too far away. They're advertising some good stuff."
And we'd get up early and head out to see what we could find. When something new appears in my grandparents' home, nine times out of ten, it's a yard sale find. And Granddad has always had the best eyes for ignored treasure. He has always found a purpose no one else can see.
If you want to find my Granddad, you don't look to the center of attention unless God's put him there, and even then, he does what he's asked in obedience and sits down. If you want to find my Granddad, you always look for him in the quiet corners of the yard under the trees sitting on his swing with coffee in hand. If you want to find my Granddad, you look in the basement in "Granddad's area" with a myriad of nuts and bolts, canned foods, and an extra freezer around you--the same area he'd share with us to roller skate in. If you want to find my Granddad, you walk around his truck under the carport or dip into the darkness of his tool shed where it smells like cut grass. If you want to connect with my Granddad, you sit down beside him on that swing and wait quietly. If you're patient enough, he'll tell you what's on his mind. My Granddad, for as long as I've been alive, has loved God and has been both a student and teacher of His Word. Most of what I can remember him sharing in those conversations rocking on the swing was about God, His nature, and what certain verses could mean.
I can't help but draw a parallel to what the nature of my Granddad has taught me about the nature of God Himself. Granddad has watched us over the years from quiet corners--playing kick the cans with cans of Pepsi he'd given us, twirling each other on the rope swing he put up, and splashing in the pool he had to drag out in the summer and store in his shed in the winter. And as an introvert myself, I was often aware that Granddad was on the perimeter watching us enjoy his creations, and I always felt a quiet yet protective approval. He was present with us even when we weren't always paying him attention. The way that I connect with my Granddad is often the way I feel that I connect with God. I sense His presence, protection, and approval even as I enjoy the people, nature, and simple joys He's placed in my life. I feel like I bring Him joy by relishing His creation. But, I also learned how to interact with God from my interactions with my Granddad. I know that if I want to hear God speak, I need to sit down beside Him and wait patiently for Him to tell me what's on His mind. I need to turn His words over in my mind and heart just as my Granddad has done.
It's because of my Granddad that many in our family came to know Jesus. It was his example, prayers, and faith that led us toward the path of salvation, and it was his own experience, passion, and joy that led us to receiving all that the Holy Spirit has to offer. I imagine that his treasures in heaven are many.
My Granddad has always said the same prayer as grace for dinner. He starts with his deep, reverent voice saying, "Father, we thank you for the day that you've given us..." And, for the life of me, I can't remember all of the words that go in the middle even though I've heard them from his lips a thousand times over spaghetti and grilled chicken, salad and buttered bread. But, it rhythmically ends with, "we ask that your blessing be upon it, and we do so in the name of Jesus Christ." He always knows what he is going to say as a truth that bears repeating. The last time I heard my Granddad pray that prayer, standing with more strength than he'd ever had before, and with a reluctance over a quieter, less steady voice, he did so with a new richness to his soul. He was unsure of how to start, like a child finding his way. He hesitated, searching for the familiar words. He soon found his rhythm and his well-cadenced truths, but it was the vulnerability that made the prayer heartfelt and sincere. It made me like his grace that time in a special way, different from the ones before because of the tenderness of a man standing before Jesus, walking a weary road but choosing to stand in His mercy.
My Granddad, as I know him, has always been himself. He's never tried to be anyone else. He's never messed with appearances or put on airs. You can know where you stand with my Granddad easily. He doesn't apologize for his quietness or his tendency to observe. He's always seemed to know who he is, and that has always been comforting for me as someone who has struggled with being quiet and sometimes being very different from those around me. Seeing my Granddad be exactly who he is--no more, no less--has given me permission and encouragement to also be myself.
My grandparents are some of the biggest supporters I've ever had in my life. When I was growing up, they facilitated my imagination and daydreams through their peonies and bike rides, evening walks and fishing excursions. Now, they often facilitate my daily adventures in Honduras through their prayers and generosity. I write all of these words because I often lay in bed at night with the darkness lingering over me, reminding me that my Friend, Jesus, is close by, and I think about my Granddad. I think about what kind of day he's had, how he's feeling, and if he's drifted off to sleep at his perch on the blue, leather couch. And, in my head, though I don't know that I'd do so in person, I hold his hand because I want him to know what he means to me, what he's given to me over the years, that he's not alone, and that nothing has ever been in vain. Before I drift off to sleep, I often imagine Jesus sitting beside my Granddad waiting patiently to hear what's on his mind, and I ask Him to hold my grandfather's hand in my place.
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