Things Remembered...

Ecclesiastes 7:8 says,

"The end of a thing is better than its beginning; The patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit."

To put it in laymen's terms, "It's not how you start out, it's how you finish." I remember hearing that catchphrase when I was a new believer, but it took a while for the lesson to sink in. Life's experiences (and observing what transpired in the lives of others) since that time have embedded the lessons into my heart, and carved them into my mind.

I've been thinking about my grandfather lately. I love the man dearly, for he was the one who raised me. My paternal grandparents adopted me and took me in because my mother and father did not want me. Last year my grandmother died. That event was the very first time I had experienced the death of a loved one. When I saw her face behind the mask of death I could not believe that the hands that worked daily to love and care for me now lay still and stiff, its touch cold and utterly unfamiliar. It was a tragic and sorrowful time. The woman who had lovingly cared for me all those years -- rising early in the morning to fix my meals, bearing the pain of arthritis to cook and clean, and taking time to love us by her actions -- gone in a moment after a painful bout with cancer.

Yet, I rejoiced in the hope that is in the promise of God. You see, my grandmother had put her faith in Jesus and trusted Him for salvation. Therefore, I knew that I would see her again. I knew that this is not the end of our relationship, only a mere interruption to be followed by a joyous reunion later. Praise the LORD Jesus Christ who said,"Blessed are you who mourn now, for you shall laugh."I believe that this is one of the things He had in mind when He made that promise.

But it is what I remember about Mama that is most profound. Of course she made many mistakes, alot of them I can't ever forget. But I will never fail to recall her faithfulness to her children, the actions she took that were born out of that love for us, for me! And in the last bout of her life, while she lay in that hospital bed as cancer worked her over, she was still more concerned about us instead of her own comfort. When I came to visit her at Seton Hospital she would say to me, "Have you eaten yet?", and then proceed to offer me the fixed meals the nurses had brought in for her. She never failed to pray for us. Like clockwork I would always find her sitting in bed both in the morning prior to starting her daily chores, and at night before going to sleep, praying to Almighty God for us her children. I will always remember her to be the most gracious, the most loving, the most understanding. In life she had left an unmatched impression on my heart, and in death she left a void in my life that no one else could ever take. But she lived her life well, and though she made many mistakes of her own, love will cover a multitude of transgressions. I have many more fond memories of her than bad ones, and it is those memories that come to the forefront of my mind when I think of her. Pick out some nice places in Heaven you and I can check out together, Mama. I'll see you there, someday!

But back to my grandfather. I love the man, but I cannot help but to say that I do not have that many fond memories of him. Yes, he's still alive and no, I do not have the time to spend with him in order to make up for the could-have-beens. I have a family of my own to care for. Those of you who read my blogs know that my job takes me on a daily ninety-three-mile one-way trip to work and back (an additional ninety-three miles). I've always taught my children to love people and use things. People are not our slaves, things are. We should not love things to death, we ought to love people in that manner instead. It wasn't a lesson that I learned in life by myself, or through my family. Rather, it was something that was taught to me by God when I became a Christian. It wasn't something easy to learn, either, to have its teachings embedded in my heart and not just my head. Through many trials, many tests I was trained to value other human beings more than the things I cherished -- my money, my necessities, my cool gadgets.

Yet for some people, like my grandfather, they are learning that lesson at a much later time in their life. My grandfather finds it more difficult now to have the circumstances imposed upon him which will impress such virtue in his heart. It is often more laborious, and dare I say, often times more grievous for the older folks to learn what is right because they have been set in their ways, having ridden on the same patterns, the same attitudes, the same habits for most of their life. But with God anything is possible. At the same time God will not do those things for us we can do for ourselves. And so my grandpa trudges along in his own strength.

As I have already said, my grandmother died last year. It was much harder for my grandpa to see his life partner for sixty plus years taken from him, her last breath a long draw of oxygen and an even longer exhale, as if blowing her spirit out of her cancer-ravaged body. They had been married together for sixty-plus years.

All through his life "Papa" always did things first and foremost with himself in mind. Whatever his daily decision, he always looked out for his own pleasure, his own self-gratification. Papa was extremely impatient, and given to mercurial mood swings. He often had a scowl on his face, and his anger and violence simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode if his children did not march to his beat, or if he was obligated to go out of his way to help one of them -- and God help you if you were the unfortunate chap who interrupted Papa while he sat in his easy chair watching the television. No favorite show in particular, just the idiot-box distracting his thoughts away from things that make him angry long enough to focus on a crazier version of the world. He hated being asked questions or even hearing other people talking above the volume of his thoughts or television set. In fact, one of his favorite quotations is, "More talk, more mistakes. Less talk, less mistakes. No talk, no mistakes."

Though I loved the man, there were many things that I hated about him, the three that stand out most being 1) the double-standards he employed, one rule for him, another for everyone else, 2) his unseemly pride -- Papa never could admit he was wrong, and to him it seemed utterly unthinkable that he couldn't be right, and 3) as usual and as always, Papa's extreme impatience.

But now Mama is gone, and after Mama his children, now all grown and with families of their own, have also left him. I cannot blame them, or myself, for the actions we have taken. For years we have been totally exasperated with his attitude, his ungratefulness, his unseemly pride.

For all our lives, he hated hearing us talk above the volume of his television set, he disliked answering our questions, he was quick as lightning to complain about anything which kindled his anger in the least. Now he can revel in a silent home, with nothing but the four walls screaming loudly at him. Now he can dread waking up in the morning to the sounds of silence. He can allow his anger to build up, causing him to lash out. But there was no loving wife, no incompetent grandson, no mentally-retarded daughter. He was left with nothing but himself and the painful reality of the present. But at least he has his toys -- that new .17mm varmint rifle he'll never get a chance to shoot, his gaudy $3000.00 Breitling watch. Don't forget to mention his cache of coconuts that he never wanted to share, and now it's not an option. Two months after the death of Mama, and so desperate for company, he took up with shadier members of the family he had long hated. Funny that he used to speak ill of them often, yet now he finds himself worrying about them and going so far as to buy them things -- all just so he could have some company.

I visit Papa every so often when I get the chance. Sometimes I buy him Chinese food, even though he isn't supposed to be eating it due to his high blood pressure and heart condition. But what can I do? The man is stubborn, and even when you get him exactly what he wants he does not offer any thanks, only criticism. I can't love him like that. But it is God's love in me that helps me to do the supernatural -- love the unlovable.

After all, I feel pity for the man. I've shared the Gospel with him several times, but he continues to persist adding his own worldly wisdom to it. He would still criticize it, as if looking to justify himself in some manner. He could never accept it at face value and just trust Christ for salvation. I sincerely hope he does so before his death. I believe that is why he's still alive -- God's mercy does not want him to perish in Hell, so the LORD has given him extra time as a gift. Papa's greatest desire is to see Mama again. I believe that if he were to trust Christ and go as he is right now, that if he were to do this then God would give him a week to settle affairs before taking him home. But I'm willing to bet that true to form, Papa will persist in his unseemly pride and live until my own eldest daughter is twenty-five years old. For those of you out there, please pray for my Papa that he would trust Christ and be saved. I don't want this to be how my grandpa ends. Often times I imagine him lying in his deathbed, his final act in this life laboring to raise his clenched fists in the air, eyes defiantly looking upward, his throat making a herculean effort to speak his all-time-favorite curse, "God...d..a..m.n.....", then leaving his temporary abode to be whisked off to a Christ-less eternity.

He began life with so much promise. He was valedictorian of all his classes, an excellent marksmen of excellent marksmen, a model military officer, brave and strong. He was also a below-average father, a man given to anger, and he will ultimately be forgotten if he dies the second death. It's not how you start out, it's how you finish.