06/23/2017
https://www.facebook.com/Bastionsoftheway/posts/684602475075282:0
My Grandfather was a coward.
When his daughter's mother was brutally murdered he kept quiet and remained a secret from her. When she was in her fifties he revealed his relation to her through a mutual friend at a local Hardee's. She was angry and hurt. She asked, "When my mother was murdered, why didn't you come get me? I had no one." He hanged his head, "I was just a poor boxer. I didn't have nothin to offer."
Why did he contact her? As far as we could tell, so he could have a dance partner down at the local Moose Lodge. He was in his late 80s and a little senile, barely able to really comprehend who his relations were. I went to meet him for the first time and talked to him about my wife and our kids. "These are your Great Grand Daughters", I told him. He smiled and said they looked nice. He didn't ask anything about me, my wife, or what his Great Grand Kids liked or didn't like. Really there was no discussion about us at all. He either didn't care, or didn't understand.
His days were spent in meaningless pursuits that at his age seemed honestly silly. After a year of knowing about him, all my mother had were a couple of one-sided visits and several uncomfortable calls asking her to come dance at the Moose with him. Then he got sick. Sick to the point that it was clear he was going to die. He didn't ask for any of us. Mom went first and came away numbed. She said I didn't have to go, but I went anyway.
I went by myself. I went into the room and saw him lying in the bed, haggard. I ignored the three other people in the room; a friend, his current wife, and his son from a different marriage (he never married my Grandmother). He was unable to speak at this point and just stared at the ceiling as if he was watching for something to happen. I stood by the bed and held his hand.
If I'm being honest, I hated this so-called man, right or wrong I did. I hated that he wasn't up to the task of being the father he was called to be. I hated it that he hadn't stepped up! That he hadn't ridden in on a white horse and rescued my mom from a childhood of horrors. I hated that in some part I could see his failures in parts of myself I abhor. With his hand still in mine I struggled with what to say. Do you talk about dying to a person who is facing it? It seemed almost cruel to talk about the encroaching line of eternity that I assumed he was more than aware of.
The pause I took seemed to last for a long time. In the end, I made a decision. A decision that I didn't care if he wanted to know me or my family. I wanted him to know us. We were worth knowing. However, he wouldn't have an opportunity to do this during this lifetime. I gently squeezed his hand and began to pray over him out loud. "Dear God, my Grandfather doesn't know you Lord, but I do. I ask you now to open his eyes dear God to Your truth. Help him Lord to ask for Your forgiveness and to believe that you save him even now. So that he might be with you in paradise God."
After leading him trough the sinner's prayer I ended it. He couldn't speak of course. He couldn't even write. I have no idea if he accepted Christ, ignored me, or was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. I kissed his forehead and walked out of the hospital room. I sat in the car beside my wife and wept. I wept for his wasted life, what he had missed. All the amazing relationship and love he had missed. He missed it all.
He was so focused on self he had missed the awesomeness God had placed right in front of him. Dear God help me to never miss the Goodness you have given to me. Help me not to embrace the cowardice in my blood. Help me to grab life by the throat and wring out every good thing you so generously provide. Help me not to be afraid of living life for You. Of being the Father you have called me to be.
