Legacy

This legacy of one now enshrouded by silky folds of linen, resting in a bed of the dust from which man came, lives on. The legacy of a man who walked the earth as a humble man, yet who departed it as a hero of faith and a testament of Christ.

Of the men who stand firm to their purpose, who love the Lord with all their heart, soul, and mind, who know the true meaning of life, Grandpa, you stand out as an expert.

Walking by your casket, one could only see what you weren't. Well, it was you, your body, but YOU weren't there. The tall frame, the kind eyes, forever closed to the suffering of this state of mortality we exist in, were mere reminders of the man of God that once dwelt in that body. The part that really was YOU, the part we loved, knew, and the part with which you loved and served your fellow man had taken its final journey to the place your eyes had always been set on--heaven.

How does one encapsulate such a life into one tribute, into mere sentences or words across the page? You left this earth at ninety six years of age, leaving behind you a intrinsically woven tapestry of life experiences. I knew you only in the retirement years of your life, yet in those years you have made an indelible impression upon my life.

There are many questions about why you did the things you did that couldn't be answered by natural human reasoning or selfish motives. Clearly, your life was directed by your Master, the One who gave His life for you and for Whom you daily gave your life.

The greatest barrier between you and Grandma and us in growing up were the miles that separated us, but you determined to make the most of the times when we were together. Walks down to the river, our small hands swinging your large one, all the while jabbering earfuls you patiently listened to, riding with you to the Hartville Hardware, where you seemed to know everyone you met, sitting up on your knee for "pony rides" or holding our palms up so would say "here's a crack, here's a crack, here's a crack and there's a CRACK" and smack us playfully, sitting around your old kitchen table eating ice cream in Grandma's green glass bowls, feeling your fuzzy beard and letting you rub it against our cheeks, going to the flea market with you...only a few of the memories that endeared you to me and to my siblings as young children.

As we got older, and you did too, the walks to the river slowed in pace, then in frequency, eventually stopping altogether. It became aware that you were aging, but we didn't really mind. You still found ways to spend time with us. What a treat to travel to Ohio and spend time at Grandpa and Grandma's house. We knew that our arrival was eagerly anticipated and you made sure each grandchild felt valued and important. I always knew after I took my bath, you would sniff the air with an intent look on your face and say "I smell a flower." Once a meal was finished, you would look at us in surprise and ask whatever we did with our food, then ask us if we put it under the table. We all knew that when we turned six, we were in for being teased about being "sick". We also knew that when we came down your creaky blue stairs in the morning we would find you in the corner chair with a Bible spread across your lap. We knew that when you interacted with your fellow men, you would be quick to praise God and speak a word for Him. We knew that you lived with a purpose.

Your life was not always easy or flowery. You told us tales of Depression days, when times were tough, when you shared your limited supplies of potatoes with those who were even less fortunate. You told us of a summer in Kansas when you were very nearly kidnapped. You told about growing up as an Amish boy. You told of your life as a young man facing the draft. You told of your experiences as you served your King and your fellow men in CPS camps instead of taking up arms. You told of your seven year engagement with your bride to be, prolonged by the war and your terms of service. My mom told us of your choice to serve God with your family in Guatemala for several years. You served in God's church as a deacon for many years until you were no longer able to.

As the sun sank continually lower in the sky, you maintained the things most important to you, chiefly your relationship with God and your fellow man. You and Grandma diligently prayed for each of your 40 grandchildren every day BY NAME, up to the day of your death. You faithfully remembered each birthday with a card and personal message and the traditional $2.00 bill. I treasure the memory of holding hands in a family circle before leaving from a visit and reciting Psalm 23, and singing a song together.

You showed me that loving God didn't make life stifling and dry, but full and refreshing instead. You had a hearty sense of humour to accompany your intense love for God.

The memories are many, the threads that hold us to the spirit of the live you lived well are strong.

And so, as you walk those streets of gold, as you chat with Aunt Roz along the banks of the River of Life, as you sit before your Maker and bask in the wonder of His presence, I know you are where you truly belong. You are as a bird returned to the expanse of the open sky. You are free from the bondage of mortality, of the pain that accompanies life on earth. You lived your life with purpose and fulfilled the purpose for which you were given life. You've passed on the torch to be carried onward and forward through the gathering clouds of the future.

Grandpa, you've left me, and countless others, with a legacy that WILL live on. And someday, Grandpa, when I get to heaven too, I want to sit on your knee again and have one more pony ride.