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| My grandparents, Gordon and Elaine Van Rooy, on their wedding day |
If you were to ask me to describe my
Grandpa, the memories that would color that description would be the
same ones that have colored my general perspective of him. Those
awkward moments when he would ask us at the family dinner table if we
had any friends who did drugs or how it made us feel when our dad
yelled at us. The continual reminders from him that our Grandma was
not long for this world (starting about 10 years before her passing).
The flowers he bought for her at Costco and then winking at the
pharmacy clerk said “I figure she can appreciate them more now than
later” (a good year before she passed away). Him leading us in a
cheer for my grandmother at her funeral which literally involved
having the congregation stand up and repeat after him “Ra! Ra!
Elaine!” The inappropriate “we're headed to bed...and what we do
there is none of your business” comment from my 83 year old
newlywed grandpa a few months after marrying Grandma Bev. You know,
the typical grandpa memories.
Not that I didn't love my grandpa, he
was a truly kind and jovial man, if not a bit quirky. Then this past
Spring as my grandpa's prostate cancer (which he seemed to have had
for at least 10 years) metastasized further and he entered into his
last days it became apparent that my family wanted me to be there
with him. The calls began to come with medical questions and, after
communicating with my family that I would be happy to come up if they
felt it would be helpful, it became very apparent that it would be.
I felt it was right to go up for those last days to honor my
grandfather and thought that maybe the idea of having a doctor in the
house would bring some peace to Grandma Bev (even though I knew I
wasn't going to be of much practical help). It became obvious later
on that they did not quite realize how little help I actually was
going to be and that what they really should have asked for was a
nurse (my sister), but nonetheless they got me.
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| Hiking through the Himalayas |
The realization of a life misjudged (or
perhaps under appreciated) came during those three days spent in my
grandparents' double wide retirement home as his body weakened and his spirit lifted.
Their walls are lined with beautiful paintings of the Himalayas from
a time gone by along with family pictures of my grandparents, their 4
boys and adopted daughter, and all of their grandchildren and
great-grandchildren. As we entered his room, Grandma Bev smiled at
him, put his covers on “just so” to cover his toes which kept
trying to peak out, and with a twinkle in her eye said “he is a
wonderful, wonderful man.” It was a phrase she repeated often as
she arranged his nightshirt or his covers or introduced him to the
night hospice “sitter” or just looked down at his frail form
while holding his hand.
She was right. He was a boy who grew
up in poverty, the youngest of 4 brothers in a two room house. He
shared a bed with these brothers and, more often than not, ended up
spending the night sleeping on the cold hard floor when there didn't
seem to be room for him. He was raised by a single mother after his
mother and alcoholic father separated. He came to know the Lord as a
child and fell in love for the rest of his life. He graduated from
Seattle Pacific University and went on to Dallas Theological Seminary
where he met my grandmother Elaine. They set off to a very remote
part of India with their two boys, ages 3 and 1 (my father), an area
that required a 10 day hike to reach as there were no roads. He
spent 18 years in India discipling Indian and Nepali pastors and
creating Bible correspondence curriculum for them. While there, he
and my grandmother adopted their 3 year old niece out of the Colorado
foster system (a place that had been much more damaging than
protective of her little life). During his furloughs and following
his return to Dallas he completed his Ph.D from Dallas seminary and
later went on to open a counseling facility for those struggling with
mental illness.
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| A view from my Grandparents' home in India |
These were all things I knew about my
grandpa, but somehow I had missed them. Somehow the quirky
idiosyncrasies of his personality had clouded my view of the amazing
work that God had carved in this man's life. This man who came from
the humblest background, a background that I would probably have
written off as not being redeemable, or at least not likely to be.
We spent three days in their home
saying good bye to my Grandpa (as I mentioned, I was really quite
useless on the medical side of things). My 3 year old daughter came
with me and connected immediately with him. She would sit next to
him in bed, singing to him, reading him Winnie the Pooh books,
handing her dollies to him (which he would sort of halfway flail in
the air with his lanky arm until someone took it from him). He made
a special effort to talk to her, strained whispers of “I love you”
or “hi Corrie”. Usually his only words of the day were reserved
for her. She would play in the living room and then get up and
decide she needed to go check on great-grandpa and go and sit with
him some more.
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| Grandpa with his second wife, Grandma Bev |
Dying reminds me a lot of birth. You
know it is coming soon and so everyone is prepared and even expectant
but no one knows exactly when it will come. And my grandpa, lying
there in his thin linen night shirt, all limbs and smooth skin, was
truly beautiful. He was a humble and honest man who loved the Lord
dearly and had a heart of gold and a fun quirky side. I am thankful
that I was there with him to say good bye. I am saddened that it
wasn't until his passing that I truly appreciated his life.
Who else am I missing out on when I
allow petty annoyances and irritations or even just quirkiness to
take hold of my perspective instead of seeing people with eyes of
love? I am trying to be conscientious of this, trying to consciously
remind myself of the beauty that God sees in lives that I sometimes
want to write off. I am thankful and proud of my grandpa's life.
His is a story of redemption. Of God's transforming love writing a
story that should be unimaginable.
Grandpa was truly excited to meet his
Jesus and yet he often expressed honest fears as well. We headed
home early on Sunday morning and my grandfather passed away that
evening. The following morning Corrie came up to me and wanted to
tell me her dream from the night before (something she has never
before done). Hurried preparing breakfast for the kids, I glanced at
her and asked what it was. “I dreamt I saw great grandpa's bones,
mommy. Because he didn't need them anymore, mommy, because he had a
new body. Jesus gave him a new body! And he was very happy.”
****
What about you, can you think of anyone that you have misjudged or allowed little personality traits to cloud your view of the beauty that God sees (and is working out) in their life?
