Saying good bye to Grandpa Gordon

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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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?