Hope
I don't even know where I'm going with this. I'm just sitting down to type because it's finally quiet and I'm alone with my thoughts for the first time in a week. All I know is there is a pain in the depths of my soul that I cannot hide and I cannot overcome. A pain so deep it physically hurts. A pain unlike any I have felt in thirty-two years. At the root of it is the loss of my Papaw.
We skipped school this past Friday to attend the funeral of one of the greatest men I've ever had the privilege of knowing. My five- and three-year-old didn't quite understand what was going on. I still they think Papaw is going to wake up and be back at his farm in time for Christmas. I took my one-year-old to the casket before we left for the cemetery. Papaw met him twice. Just twice. For a few moments, it was just him, me, and Papaw. I told him how much I wished he would have been able to know the Papaw I knew. I told him how much he was loved and how much I wanted him to learn. He said "night night" in the sweetest little voice and pointed to the casket. I shook my head as tears flowed. Austin will not remember this, but I will never forget it.
Papaw left this earth late Tuesday night. We had been preparing the girls for about a week, but when it came time to tell them, I chickened out and let my husband handle it. It was bedtime and Landon sat them down in the floor of their room to talk. Avery has a sensitive spirit and immediately wants to console someone who is hurting. Aubrey has a more adventurous spirit and desires to reason out everything that happens. I was intrigued by both of their responses. Avery sensed something and crawled into my lap, crying even before a word was spoken. Aubrey laid her head in her daddy's lap and said, "Papaw's not in pain anymore and he can run and play now." Such precious words from a child struggling to grasp the reality of what had occurred.
Friday was one of the hardest days of my life. Since Tuesday, I constantly suppressed feelings because I wanted to stay strong for my kids and I still had a job to get up and go to every morning. Then Friday came and I had no other choice than to face them. My godsend of a husband walked to the front of the room with me where I just held my Papaw's hand and cried. The floodgates opened and tears came pouring out in buckets full. The rush of emotions cannot be explained with mere words. My brother asked me before the service if I wanted to write down any memories. Of course I did, but I could not find the words to save my life. I just shook my head no. I had things to say. I had memories to share, but I could not put anything in writing. I listened, I sang, I listened some more. I gave fruit snacks to squirming children. And I cried.
At the grave side, I listened, sang, and cried some more. I kept wondering when this would be over, when the tears would dry up, and I would feel better. The best thing I can conceive is that it will get better, but it will take time. The pain of losing such a precious, Godly man will never go away. It will only ease and become more manageable.
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So here are some of the memories I wish I could have found the words for Friday morning.
Mamaw and Papaw purchased a farm in Aquilla, TX after he retired. That farm has more sweat equity poured into it than anything else I've seen in my life. It underwent a complete transformation in the 20 or so years that they spent there.
I remember camping in the back of my dad's green '70 Chevy and the bucket we used for an outhouse the first few months after they purchased the land. I remember spending the night in the shop building where they lived while they were building their house. I remember going a couple of times, just my dad and me, cleaning out the tanks, and clearing brush. Mamaw made us strip on the back porch before we came in because our clothes were filthy from playing in nasty tank water.
I remember Papaw grabbing me and telling me stories. "Kristen Joy, come sit over here and tell your ol' Papaw what you've been up to." Only Papaw and my mom use my middle name when I'm not in trouble. I'll never forget the sound of his voice when he said it either.
Papaw had bright blue eyes that melted hearts I'm sure. The same blue eyes became hazy and confused when dementia set in a few years ago. How I wish my children would have known him the same way I did. I wish they would have been able to eat a scrambled egg and bacon breakfast cooked by Papaw. I wish they would have gone with him to town to pick up feed for the cows during the many droughts. I wish they would have heard him sing his heart out in church and listened to the stories of his prison ministry.
More than anything, I pray they know the unconditional love he gave to his family and everyone with whom he came in contact. Papaw is one of the few people who would genuinely give the shirt off his back to someone in need. He was one who could be trusted with little, and, as a result, was trusted with much. No one knew it though. No one knew just exactly how many lives he touched, how many families he helped restore, how many widows he served, or how many churches he planted. Papaw was one of the most selfless men I've ever known. Papaw loved and gave without expectation of return. He invested in the lives of everyone he knew, and he took every opportunity to ask people if they knew where they would spend eternity. Love for God just flowed out of him. Sharing about his relationship with the Lord was as natural as breathing.
So I know that I will see my Papaw again. I know that, because of the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, my Papaw is in heaven right now. But none of that, no matter how absolutely amazing and mind-blowing it is, changes the fact that Papaw is not here. SO for now I am drawn to these words and find rest in hope.
We skipped school this past Friday to attend the funeral of one of the greatest men I've ever had the privilege of knowing. My five- and three-year-old didn't quite understand what was going on. I still they think Papaw is going to wake up and be back at his farm in time for Christmas. I took my one-year-old to the casket before we left for the cemetery. Papaw met him twice. Just twice. For a few moments, it was just him, me, and Papaw. I told him how much I wished he would have been able to know the Papaw I knew. I told him how much he was loved and how much I wanted him to learn. He said "night night" in the sweetest little voice and pointed to the casket. I shook my head as tears flowed. Austin will not remember this, but I will never forget it.
Papaw left this earth late Tuesday night. We had been preparing the girls for about a week, but when it came time to tell them, I chickened out and let my husband handle it. It was bedtime and Landon sat them down in the floor of their room to talk. Avery has a sensitive spirit and immediately wants to console someone who is hurting. Aubrey has a more adventurous spirit and desires to reason out everything that happens. I was intrigued by both of their responses. Avery sensed something and crawled into my lap, crying even before a word was spoken. Aubrey laid her head in her daddy's lap and said, "Papaw's not in pain anymore and he can run and play now." Such precious words from a child struggling to grasp the reality of what had occurred.
Friday was one of the hardest days of my life. Since Tuesday, I constantly suppressed feelings because I wanted to stay strong for my kids and I still had a job to get up and go to every morning. Then Friday came and I had no other choice than to face them. My godsend of a husband walked to the front of the room with me where I just held my Papaw's hand and cried. The floodgates opened and tears came pouring out in buckets full. The rush of emotions cannot be explained with mere words. My brother asked me before the service if I wanted to write down any memories. Of course I did, but I could not find the words to save my life. I just shook my head no. I had things to say. I had memories to share, but I could not put anything in writing. I listened, I sang, I listened some more. I gave fruit snacks to squirming children. And I cried.
At the grave side, I listened, sang, and cried some more. I kept wondering when this would be over, when the tears would dry up, and I would feel better. The best thing I can conceive is that it will get better, but it will take time. The pain of losing such a precious, Godly man will never go away. It will only ease and become more manageable.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So here are some of the memories I wish I could have found the words for Friday morning.
Mamaw and Papaw purchased a farm in Aquilla, TX after he retired. That farm has more sweat equity poured into it than anything else I've seen in my life. It underwent a complete transformation in the 20 or so years that they spent there.
I remember camping in the back of my dad's green '70 Chevy and the bucket we used for an outhouse the first few months after they purchased the land. I remember spending the night in the shop building where they lived while they were building their house. I remember going a couple of times, just my dad and me, cleaning out the tanks, and clearing brush. Mamaw made us strip on the back porch before we came in because our clothes were filthy from playing in nasty tank water.
I remember Papaw grabbing me and telling me stories. "Kristen Joy, come sit over here and tell your ol' Papaw what you've been up to." Only Papaw and my mom use my middle name when I'm not in trouble. I'll never forget the sound of his voice when he said it either.
Papaw had bright blue eyes that melted hearts I'm sure. The same blue eyes became hazy and confused when dementia set in a few years ago. How I wish my children would have known him the same way I did. I wish they would have been able to eat a scrambled egg and bacon breakfast cooked by Papaw. I wish they would have gone with him to town to pick up feed for the cows during the many droughts. I wish they would have heard him sing his heart out in church and listened to the stories of his prison ministry.
More than anything, I pray they know the unconditional love he gave to his family and everyone with whom he came in contact. Papaw is one of the few people who would genuinely give the shirt off his back to someone in need. He was one who could be trusted with little, and, as a result, was trusted with much. No one knew it though. No one knew just exactly how many lives he touched, how many families he helped restore, how many widows he served, or how many churches he planted. Papaw was one of the most selfless men I've ever known. Papaw loved and gave without expectation of return. He invested in the lives of everyone he knew, and he took every opportunity to ask people if they knew where they would spend eternity. Love for God just flowed out of him. Sharing about his relationship with the Lord was as natural as breathing.
So I know that I will see my Papaw again. I know that, because of the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, my Papaw is in heaven right now. But none of that, no matter how absolutely amazing and mind-blowing it is, changes the fact that Papaw is not here. SO for now I am drawn to these words and find rest in hope.
"We do not want you to be uninformed,
brothers, concerning those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve
like the rest, who have no hope. Since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, in the same way God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep through Jesus. For we say this to you by a revelation from the Lord: We who are still alive at the Lord’s coming will certainly have no advantage over those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the archangel’s voice, and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are still alive will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words."
- 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
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