November 29, 2005

We buried my granddaddy yesterday.

Some people go through life never knowing the love of a grandparent and even parents for that matter. But I'm not one of those people. My family was incredibly blessed to be wittnesses to such a beautiful life. I and my sister were the most blessed. We are the grandbabies. And I dare say, we got the best of him in every way. Mom was worried for a while there that we would only remember these last few years, which were hard for everyone. Especially Granddaddy. So this is for my mom.

She wrote that he was a gentle man. And so much more.

I remember that my granddaddy was a hard worker. One thing I noticed, when I asked about who he was before he became Granddaddy, everyone acknowledged how hard he worked. He served in World War II working on the planes and radar technology. He worked for Montgomery Ward. He worked in the yard. Even as he aged, he always had a job to do. His family never had to worry about being taken care of, because he did it. He had an incredible work ethic, not just for his employers but for everyone. Work at it with all of your heart, as though you're working for the Lord and not for men. Granddaddy must have known that verse pretty well. I never heard him complain about anything.

I remember that Granddaddy was genourous and kind. He gave his time, his effort, his money, his love, his heart. If he had it, he gave it. I don't think he kept anything for himself except for the hankerchiefs that we got him for Christmas every year. He lived his life as though he really believed it was a gift for him to share. And share he did. He had kind eyes, a kind smile, and kind, gentle hands that were always open.

I remember Granddaddy was playful. He was the only adult I ever knew that would play with us the entire time we were with him. He played kickball with us in the back yard. He took us to the zoo on nice days and had picnics in the park with us. We often played with Granddaddy all day and at lunch time would meet up with Grandmom and play with her some too. We went ice skating at the tandy center; we even planted a garden. He taught us how to ride our bikes. Mom said, and I believe this is true, he would play any game that we wanted to play, and he would play as long as we wanted to. He valued children to the highest degree. Especially me and Tracy. If we sat down to color, he would sit there with us the entire time, telling us what a good job we were doing, and helping us to color in the lines. Nobody could swing us higher than he could. And nobody could push a merry go round faster.

I remember that granddaddy was humble. I don't think I ever knew what Granddaddy's favorites were. I guess I always thought his favorite food was Pancho's, his favorite game was skeeball, and his favorite thing to do was push the merry-go-round. If he didn't like something, I never knew about it. It always seemed to me that he loved everyone and everything. He never tried to push his own way or step on others toes. He was never critical. He never judged, even when he may have had plenty reason to. He always seemed to mind his own business and do the best he could. He was a servant who never served for his own personal gain or acknowlegement. He never argued. I don't think he liked debate. He didn't talk much about social justice, or how to save the world or fight aids. He didn't lobby for a better America. But he was the only person I've ever known that actually fed the hungry. (on a daily basis, not just on christmas and thanksgiving). I don't think we'll ever know how many banana boxes that man filled with food to take to the hungry. I think that when Jesus said Don't let your right hand know how much your left hand is giving, he meant to make it such a habit that you don't even realize you're doing it. That was my Granddaddy. It was a habit for him to give. He wouldn't accept accolades for such a thing. It was to him like eating or breathing. He just did it.

Most of all, I remember Granddaddy's hands. He had big gentle hands. Hands that only yesterday I held one more time. When we went to church, I used to hold his hands and gently push the vains down and up. He had big veins and they were fun to push on. He never minded. His hands were strong and often bruised or callused. He used them to rake the leaves, to push the swing, to tap, tap, tap that merry-go-round until it went so fast that we thought we'd throw up. He used them to shell pecans and peas while watching the Price is Right. I can't even imagine how many pecans that man picked up in his lifetime. He used them to dig me out of a trash can at the mall. In fact, he's dug me out of a couple of holes in my lifetime. He used them to hoe the garden, to feed the hungry, to push our bikes until we could do it on our own, to hold us all up at one point or another. His hands shook most of my life, but they were perfect.

I've heard it said that we all as Christians have a testimony to someone demonstrating the fruits of the Spirit in our lives. Granddaddy shined a light for us all. He was a glimpse of love, humility, and most of all Jesus. Joe Haney passed away on November 24, 2005, Thanksgiving Day. I know that many of us share what we're thankful for on that special holiday. I'm so priveledged and so thankful to have been in the presence of such a man as Granddaddy. We've witnessed something true, something beautiful, and many many holy moments.

November 21, 2005

Why do we sing?

Does it ever strike anyone else as odd that we gather in a building, millions of us, all over the world, every Sunday to sing? How is it that we who are reasonable people, who drive nice, or not so nice cars, and talk business and politics and discuss the values of owning a weapon, get together once a week, whether we have ability or not, to sing? What is it about God that suddenly makes us need to be musical? What is it about God that he wants our music?

Does anyone else go to church on Sunday and find it strickingly funny that all of these people in all of these places are gathering to sing, whether traditional or contemporary, instrumental or accapella, we gather, not for a concert, but to sing?

So, why do we do it? And don't give an easy answer. Think about this one. If your going to say because God wants us to, I want you to share an idea as to why. You don't have to be right, I just want your opinions. Defend the music people!

God & Chocolate

From Blue Like Jazz: "We would eat chocolates and smoke cigarettes and read the Bible, which is the only way to do it, if you ask me. The Bible is so good with chocolate. I always thought the Bible was more of a salad thing but it isn't. It's a chocolate thing."

Taste and see that the Lord is good. I don't guess I ever thought of it that way. Maybe I always equated God with salads and sandwiches and maybe sushi. You know, stuffy food. But not chocolate. Not the rich beautiful decadence of chocolate. Chocolate is sinful isn't it? But maybe theres something to this. Chocolate goes with God and God with chocolate. I think I'm getting somewhere now.

What about you? What foods go best with God to you?

(This is a light hearted post, designed simply to celebrate God. If he is the love of my life, to what can I compare him?)

November 8, 2005

I had an awesome birthday. We went to the zoo on Saturday with the family and had an enourmous picnic in the park. We played so hard all day.

I got to see the Monkeys doin it! (Got pictures too, but I'll spare you the details). And we saw 5 week old lion cubs. They were so precious. And they kinda reminded me of Eli!.

Sunday, we went to church and finally placed membership. Our church actually has a discipleship program. Which is awesome. We really like it where we are now.

Jeremy took me to Tony Roma's on Sunday. Surprise! And Elijah got me the Lucia Micerelli cd. (I don't think that's spelled right).

I have the coolest family ever.

November 3, 2005

There is nothing like the satisfaction that occurs when the child you have wrestled with for an hour finally goes limp in your arms. And it's doubled when you see him smiling in blissfull sleep.