Hey everyone. Today is my first full day back from vacation. Jilly and I went to Disney World with another couple and had an unbelievably fun time. While we were there though, my Grandfather passed away so we spent one of the days driving to and from Atlanta for the funeral.
His death was the first one I have ever dealt with in a serious way. I've known other relatives who have died, but no one had been as close as my Papa. As a kid, I spent almost every summer down in Atlanta visiting him and my Grandmother and I always had a great time being around them, especially my Papa. He was a lot of things in his life - he was a soldier, wounded in D-Day in WWII. He was a father, grandfather and husband. He was a Jersey native. He was a friend. But most of all, he was kind. I could literally fill the rest of the blog with stories about him, but I would like to share just one that really shows how kind he was.
When I was about six or seven, my best friend in the whole world was a kid named Sunny. He lived 3 houses down from me and we saw each other probably every day. The only time we didn't see each other was when I was in Atlanta or he was in India. Well, one particular summer, I was down in Atlanta and hanging out with my Papa. He was a very skilled wood worker and was always making me cool little toys. In his workshop, there was a little marionette Dodo bird puppet he had prototyped. He let me play with it while I was down there, but I couldn't keep it. He promised me that when he and my Grandmother came to visit us in the winter, that he would make me one. I patiently waited those six months to see them again. Finally the day came. I was looking forward to getting this puppet almost as much as I was looking forward to seeing them. When he got out of the car he handed me two puppets. Across the top of the first one, in black marker was the word "BRANDON". Across the other was the word "SUNNY". He spent all those hours meticulously shaping and cutting not one, but two puppets - one for me and one for my best friend. That's the kind of guy he was.
Dealing with his passing has also forced me to confront my beliefs head on - specifically my beliefs on the afterlife. I've mentioned this before, but for as much as Christians make the afterlife a huge part of our faith, it is not mentioned very much in the Bible - at least not in the portions that I've read. My beliefs about heaven and hell are cobbled together from various stories and movies and charismatic preachers on TV. But knowing this man and his heart as much as I did, it is hard to deny the feeling that there must be some sort of reward for a life well lived. And I know that Paul talks ad nauseum about the idea of works vs faith, and I wholeheartedly agree with his assessment of those two things, but I don't think he is referring to the afterlife when making that distinction. Faith trumps works in the idea of forgiveness from Jesus not of going to heaven. And while I don't believe that you can necessarily "earn" your way into heaven by being good, it is hard to see a good man lying in a casket and not think there is something eternally beautiful waiting for him.
My grandfather's passing also made me somewhat reconsider the actions of God in the Old Testament. I've heard the argument that "It doesn't matter to God whether someone is alive or dead because he will be with them in Heaven as soon as they die." But I've also heard, and believe, that "God suffers when we suffer." And there was a great deal of suffering at my Grandfather's funeral - particularly from my Grandmother. It's always hard to see someone older crying, especially someone you love dearly, and I have never seen more grief and internal anguish up close as when I saw my Grandmother's realization that she lost her husband and partner of 65 years. How could God revel in that kind of pain. How could he continue to punish his people so severely and strike the survivors with that level of pain so frequently. Because, when you think about it, the victims of someone's death are the survivor's who loved that person - sometimes entire towns mourn the loss of a single person much less the hundreds of thousands wiped out by God's hand.
Now, I'm not saying my Grandfather was taken unjustly by God. He was 89 and lived a good, long life - but the intentional slaughter of people, especially innocents, is something I will continue to struggle with, maybe forever.
Here is the obituary for my Grandfather if you're interested:
http://www.ajc.com/news/cpl-theodore-joseph-t-716281.html
He will certainly be missed.
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