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<blockquote data-quote="Darrin" data-source="post: 63998326" data-attributes="member: 336858"><p>October 18, 2011</p><p> </p><p>Today at work, a friend gave me a letter she had promised to write. </p><p> </p><p><em>My dad didnt grow up in a Christian or believing home. His mom and dad were heavy drinkers & smokers. His parents got a divorce when he was a teenager. My dad, nor his parents, had no desire (from what it looked like) to follow Jesus. My dad and his father werent close at all, but in the last years of my grandfathers life they started building a relationship. My dad gave his life to the Lord 9 yrs after my mom and dad got married.</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Not Ten years ago, my grandfather (or Pops, as we called him) was diagnosed with stomach and pancreatic cancer. The doctors estimated his life expectancy at six months. My Pops did not run from death. He took care of all of his funeral arrangements, and most importantly, gave his his life to the Lord! There is a belief that one cant be saved if they are faced with a traumatic or life-threatening experience. My Pops was proof that this is not so. We are not to adopt traditions and doctrines of this world. In his last days, Pops slipped into a coma and my dad went to go be with him. There was always someone in the house. Either Pops wife, my dad, or the hospice lady. The house was always busy. Coincidently, one day my dad was alone with Pops. My dad walked out of the bathroom to go to the living room to watch the Cowboys game and was stopped when he felt the spirit of death. He knew it was time. He went to his comatose father and held him in his arms and put his fingers on his pulse. He started fading slowly and right before it stopped, my unconscious grandfather squinted (as if to see a bright light), then a huge peaceful smile showed on his face. After this, his heart faded to a stop. My dad says it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. I wish everyone could have an experience like my Pops did. He was sure in faith and was not scared of death. If we have Christ why should we be scared of death? The Word says not to be. We are to fear the One who can cast us into hell. (Matthew 10:28) </em></p><p> </p><p><em>We should be sure of ourselves. We should be building up treasures in Heaven and not dwelling on earthly things. This body and life will pass away. Our God is an everlasting God. Mighty and just. He cares for us. (I Peter 5:7) We are called to have a Christ-like boldness. Knowing that we are not under judgment to this lost world, but to the one and only just God. Ruler of all. </em></p><p> </p><p><em>Peace be with you.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A very good letter.As I was reading it, I kept thinking about when my grandfather died. I related the story to Sarah in a thank you letter-</p><p> </p><p><em>He was a very quiet man, never said much at all. I would come over here on Sunday afternoons as a child and my grandmother and I would talk for hours, but Papaw would just sit there. Sometimes he would go hours without saying a word. Sometimes my grandmother (who spoke at least 170 words a minute) would talk about him like he wasnt there. Some people even wondered if he was slow. </em></p><p> </p><p><em>They couldnt have been more wrong. The man was amazing. He built what is now my home, by himself, before the days of nail guns and power saws. He could build anything. He knew how to do anything. He could do long division in his head. When he did talk, he would say things that sometimes left me speechless.</em></p><p> </p><p><em>I realized early on that he WOULD talk , but you had to wait for him to think very carefully about what he was going to say. Sometimes for 30 or 45 seconds. Most people cant or wont wait that long. Instead, they just start talking again. With Papaw, if you didnt wait, he would just clam up and let the moment pass. He never felt that he had to be heard, that his opinion had to be known. Consequently, most people acted like he wasnt in the room. They basically left him out of the circle of conversation because he refused to try and keep up with their "high-speed, say anything, get it out fast" pace. When I think of my grandfather, I think of Matthew 12:36-37 <strong>But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.</strong></em></p><p> </p><p><em>The fact that the man even made it to adulthood was a miracle of God. He was born very premature and his mother died during the delivery. HER mother, who was right down the hall in the same hospital, died ten minutes later. His daddy didnt want him, so the doctor who delivered him took him home in a shoe box, not expecting him to survive the night. When he was a little older he had polio and it left him with a bad limp and a withered leg. When he was fourteen, the doctor and his wife divorced, so he was forced to go make it on his own. He got a job delivering telegrams on his bicycle for Western Union. At sixteen, He was adopted by the Galloway family. Before the adoption, his last name was Pinkerton. I wish my last name was Pinkerton. Oh, well. Im certainly not going to go change it. Why confuse people?</em></p><p> <em></em></p><p><em>Anyway, one month shy of his Ninetieth birthday, this humble quiet man that everyone had always overlooked and barely even noticed, went into the hospital for the last time. He had smoked for 64 years and, although he had quit thirteen years before, his lungs were destroyed. When it became obvious that he wasnt going to recover, they moved him to a nursing home. A few days later, my dad called me and said I better come see him, because he was failing fast. </em></p><p> <em></em></p><p><em>We all sat there in the room with him, my dad, stepmother, and grandmother and I. I guess we were there for two hours or so. I got to tell him goodbye and that I loved him. My dad would get up every now and then to check on him and adjust his oxygen mask. Then, after a while, the same thing happened that always happened. THEY FORGOT HE WAS IN THE ROOM. My stepmother struck up a conversation with my grandmother and soon my dad joined in and away they went, talking about all kinds of things from church to the weather, completely losing focus on the fact that the patriarch of the family was laying over in the corner slowly choking to death. I dont blame or judge them, but I didnt participate. I sat there looking at Papaw, and he was looking at me. I never said a word and he couldnt talk, but for probably ten or fifteen minutes we looked at each other and I tried as hard as I could to tell him with my eyes how much I cared and that I was aware of his suffering. I confess that I kept thinking, These people have forgotten you are even in the room, just like they always have, but Im not going to do that. Ill be right here until its over. Ive never had any doubt whatsoever that he appreciated my gesture.</em></p><p> <em></em></p><p><em>After it was over, I politely waited for a break in the conversation and said, Uh, hes gone. </em></p><p><em></em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Darrin, post: 63998326, member: 336858"] October 18, 2011 Today at work, a friend gave me a letter she had promised to write. [I]My dad didnt grow up in a Christian or believing home. His mom and dad were heavy drinkers & smokers. His parents got a divorce when he was a teenager. My dad, nor his parents, had no desire (from what it looked like) to follow Jesus. My dad and his father werent close at all, but in the last years of my grandfathers life they started building a relationship. My dad gave his life to the Lord 9 yrs after my mom and dad got married.[/I] [I]Not Ten years ago, my grandfather (or Pops, as we called him) was diagnosed with stomach and pancreatic cancer. The doctors estimated his life expectancy at six months. My Pops did not run from death. He took care of all of his funeral arrangements, and most importantly, gave his his life to the Lord! There is a belief that one cant be saved if they are faced with a traumatic or life-threatening experience. My Pops was proof that this is not so. We are not to adopt traditions and doctrines of this world. In his last days, Pops slipped into a coma and my dad went to go be with him. There was always someone in the house. Either Pops wife, my dad, or the hospice lady. The house was always busy. Coincidently, one day my dad was alone with Pops. My dad walked out of the bathroom to go to the living room to watch the Cowboys game and was stopped when he felt the spirit of death. He knew it was time. He went to his comatose father and held him in his arms and put his fingers on his pulse. He started fading slowly and right before it stopped, my unconscious grandfather squinted (as if to see a bright light), then a huge peaceful smile showed on his face. After this, his heart faded to a stop. My dad says it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. I wish everyone could have an experience like my Pops did. He was sure in faith and was not scared of death. If we have Christ why should we be scared of death? The Word says not to be. We are to fear the One who can cast us into hell. (Matthew 10:28) [/I] [I]We should be sure of ourselves. We should be building up treasures in Heaven and not dwelling on earthly things. This body and life will pass away. Our God is an everlasting God. Mighty and just. He cares for us. (I Peter 5:7) We are called to have a Christ-like boldness. Knowing that we are not under judgment to this lost world, but to the one and only just God. Ruler of all. [/I] [I]Peace be with you.[/I] A very good letter.As I was reading it, I kept thinking about when my grandfather died. I related the story to Sarah in a thank you letter- [I]He was a very quiet man, never said much at all. I would come over here on Sunday afternoons as a child and my grandmother and I would talk for hours, but Papaw would just sit there. Sometimes he would go hours without saying a word. Sometimes my grandmother (who spoke at least 170 words a minute) would talk about him like he wasnt there. Some people even wondered if he was slow. [/I] [I]They couldnt have been more wrong. The man was amazing. He built what is now my home, by himself, before the days of nail guns and power saws. He could build anything. He knew how to do anything. He could do long division in his head. When he did talk, he would say things that sometimes left me speechless.[/I] [I]I realized early on that he WOULD talk , but you had to wait for him to think very carefully about what he was going to say. Sometimes for 30 or 45 seconds. Most people cant or wont wait that long. Instead, they just start talking again. With Papaw, if you didnt wait, he would just clam up and let the moment pass. He never felt that he had to be heard, that his opinion had to be known. Consequently, most people acted like he wasnt in the room. They basically left him out of the circle of conversation because he refused to try and keep up with their "high-speed, say anything, get it out fast" pace. When I think of my grandfather, I think of Matthew 12:36-37 [B]But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.[/B][/I] [I]The fact that the man even made it to adulthood was a miracle of God. He was born very premature and his mother died during the delivery. HER mother, who was right down the hall in the same hospital, died ten minutes later. His daddy didnt want him, so the doctor who delivered him took him home in a shoe box, not expecting him to survive the night. When he was a little older he had polio and it left him with a bad limp and a withered leg. When he was fourteen, the doctor and his wife divorced, so he was forced to go make it on his own. He got a job delivering telegrams on his bicycle for Western Union. At sixteen, He was adopted by the Galloway family. Before the adoption, his last name was Pinkerton. I wish my last name was Pinkerton. Oh, well. Im certainly not going to go change it. Why confuse people? Anyway, one month shy of his Ninetieth birthday, this humble quiet man that everyone had always overlooked and barely even noticed, went into the hospital for the last time. He had smoked for 64 years and, although he had quit thirteen years before, his lungs were destroyed. When it became obvious that he wasnt going to recover, they moved him to a nursing home. A few days later, my dad called me and said I better come see him, because he was failing fast. We all sat there in the room with him, my dad, stepmother, and grandmother and I. I guess we were there for two hours or so. I got to tell him goodbye and that I loved him. My dad would get up every now and then to check on him and adjust his oxygen mask. Then, after a while, the same thing happened that always happened. THEY FORGOT HE WAS IN THE ROOM. My stepmother struck up a conversation with my grandmother and soon my dad joined in and away they went, talking about all kinds of things from church to the weather, completely losing focus on the fact that the patriarch of the family was laying over in the corner slowly choking to death. I dont blame or judge them, but I didnt participate. I sat there looking at Papaw, and he was looking at me. I never said a word and he couldnt talk, but for probably ten or fifteen minutes we looked at each other and I tried as hard as I could to tell him with my eyes how much I cared and that I was aware of his suffering. I confess that I kept thinking, These people have forgotten you are even in the room, just like they always have, but Im not going to do that. Ill be right here until its over. Ive never had any doubt whatsoever that he appreciated my gesture. After it was over, I politely waited for a break in the conversation and said, Uh, hes gone. [/I] [/QUOTE]
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