My grandfather has always been one constant in my ever changing life.
He was just always there.
Plowing in his field, planting his watermelons and cantaloupes and peanuts.
Sitting quietly on his couch reading the paper or the Reader's Digest, or one of his many mystery novels.
Sitting quietly at the end of the back pew, beside the aisle, next to my momma.
Never without his cowboy hat or his boots.
I was never close to him. I guess in some ways I'm as responsible for that as anyone.
We just didn't have that much in common.
But he loved me as only a grandfather can love his granddaughter.
How do I know?
Because of the moments we spent together.
Him chuckling at me or, later, my children.
Sitting with him in the cab of the tractor as he circled the peanut field.
Sitting across his kitchen table from him listening to him talk about his childhood as I interviewed him for a history project.
Having him request a song or two when I was performing.
Having him ask me to sing at my grandmother's funeral, and the touch of his hand on my shoulder to comfort me that day.
And the last time I saw him, he held my hand the whole time and when I left he uttered
"I love you, girl."
Yes, I know he did.
I will miss my grandfather. My daughter will surly miss him, she was "great-grandpa's" girl. And my son, only 2, will often ask "Where's Grandpa?"
But I take great comfort in knowing that he will be safe and sound in Jesus' arms.
I rejoice in the fact that he is in the place where he will never be sick, or in pain again.
There will only be peace, serenity, joy, love, and the
Glory of the Father.