Wrinkled, tired, and aged, an old man sits in a chair reading the daily newspaper. My quintessential grandfather: white hair and a cardigan, tall, slender, back hunched from time, just sitting there, smiling. I will always remember him just so.
His heart, so soft and pliable, was like gold. Yes, his heart was very much like gold, refined by fire many times. I suppose that is what made him so beautiful. The tears shed in grief of a lost wife, the trials of being a single father, finding God and living a righteous life before Him. Through such fires all the bitterness and anger were removed so all that was left was a pure, gentle heart of gold.
When I was younger, he wanted to dry my hair for me after my bath. Sitting in “his” chair he ran the brush through my hair as though he were caressing a baby for the very first time. Slow, soft strokes, combing until it glistened in the softly lit room. He also brushed my sister's curly hair, taking a dryer to it. It made her hair look like a head of broccoli. Yet, he told her she was beautiful all the same, not knowing what he’d done. Grampa saw people as Christ sees them, no race, status, or religion. He simply looked at their heart and loved them accordingly.
Grampa passed away last summer. He died of old age. I was with him for two weeks before his death. You could feel the presence of God each time you drew near to him. Then the time came; it was late and the sky was black with thunder and lighting. He’d been holding on for days, waiting to know that a truck he’d planned to give to a mission was on its way. As soon as the news of its departure reached him, it didn’t take long. His last act of kindness was finished, and he went on to live with his Savior.
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