Granddad

     The phone rang at 7:30 AM. Granddad was not expected to live more than a few hours. My heart cried out to Jesus to take him by the hand. 
     Granddad was a wonderful person, so in love with life. He was born in Ireland and came to the US as a young man. He never lost his delightful Irish brogue. After retiring he and Granny moved to 17 wooded acres which bordered a river. Deer roamed freely and birds ate from his outstretched hands! The garden vegetables and flowers thrived under his tender loving care. Winter times one could find Granddad and Granny in the most remote corners of the world as they become 'world travelers'. Now Granddad was about to go on his very last journey.
     Alone in my kitchen I cried out loud, "Jesus, don't let Granddad die alone. Please, take him by the hand." How I longed to join the family gathering to be with him during his last few hours.       
     But...I wasn't a member of the family. My heart ached. You see, Granddad did not know Jesus personally. 
     For months now I had prayed for him and with him. Surely my prayers were not in vain. Surely he would not die without acknowledging Jesus as his personal Saviour.
     Granddad and I had a special kind of friendship between us. A smile formed as I recalled my first hospital visit to him several months earlier when he was in 'just for tests'.
     Granddad lay sleeping with his hands folded across his chest. Without making a sound I slipped into the room. Granny and I smiled. I knew she was happy to see me. Suddenly, without opening his eyes, Granddad said to his wife, "Mam, do you suppose Anita will come to visit me?" Granny and I looked at each other in surprise and I said softly, "Well, I thought I might come to visit you today." His eyes opened and then closed. As they opened the second time a big smile spread across his face. His hands reached out for mine as my heart reached out to God.
     The tests were completed. Granddad had cancer and could expect to live six months. Over the years I had asked God to give me the opportunity to talk to him about Jesus. But I knew there were opportunities that I had let slip by. So the next time I went to visit him I asked God to allow me to see Granddad alone and to have him be awake and alert. My prayer was answered. 
     We visited a few minutes and then I asked if I could pray with him. He took both my hands in his and held them tightly as I prayed a short prayer of thanksgiving for such a wonderful friend as Granddad and to please relieve his pain and to reveal God's love to him. I smiled shyly at Granddad. Neither of us spoke. He simply looked intently into my eyes and an even deeper bond of love formed between us.
     Weeks went by...then months. My concern and prayers grew stronger with each visit. I always prayed with Granddad and always there was that same intent look deep into my eyes. But Granddad was getting weaker and the pain was becoming more intense. Time was running out. I knew Granddad would have to pray his own prayer, but I didn't know how to tell him.
     I shared this with a minister friend. "What am I to do next?" I asked. "I feel so inadequate." He listened and then ever so kindly said, "Anita, you've got to be aggressive. Don't worry about what others will think. Just do what you know you must do. God will take care of the rest."
     Our talk was on Saturday. My next visit would be on Monday. I was determined to have a good talk with Granddad on spiritual matters and introduce Jesus as his personal Saviour.
     Now it was Monday morning and I had just gotten the phone call saying Granddad was not expected to live through the day.
     What is time? Even though I had known he was dying, my mind couldn't comprehend the finality of death. In my scheduling I needed more time. Why today? In fact, why did he have to die at all? Why, God? Why? In my humanism I began to question God.
     Then I felt God's presence surround me. Suddenly I felt compelled to go to Granddad! What was it the minister had said on Saturday? "... be aggressive." Never mind that I'm not in the family. Never mind that it's not visiting hours. Don't worry about his family being in the room. Just go to Granddad.
     I tiptoed into the room. Family members smiled at me. I put my hand over Granddad's. I told him who I was. I didn't know if he could hear me. Death was so near. Could he see? Could he hear? Was he aware of those in his room? This was my first close contact with death. My heart ached.
     I began to pray...aggressively, out loud. "...help Granddad to repent and believe that Jesus is his own personal Saviour. Please, take him by the hand." 
     I looked at him again. Reality began to strike me. I had failed. It was too late to introduce him to Jesus. Too late to offer him the most wonderful gift of all, the gift of eternal life. I had tried...but I had failed.
     It was time for me to leave. Yet I lingered holding his hand. How I longed for some sign that he had prayed his own prayer, some assurance that he had asked Jesus to be his own personal Saviour. There was nothing more I could do. I must leave now. I felt so empty. I looked at Granddad one last time...
      He was looking at me! Yes! That same intent look, deep into my eyes! The same look he gave me every time I prayed with him. Perhaps I had failed but Jesus never fails.

     Granddad died at 4:30 that afternoon. While death always leaves its sting, there is reason for rejoicing. No more sickness. No more pain. And he did not die alone. For I believe Granddad reached out and put his hand into the Hand of Jesus.