HOME
Winter is definitely still with us. Snow has been falling since early this morning, and with gray skies, it looks like we could be in for an all day snow. (A nice change from the dirty winter-tired layers of melting gray stuff we’ve looked at for weeks now.) It’s good to be home on this Saturday morning. I love these days when I can hang out in my pink fleecy bathrobe with no particular place to go.
I was thinking about home this morning, and how grateful I am for this familiar place where Randy and I can be ourselves, where it’s quiet enough to rest and regroup. I like being removed from the clamor of city life. Guess I’m really a country kid at heart! (When I was growing up in Iowa, “country kids” rode the bus to school, and even though I lived in town and technically wasn’t one of them, I still love the wide open spaces of this place we call home.)
I’m pondering all this because the last time I wrote was the day before Randy’s dad passed away. It still doesn’t seem quite real, even though we have recently come home from the east coast after being together with our family. We celebrated Dad/Grandpa/Papa. Ten grandchildren, starting with our sons, Chris and Jeremy, who are the oldest, and ending with the youngest teenagers, all spoke at his service. Each one shared their own special memories of their grandfather, a man who loved each one without reserve.
His sense of humor knew no bounds. He impersonated a growling bear in the basement when he went to get ice cream from the downstairs freezer. It was years before the grandchildren realized the bear in the basement was really Grandpa. The youngest grandchildren whose older brother is a Hollywood film editor, enjoy making their own movies. Grandpa always had cameo appearances much to every one’s delight.
Dad was an avid fisherman, and he taught the grand kids his fishing secrets. In later years, he tried to lure alligators out of the lagoon near his home. “O.K., Grandpa, I think we’ve got a good enough look at him,” one of our sons told him, uneasy about the proximity of the gator.
Dad was quiet about his faith, but the books we found on the table next to his favorite recliner were his Bible, several devotional books, and Rick Warren’s The Purpose Driven Life. He had underlined almost every word as it obviously had spoken to his heart. My sister-in-law read several passages from the book, the ones Dad had marked with double stars. How comforting and reassuring to know without a doubt that Dad had a deep relationship with his Lord and Savior!
Just as we experienced the relief of coming home to Washington (“the state”, as we often had to clarify to east coasters), Dad has also come home to his heavenly residence. I can barely imagine what this home will be like, but I sense it is beyond our wildest imaginings. I think we feel such fondness over coming home to our earthly dwellings, because God has instilled this longing in each of us. Even though we miss Dad terribly, we rejoice because he is safely home. Our recent celebration of his life pales in comparison to the joyous homecoming party in Heaven on February 3, 2007.
I was thinking about home this morning, and how grateful I am for this familiar place where Randy and I can be ourselves, where it’s quiet enough to rest and regroup. I like being removed from the clamor of city life. Guess I’m really a country kid at heart! (When I was growing up in Iowa, “country kids” rode the bus to school, and even though I lived in town and technically wasn’t one of them, I still love the wide open spaces of this place we call home.)
I’m pondering all this because the last time I wrote was the day before Randy’s dad passed away. It still doesn’t seem quite real, even though we have recently come home from the east coast after being together with our family. We celebrated Dad/Grandpa/Papa. Ten grandchildren, starting with our sons, Chris and Jeremy, who are the oldest, and ending with the youngest teenagers, all spoke at his service. Each one shared their own special memories of their grandfather, a man who loved each one without reserve.
His sense of humor knew no bounds. He impersonated a growling bear in the basement when he went to get ice cream from the downstairs freezer. It was years before the grandchildren realized the bear in the basement was really Grandpa. The youngest grandchildren whose older brother is a Hollywood film editor, enjoy making their own movies. Grandpa always had cameo appearances much to every one’s delight.
Dad was an avid fisherman, and he taught the grand kids his fishing secrets. In later years, he tried to lure alligators out of the lagoon near his home. “O.K., Grandpa, I think we’ve got a good enough look at him,” one of our sons told him, uneasy about the proximity of the gator.
Dad was quiet about his faith, but the books we found on the table next to his favorite recliner were his Bible, several devotional books, and Rick Warren’s The Purpose Driven Life. He had underlined almost every word as it obviously had spoken to his heart. My sister-in-law read several passages from the book, the ones Dad had marked with double stars. How comforting and reassuring to know without a doubt that Dad had a deep relationship with his Lord and Savior!
Just as we experienced the relief of coming home to Washington (“the state”, as we often had to clarify to east coasters), Dad has also come home to his heavenly residence. I can barely imagine what this home will be like, but I sense it is beyond our wildest imaginings. I think we feel such fondness over coming home to our earthly dwellings, because God has instilled this longing in each of us. Even though we miss Dad terribly, we rejoice because he is safely home. Our recent celebration of his life pales in comparison to the joyous homecoming party in Heaven on February 3, 2007.
Blessings,
Deb
