During my growing-up years my family was not one who prayed regularly before meals. Sometimes we would, but not always. However, you could count on it at special occasions like holidays. Most often it was my father who would pray, and as I grew up the opportunity was given to me. These pre-meal prayers fit within the paradigm of my family’s religious reality. We were people who loved God, lived out that love in connection with a church, and endeavored to live in a godly fashion from day to day.
I knew only two of my four grandparents: my father’s mother and my mother’s father. My grandfather lived in the same town as we did, so we got to see him often. He was a kind man who took much interest in me. He was the reason I became a fan of the Cincinnati Reds. Once we even rode a train roughly 150 miles to see a game. My grandfather was a good man, and I have many fond memories of the things we would do together. When I was in my early teen years, my grandfather became ill with cancer. He underwent treatments and a surgery or two, but nothing did more than slow the gradual progression of the disease. When he became too ill to live on his own, my grandfather came to live with us. I enjoyed having him in our home, but it was sad to witness the almost daily decline of his vitality.
It was during this time that something unusual happened at our Thanksgiving meal. As we sat in preparation to dine, we paused as expected for the blessing to be offered. What was unusual is that my grandfather is the one who asked to lead it. I had never heard him pray before. In fact, I don’t remember much about him that would make me think he was religiously inclined. But in that season of life, his heart was led to pray. I can’t say that I recall anything in particular that my grandfather said in his prayer. It wasn’t the words, though, that make it memorable for me. It was the sincerity with which he prayed. I could tell that what my grandfather was offering to God was sincere and deeply heartfelt. As it turned out, that was one of many more similar changes I saw in my grandfather during his final season of life. For that, I was thankful.
Mortality has a way of making us consider things that are unfortunately too easily ignored as we plow through our years on earth. There are words in a worship song that often come to my mind. The song is called, Come, Now is the Time to Worship, and the lyrics I have in mind go like this: “One day every tongue will confess You are God; one day every knee will bow. Still the greatest treasure remains for those who gladly choose You now.” My heart resonates with something these words put before us. Obviously they are a direct recounting of the apostle Paul’s words from Philippians 2:10-11. Further, they remind us of the magnificent blessing we miss when we live without Jesus. Even deathbed conversions will get a person into heaven. What they cannot do is recover all the years we have lived outside of the knowledge of His grace.
I was very sad when my grandfather died. In fact, I still have some vivid memories of that very night. My heart is glad, though, that the Lord stirred my grandfather’s heart, even if late in his life. Perhaps he had already known the Lord in a way of which I was unaware. That certainly is a possibility. Regardless, my greatest memory of that holiday meal had nothing to do with the turkey or pumpkin pie, but the manna that fell at our table when Grandfather prayed.
See you along the Winding Path.
