I don't exactly remember that moment, but I feel as though it had something to do with the gold fish my parents kept buying for me because the family rule was we couldn't have a pet until Dad retired from the Air Force. All I knew was, those fish wound up being flushed down the toilet, one after the other, just the same.
Depressing, I know, but on a perfect day with my Dad visiting his hometown of Frankentrost I realized it doesn't have to be depressing.
Before we wandered the jolly Bronner's Christmas factory and marveled at the twinkling ornaments and the largest Christmas store in the world,
before my Dad led me on a tour of his memory, enjoying the bouncing polka carried by the cool breeze and the crunch of toffee fudge samples at Zak's Bavarian Kandy Haus and doing our best to remember German words and strolling through Zehnder's Covered Bridge witnessing the twinkle of the Cass River in sunlight,
before all that, the perfect day began in a square plot of land where I could see miles and miles of neat rows of corn and sweet farmhouses.
before all that we walked somber through the grasses, weaving through lifetimes concisely carved into stone, by name and years lived.
We searched the bouquets and flags and memorials for the grave of my grandfather, Ralph.
It all felt eerie to me at first, though the sun shone kindly on our shoulders and the rains from earlier in the day left remnants of cool and it could not be a more delightful day. Then we found his name, and something told me to kneel, and on my knees my heart smiled as tears welled up.
My heart smiled as I ran my fingers gently across my grandfather's name, tracing the letters one by one, because I know my grandfather knew Jesus.
I did not know the man well, but I love him. I was not yet six when he passed away, and I vaguely remember his funeral. Yet I carry the stories told of him like trophies to treasure, each shiny token of his life a puzzle piece, to understand the one grandparent I have not had my whole life.
But I know he was a man who loved to serve God. I know that he grew to be a man who just wanted to do what the Lord wanted.
I smiled because he is in heaven, he is with Jesus rejoicing forevermore.
And in that moment, kneeling there in the soft cushion of grass, I wanted to run and make sure every single one of my family members and friends and acquaintances and enemies and classmates and co-workers would reach the same spectacular place: that I could smile over their final place of peace knowing they are with Jesus Christ, living in eternity just experiencing His mercies, His love, His glory anew with each passing second in a marvelous existence.
I write so often about the experiences of knowing Jesus and what miracles he sustains me with moment after moment, but those are nothing compared to the miracle I cannot express in mere words, with feeble anecdotes and useless rambling metaphors.
That miracle is that Jesus died and rose and death doesn't win in the end. And I yearn for all of you to know that miracle. That is the real reason for rejoicing.
This message is often received in offense. This doesn't surprise me because the one I follow, the one who preached this message was nailed to a cross because it offended people so much, so I suppose it's to be expected.
This message is often received tied to self-righteousness and wrapped to resemble some exclusive club or some contract with endless fine print of who you have to be and what you have to do to attain this way and truth and life that extends splendidly forever, and that's a shame. It's just this: Jesus made a way, and longs for us to take it and rejoice and live and delight in Him for eternity. And it's true love. And it's sweet and marvelous.
Back in Frankentrost I prayed from that smiling heart. Thank you Jesus for saving us. Please let Grandpa know I love him and miss him dearly. Best of all, let him know that I will see him one day thanks to an evening in a hospital bed where Jesus embraced me just as I am. And tell him I can't wait. Amen.
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