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The Memory Doesn’t Fade…

By March 24, 2022December 7th, 2022Devotional

Fifty years ago today (it’s difficult to believe that it’s that long ago), my maternal grandfather died. It wasn’t the first death that my brothers and I experienced in our family, but it was definitely the most crushing to us. Grandma’s cousin had died back in 1967 and our paternal grandfather died in 1966, but the sense of loss was nothing like it was when Grandpa LaRue died.

It was like the air was sucked out of the room. He was the patriarch of the family – Mom’s Dad – and since she was an only child, we spent a lot of time with our maternal grandparents. Among many other things, from him I learned how to lead at a very early age. In fact, every Sunday evening we all had dinner together – and I sat at my grandfather’s left side as he occupied the head of the table. My instructions were clear – someday I would lead the family, as the eldest grandchild, but my time in those days was to be spent listening and learning. In other words, I was to observe and not speak – not until I got older anyway.

Grandpa was larger than life to all of us. He had a tough life in his younger years. His mother died when Grandpa was barely ten years old – my great grandfather eventually re-married and Grandpa set out on his own at the age of 13 to make things easier on the new blended family. He put himself through Northwestern University, became a lawyer, a prosecutor and eventually a judge as I was entered my teen years. He seemed fearless to us – and taught us early on that we were to care for those less fortunate than ourselves. He was firm – but fair.

Sometimes, the lessons seemed tough. We could work all day in the yard and get $1 for our efforts as Grandpa told us, “You do things for family…” He also taught us that “You only get one mother to a lifetime – take care of her…” Clearly, that was also a reference to the void that he felt having lost his own mother at such an early age. We never forgot his lessons – not even 50 years later.

I learned how to sharpen a lawnmower, and make a broom handle, in his workshop. Now, half a century later, I still have most of his tools, a grinder from the early 1900’s and even a vice that was used on the family farm when Mom was a young girl. No, Mom didn’t grow up on a farm in Michigan, but she loved horses and so her parents bought a farm for her to ride her beloved horses – Tinkerbell was her favorite.

Mom was raised in Beverly on the south side of Chicago, as were my brothers and I.  Dad was a transplant from the north side of the city. The farm was a weekend getaway place and Grandpa provided the land for other family members to farm and earn a living. Both Mom and Dad attended Northwestern University, where they met. As I sit here tonight, the memories of my grandparents, particularly Grandpa, are as vivid and real as when I was a young boy.

I was nineteen when Grandpa died on March 24, 1972. It was like our world came to an end and it was the first time that I experienced real grief for myself. As I said, I had lost other family members, and I was sad when they died, but it was more because of the loss my mother, and/or father experienced. But this time, the grief was overwhelming – it was deeply personal – the patriarch, gone…

In the many years since then, my brother Doug and I have experienced the loss of the rest of our grandparents, both Mom and Dad, and, more recently, the loss of our youngest brother, Ken, two years ago. That was another surreal experience for us – to think that our youngest brother was gone.

Thankfully, most of our family members were believers. And throughout the years, I have learned more about being the patriarch of the family – even still as I approach the later seasons of my own life. But I will never forget the grief and sense of loss I felt when Grandpa entered heaven. I still miss him.

Our verse for tonight is from the psalms. The psalmist tells us, in Psalm 34:18, “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” That verse certainly resonates with me as I look back on those days. My encouragement this evening is that God is with us and will never desert us. He hurts for us when we hurt – we are His children. My prayer is that, as Christians, we will impact lives the same way that Grandpa impacted mine. After all, imparting strong faith and family values is vitally important to carry on the work that we have been assigned. Have a great day in the Lord, grace and peace…

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