You know how a plant grows: pushing ever upward into the sun and ever downward into loam. A family tree is analogous to this as the elder members of the family are left behind pointing the way as they support the new growth. Even as the existing tree grows, the much-older much-aged growth is considered dead, or at least tinder for fire, without moisture or flexibility. Though dry and ready for the flame, this aged cellulose stolidly allows the tender shoots and flexible branches to reach ever higher and even move in other directions as the environment dictates.
Enough. (I’m sure the analogy has been better construed by more capable storytellers.) In my own life, I’ve finally moved into that unhappy category of the grandparent-less. Those branches will now remain ever motionless. But they will never fail to render strength and give direction to my life.
My mom was very young when her daddy died. My dad lost his mom at 15. So very often I wished I had been privileged to know them. My precious grandmother passed away more than 10 years ago now. What a bastion of love, of compassionate service, of utter grace, of such tender kindness. And last week, my Dado was taken at the age of almost 90. A long-planned birthday became a funeral and celebration of his life. Dado was handsome and winsome, a tireless preacher of the Good News gifted in oratory, and became a strong, enduring example of Christ’s endless love and redemption.
My children are more blessed than they realize. I hope I can encourage relationship with all of their grandparents. And some day, I will know all of mine far better than I could have here on this shadow, this old earth.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.