If love is limitless, how do we measure up?
We don’t; we open up and receive.
My grandfather survived a medical catastrophe when I was in sixth grade, and we were blessed with more miraculous time before he eventually passed on during my eleventh grade year. I wish you could have known my grandfather. His raw intellect and tenderness produced an energetic sweetness that could only come from a compassionate Creator. The miracle of those last five years is that my grandfather finally met his Savior and accepted the gift of salvation; the wonder, the innocent hunger he had for learning about Jesus and the life of Christ, sheds light on the miracle of all the years before.
A teenager with little more than a grade school education, my grandfather left his parents’ house with barely the hope and promise that he could find something better than the trap of poverty, ignorance, violence, and addiction. He found my grandmother, and they formed a family and built a home. What is that but a missionary spirit and the power of love unfolding and intertwining? Although the Source remained, for many more years, a veiled mystery. And that is the miracle I continue to marvel at, because faith comes from hearing the message about Christ; God was watching my grandfather’s life and did not discredit his lack of faith. God, in His mercy, knew the word had not been truly told. But that came in time, through encounter, and on my grandfather’s deathbed.
He sold life insurance policies, ironically, and my grandfather was good at his job. His clients adored him, and he was determined to help them find plans that made them feel safe and secure. I wonder what would have happened if he had used his gifts to show others the path to eternal life. We’ll never know. Mistakes and mortality worried my grandfather most of his years, and at the end, as his body was failing, he was concerned we would forget him. May his eternal rest in God include consolation of not only seeing how impossible he is to forget but also how dearly he remains like a handprint on my heart.
Losing my grandfather in this life was a difficulty I am still learning from. The loss had to be fully mourned before resilience could be gained, and that took many years as my own faith slowly grew. See, my grandfather and I struggled with the same affliction of playing by the world’s rules and reconciling the Spirit we feel with the God we thought we knew based on others’ representations.
The nature of the game is only that you keep playing, and those religious rules frame difficulty as evidence you are not enough.
The Voice of eternity tells a different story, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
