Devotional 3-5-09

Like many people I dream at night while I sleep. My dreams, while in direct conflict with some studies, are in color. My dreams are not by any means prophetic or of startling revelation. Unless I have had way too much caffeine right before bed, they are not usually psychedelic or fit for the Twilight Zone. I will admit to having the occasional “showing up for class in my underwear” dream. Probably the caffeine. I did dream one night that my grandfather was alive. We were sitting at his kitchen table talking. This moment was not a flashback or memory. It was in real time, and it was as real to me as a puff of wind in my face or a hot cup of coffee in my hand. I was some 10 plus years older than when he passed away.

Questionnaires float around asking what is your favorite color, favorite food, favorite whatever? What is your favorite movie? Mine, hands down is Raiders of the Lost Ark. Not because up to that point it was the best movie I had ever seen nor even to this day, the best. It remains my favorite because for 115 minutes I battled bad guys, blew up a plane, swam in the ocean to board a submarine, and, in general, saved the world from being overtaken by the nasties. By the time Harrison Ford trotted down the marble steps in Washington, fired a parting shot about bureaucrats, and we saw ‘the crate’ safely tucked into its innocuous slot, I fell back into by seat, exhaled at last, and was exhausted. I remember, with great clarity, how I felt. I don’t remember what my grandfather and I talked about at the table – but I remember how I felt. It must be in the category with pure joy. He was gone and now he was back.

I lived with my grandparents for about three years -- my final year at Marshall and then for a couple more as I was getting started. It was added security and peace of mind for them and a welcome break from rent for me. It also gave me a chance to know them better. My grandfather, his name was George, was more patriarchal than ‘cuddly’. A bread winner rather than a changer of diapers. He saw the invention of the airplane, lived through World Wars I and II, Korea and Vietnam. Survived the Great Depression and watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon. He used to sit on a small wooden box in the yard and dig dandelions with a flat blade screwdriver (He probably knew there was a spray to accomplish the same goal, but this was his time with nature.). When outdoors he always had on a hat. He wore a wrist watch but no rings – he told me stories of mishaps involving rings at INCO. The habit must have stuck. He shopped for groceries EVERY day. Every day but Sunday. On Sunday he rested. We were not allowed to cut the grass, wash the windows or paint a screen door. He was a hunter. Using the meat and the hide – never taking a trophy. And just before the decline in health that would lead to his death, he was working on his tenth time, cover to cover, through the Bible. His Bible was a small leather bound KJV. My dad gave me the tattered remains. I have them in a Zip Lock bag to keep the pages and the binding together. My grandfather was well versed in scripture. On the night he passed away I spent a considerable amount of time stooped by his chair. Our hands were locked – his left, my right, my left, his right. This was mainly to keep him from pulling at the tubes and wires. As we paused there he would recite Bible verses. He knew many more than me. We, he, seemed to zero in on the 23rd Psalm. Over and over again we would say it, The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want… he leads me beside the still waters. Before the night was to end, he would dwell in a different place. In the hospital room that night, my grandmother (his wife of 63 years), my mom, Kim (my soon to be wife), various medical personnel and me. His systems were shutting down and the science associated with an earthly existence told us that it was only a matter of time – a very short time. He breathed his last and all at once there seemed to be a void in the world, a hole in space that I wasn’t sure would not swallow me. “Wait, I have more questions. Don’t go”. At 87 years old he died the March before Kim and I were married in July. On that July day I got to be both groom and usher as I escorted my grandmother to her place in the church. I missed her husband terribly. Suffice it to say, the joy that filled me at finding him alive and sitting at the kitchen table was overwhelming.
In this world where some say you can’t have up without a down, a left without a right, top without a bottom or good without bad, let it also be noted that the dark cloud that covered me when I awoke to discover that it was only a dream, was of bone crushing weight. I never felt as though anything were left undone between us. He being alive was an opportunity for me, as an older adult, to learn.

This is Easter, the very core of our faith. The one who died is alive. We can dream with our eyes wide open and know that whether waking or sleeping, He will be there. He will walk with us and talk with us and sit at our kitchen tables. We will learn from Him about love and caring. He will teach us how to behave towards our brothers and sisters. May we always remember fondly the lessons and blessings of those that have gone before. And may we always keep our eyes focused and have the direction of our path laid before us as we follow the Son.

From the lectionary readings;
Psalm 22:29-30: 29 To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him. 30 Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord.

Steve Matthews

March 5: Hate to clean? Donate a nickel for each box or bottle of dish detergent in your house