Many of you know that I grew up in a Christian home. I said my prayers every morning and night, went to church on Sunday, and even attended a Christian school for a few years. I don’t often remember feeling close to God. Vague memories of me trying to hug Jesus goodnight are all that linger. I do, however, remember what pushed me away from God: my grandfather.
Please don’t get the wrong impression; my grandfather was a God fearing man. I know it can be hazardous to put people on a pedestal, but if Jesus was the only perfect man on earth, my grandpa falls right beneath Him. My grandfather was the gentlest man I knew. Not once did I hear a slanderous word fall from his lips nor pick up on a muttered curse word in the heat of the moment. Actually, as hard as this may be to believe, I never heard my grandfather raise his voice. He was a thoughtful and caring soul, whose actions portrayed God’s love and mercy.
So, why did my faith falter knowing such a great man? Because I witnessed his continual suffering. My grandfather endured heart surgery, lung cancer, kidney cancer, prostate cancer, and in due course progressive Alzheimer’s disease. My grandfather was a strong man through his reliance and trust in the Lord. However, that is an image that is hard for an outsider to grasp amid all the sickness. As such, my response was to get angry at God. I didn’t understand why. Why would God have such a selfless man suffer time and time again? Why help him conquer one disease to move to another so quickly? Eventually, Alzheimer’s just seemed like a cherry on top. It was the added bonus that ripped my heart further away from the Lord.
What I could not comprehend was why God allowed my grandfather to realize and acknowledge his own dementia. In the early stages, my grandfather realized he was becoming more forgetful. He understood where it would lead, which is why he gave up his favoring hobby: fishing. I remember how he gave away his collection of reels, lures, and other gizmos. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fish anymore, or he understood that he may hurt someone in the process. I don’t know if he just gave up or didn’t want some of his happiest moments tainted with a potentially devastating outcome if he continued.
Can you imagine how hard that would have been? To have the full intellectual ability to comprehend how your dementia would affect your future? To realize you wouldn’t be capable of doing the things you love. To understand that down the line you would forget the names, relations, and memories of those closest to you? Why would God allow that pain and heartbreak?
My confusion and hurt led to distance between me and God. Slowly throughout the past couple of years that distance has become less. I mainly went on this trip to strengthen my relationship with Him and I am becoming close to Him. I have received so much joy in knowing him more and more. Yet, my grandfather’s pain never left my mind.
The last Sunday in February, I received the news that he had passed away. I wanted so much to be angry with God. I wanted to yell at Him and pick a fight. But the Lord just gave me peace. Unending and unyielding peace. Unfortunately, it was a peace I did not want to receive. I struggled with it- I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away. Of course, it didn’t.
God knows what we need. He knows what is best for us. A pastor once said that He wants the best possible outcome by the best possible means for the most amount of people for the longest possible time. God is watching over billions of people, yet He specifically created and cares for each of us. God has me in his hands, and even if it is hard for me to grasp He had my grandfather in His hands too. Sometimes this is what real faith is- not fully understanding but trusting to a point that you don’t need to question. Simply know and believe that God cares for each and every one of his children and He guides them safely home.
I am by no means saying it is easy, but this is the faith God calls us to have: to trust completely.
