and i would shed this grown-up skin i'm insci fi book reviews

and i would shed this grown-up skin i'm in

The other night, I talked to my grandpa on the phone. His voice came tired and weak through the receiver. I have never heard him sound that frail before. But it makes sense because his body is failing him. My grandpa is dying.

It was a hard conversation, but a beautiful one at the same time. When I asked him what he was doing, he boomed in his loud, grandpa-like voice, “Well, I’m talking to a beautiful girl on the phone, that’s what I’m doing!” And to some extent, he shared his goodbyes with me. He told me that he was so happy to hear my voice. That I’m so precious to him. That he’s so blessed to know me, to have me in his life. He told me a lot of things and I forced myself not to cry.

{my incredible grandparents}

After we hung up the phone, I couldn't help but feel lost. But even more, I hurt for him. For his failing liver and his lack of appetite and his thin, weak frame. And I crawled into bed and began to offer up a half-hearted prayer--that maybe God could heal him and maybe God could keep him around for when I come up and visit in a few weeks and maybe even keep him around for Christmas and maybe. maybe. maybe.

It must’ve been a word from the Holy Spirit because in the midst of my weak, lifeless prayer, I remembered a scene from the movie Facing the Giants. In the movie, this football coach has come across a number of obstacles: in his family life and in his work life and in his friendship life and in his spiritual life. At the school he coaches at, there is a man who comes to the campus every single day to pray over the school and the lockers of each and every student. And one day, he stops by the coach’s office one day to give him this word:

"Grant, I heard a story about two farmers who desperately needed rain. And both of them prayed for rain, but only one of them went out and prepared his fields to receive it. Which one do you think trusted God to send the rain?”

And that same word was the one that reached me under the covers in my dark room that night, along with the realization that I have not prepared many of the areas in my life for rain. I ask God for things. I tell Him about my dreams and hopes and concerns and there is this half-hearted part of me that hopes He will do something. But the bigger part of me is afraid to ask God for anything. I fear that I may ask too much. Or figure that God will do what He wants to do and there are no ifs, ands or buts about it.

But if I am willing to dig down deep within the crevices of my heart, those thoughts are merely for the sensible. And sensible is exactly what I have become. I have lost that faith-filled part of myself that knows that nothing is impossible with God. Somewhere along the way, science and sensibilities have velcroed themselves over the heart of a once 5-year-old girl whose strawberry blond curls bounced along to “Shout to the Lord” and knew deep down that nothing was impossible for my Jesus. Not the pouring of manna down from heaven or sight for the eternally blind or even the healing of an 80-year-old man who is loved immensely by all who encounter him.

By the grace of God, my grandpa could recover. He could recover and have a dozen more Christmases with us.

But just preparing for rain—believing that God can make possible what is impossible to man—doesn’t mean my grandpa will heal. He may die today or tomorrow or next week. He may die before I get the chance to get back up to Sacramento to hug him one last time. It breaks my heart to think of it--to imagine life without his boisterous voice and sense of humor and endless selflessness and light.

But when I look at the character, at the life of my grandfather, he has—and continues—to leave a legacy of faith. Of hard work and gratefulness and trust in God, even when life turns for the ugliest. He has continued to prepare his fields for rain, even in the midst of this terrible dry spell. Even with the knowledge that he may soon leave them to be tended to by others.

And that is a legacy I want desperately to cling to.

I want my life to consist of tending to those fields—making them ready for the sweetest, thickest of raindrops.

Long after my grandpa has finally arrived in the midst of fields that will never again be dry.

Long after he has finally arrived in the fields God has prepared for him to receive.

But for now, he's still here.

So I will continue the preparation

and be assured that no matter what, that miracle—that rain—will come.

Whether that's in the recovery of grandpa’s currently failing body...

or in the God of the universe taking his soul to finally be where his human body will limit him no more.

***

"help me believe

cause i don't wanna miss any miracles.

maybe i'd see much better by closing my eyes.