freedom in the yard

I'm not very good at mourning. Some people have a knack for it. They'll sit with you, and cry with you, and say things like, "I just can't believe it," over and over again. I, on the other hand, can believe it. Death happens. Especially to old people.

I'm not trying to be insensitive. Maybe I just mourn differently. My knack is for keeping water glasses full, and answering the phone, and making sure the deviled eggs get back into the fridge before they spoil.

Today is my grandpa's funeral.

The first time I ever knew he loved me was the last time I saw him. They live out in the country at the end of a 2-mile stretch of gravel, and before I left he and I took a four-wheeler to their "yard." After the yard, he took a turn towards the gravel. There had been storms the night before, and as we rode along, he stopped at each big branch to pull it out of the way. It took me about a mile and a half to realize he was clearing the road so I'd have an easier way back.

That's not the first time he loved me. We've always had a good relationship. I think I had a special place in his heart for being "the funny one"--he would still repeat jokes I had made to him, years later. It was just the first time I really thought about it, the first time I saw something tender.

My second knack is for turning anything back to spirituality.

I think I first saw his love then because of Christ. That trip is the first time I'd spent extended time with them since accepting Christ, and in the time that I've known Christ, my heart has gotten bigger, more expressive, less afraid of emotion, less skittish in mourning. He's not just saving me from condemnation in the after, He's saving me from a life lived in walls in the now.

How wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.