When I was about 8 my grandfather took me fishing. He was a Methodist preacher and a farmer. He was a small man but his hands were large and callused from years on the farm. Age had taken it’s toll on him. Never a tall man, he claims he was 5′6″. I’m guessing he peaked at 5′3″.
After about 15 minutes of enjoying the silence of the lake (an eternity to an 8 year old), I turned to watch him reel in a large catfish. I watched as his massive hands worked the fighting fish out of the water. I asked him “Pa, what will you look like you in heaven?” The question took him by surprise. He paused, look up at he sky and said “You will have a glorified body in heaven.” Confused I asked “What do you mean?” “I’ll be about 6 foot tall.” Amused, he cast his line back into the water.
Being 8 years old, I missed the humor. I was still concerned about this heaven business. “If you’re body is going to be glorified, how I will know you?” I asked. He opened both palms to me and said “I’ll have these hands.”
2009 was a rough year on me and my family. We lost my father last spring. Just as we were starting to get used to the idea of him being gone, we lost our dog of 9 years Genie. It seems funny to mention Genie in the same breath with Dad. To be honest, that's when the grief really hit me. I was so busy with all the details and the business of Dad's passing that I never had time to feel the moment. When Genie left us, my guard was down and every emotion just flowed. I miss Genie so much, but I thank her for allowing me to let go and deal with Dad passing.
love this essay, Ross. He's so proud of you, practically glowed when anyone said your name, but you knew that already.
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