Where
can I go from your Spirit?
Where
can I flee from your presence?
8
If
I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if
I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9
If
I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if
I settle on the far side of the sea,
10
even
there your hand will guide me,
your
right hand will hold me fast.
I
was being homeschooled and I’d been left at my grandparents’
house for the day when my mom ran errands. It was Grandpa’s job to
help me memorize my Bible verse, psalm 139 that week. I can still
remember him and I sitting by the window in the living room, him
patiently reading me the psalm over and over again, or more reciting
than reading, because, as I believed, Grandpa had the entire Bible
memorized. He didn’t move, wasn’t distracted, until I had
memorized the entire psalm to his liking. On the way home, Mom told
me “Grandpa said you picked that psalm up fast. You must have
gotten your mind from him.” And at that moment, my seven-year-old
heart swelled with pride, because what greater compliment could I get
than that I could be like him in any way.
I
couldn’t have asked for a better grandfather growing up. I have
countless memories of him coming sledding with us, building a
snowman, sliding down the children’s slide at Fairwoods, and most
of all reading. Every grandchild spent countless hours on Grandpa’s
lap, listening, attention arrested as his voice resonated deep into
our hearts and memories. It didn’t matter what he was reading, only
that he was reading with us. His voice, used to commanding the
attention of the church, made every story magic. When I did have to
read to myself, however, I tried to do it in my grandpa’s study. In
my mind, Grandpa and Jesus were best friends, and the study is where
the two of them would visit with each other. To me, there was no more
soothing room in the house. When I would stay with my grandparents
and sleep in the study, I never feared nightmares, because how could
bad dreams come to a room where God practically lived?
As
I grew up, I began to appreciate new things about him. I listened as
he punned his way through so many family conversations, and watched
in awe as he showed slideshows of his time in Paterson, every photo
the story of a new person whose life he had been a part of. I giggled
when he told me funny stories about messing up the lyrics to church
songs or reminisced about his childhood. And most of all I cherished
those times when I would get my grandfather all to myself, when he
would sit down with me and discuss the Bible, my religion classes,
and his own Bible studies and work at the church. Other times he
would bring me up to his study and show me photos of his most recent
trips, naming every new person he had met. One of the last times I
visited with him, I remember thinking, “I am so excited to be
getting to the point in my life when I can enjoy my grandpa as much
for his brain as I already do for his heart.”
But
that was my grandfather. A man who was beautiful inside and out for
the love he showed other people, the faith with which he walked with
God, and the way that he adored his family. Psalm 139 is all about
how well God knows us, how we cannot escape his love for us. But
right now, verses 7-10 mostly remind me of my grandfather. He isn’t
really gone. He lives in all of us, in our memories, and in the way
he touched all of our lives, and I am so grateful to God for giving
me the time that I had with him.
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