THE DEATH OF AN ATHEIST
GOODBYE GRANNY
Writers H.G. Wells and George Bernard Shaw were brilliant
men, yet they rejected the message of Scripture. They placed their trust in their own systems of belief, which were based on human reason. Yet they could not find lasting inner peace, and they slowly lost confidence in what they believed. Wells' final literary work, for example, has been aptly called "a scream of despair." And shortly before Shaw died in 1950, he wrote, "The science to which I pinned my faith is bankrupt. Its counsels, which should have established the millennium, have led directly to the suicide of Europe. I believed them once. In their name I helped to destroy the faith of millions. And now they look at me and witness the great tragedy of an atheist who has lost his faith."
GOODBYE GRANNY
I walked in to her room, that room, still the same after all these years. If she would just wake up. By this time she had been unconscious for a few days. I’m not positive she could hear me. Maybe she can. No matter, I needed to tell her how I felt. I stood there, couldn’t speak, as tears washed my face, and memories gushing forth like Niagara Falls.
“Granny,” I barely uttered. Saying the name brought forth even more emotions. Her real name was Oma, to those who didn’t know her well. But to us, her family, Granny was her official name. Everything endearing was associated with that name. Even now when I hear a child call out to their Granny, I instantly go back.
“Granny, you mean the world to me. I know you can hear me so don’t worry about trying to respond. Remember all the times I would come down for a week during summer? How I’d load mom and dad’s luggage so they’d leave and I could have you to myself? How we’d go see Archie? How I always wanted to go to Pigs? How I loved your bologna sandwiches? Remember the time we went to see Gladys and you told me she might be the only person who could talk me? Do you remember the summer I was here and a really bad storm was coming and you laid an axe against the tree to split the storm cloud, and it worked? I remember your home made security system where you leaned chairs against your doors at night with glass jars on them in case someone broke in. I even remember sleeping in the bed just off the kitchen with stainless steel pans at my side catching water dripping from the ceiling. I didn’t care. You really liked Kris Kristofferson didn’t you? You would play that one song, “Why Me Lord,” over and over. Remember the words Granny? “Why me lord? What have I ever done, to deserve even one, of the pleasure i've known, tell me lord, what did i ever do, that was worth lovin' you, for the kindness you've shown....Lord help me Jesus, I've wasted it so help me Jesus, I know what i am, but now that i know, that i needed you so help me Jesus, my souls in your hand.”
I still remember you coming to Oklahoma City when Randy was killed and you stayed with us kids at Uncle Homer’s house one evening while the others went somewhere. Remember what you did with Randy’s bicycle? Someone wanted to ride it and you told them no and put it in the garage saying it was a special bike. I know now why you did that. Remember when I was a young teenager and we went to Stidham church and you wanted me to give my testimony - which I did? After the service you took me behind that little white framed church to see that they still had outhouses. Remember when you came and stayed the night at my house in Stidham and we were up till early in the morning watching March Madness Basketball? I’ll never forget the stories you told me that night about dad playing basketball and how good he was. You said he’d drop that ball in the hoop and the roof would come off that school house with people cheering. I loved how proud you were of him. Remember once when we were at Pigs and you bought a dollar chance to win a car. You told me that if you won it you would give it to me because you didn’t need it. How about all the holidays we’d all gather here and laugh and talk and eat and sleep all over the house? Granny, I always felt like the most important person in the world to you. I am so sorry I have to leave. But we have talked about this many times. You finally get to see Jesus and your daddy and momma and your brother and sisters. Remember, when I get there some day, you will be the first person to greet me. OK? Until then, Granny, I miss you already and I love you.”
I opened her bedroom door, quietly uttered goodbyes to everyone, and drove away from that house, that place of my most precious memories. It was just a couple of days later that Granny was welcomed by Jesus and met up with her Daddy and Momma and Homer and Randy. I will see her again. We have a plan.
GRANNY'S PREACHER BOY
I was her preacher boy grandson and she was proud of that. When I was ordained as a minister, the church was filled with people and the service was inspiring. When the service concluded I was asked to kneel in the front of the church and anyone in the congregation who wanted could come by, lay their hands on my head, and speak words of encouragement or a prayer. I tried to keep my eyes closed, but peeked occasionally.
Facing the red carpet, eyes barely opened, I saw her sensible shoes scooting down the isle towards me. This was not just a formality or ritual for her, she was sincerely moved at what was happening with her grandson. Her father was a minister of sorts and she couldn’t be more proud. If a hundred people whispered words to me that afternoon, I don’t know, and what any of them said, I have no idea. But I’ll never forget the simple words of Granny.
Her thick ankles and black shoes were all I could see being knelt down. Her quivering hands were gently placed on my head. She slowly leaned closer making the weight of her hands heavier. With a whisper, though I still hear it 30 years later, an angel spoke these words: “This is my beloved grandson in whom I am well pleased.” I struggled to keep the tears from running down my face, then and now. The pressure of her hands lightened, she raised herself slowly, and made her way back to her pew. It was that simple. It was that profound.
