Super Hero

My grandpa, David Van Allen, passed away on January 5, 2013.  He was 92 years old and left behind his wife, Josephine of 70 years and his only daughter, my mom.  We honored him and celebrated his life today at a small memorial service near my parents' home.  He will be missed by all of us, but we know that he is dancing with Jesus today.

 

 As a child, my Pop was a super hero to me.  Indestructible, invincible, the one who showed up each week with a bag of powdered sugar doughnuts, the one who seemed to never run out of time to play or answer questions that began with “why…”  He was my very first student, when I made a career choice to be a teacher at the age of five.  Sitting with all of my stuffed animals, he always finished his work and followed my directions.  He taught me things like how to float in the swimming pool, and how to play the organ.  He was there when I cried after getting the chicken pox vaccine.  He always believed that I could conquer my fear of needles.  He took me on nature walks and treated life as a gift.  He was a playful grandpa, an adventurous grandpa, and a loving grandpa.

 

 As an adult, I started to see my Pop not only as a grandpa, but as a father and as a husband, too.  When I had kids of my own, I realized that he was once somebody’s little boy.  He really wasn’t this indestructible super-hero; he was human.  Human, not invincible.  Human, not perfect.  Human, just like me.  Instead of sugary treats in a bag, I started for looking for things in him that would leave me with more than a full tummy and lots of crumbs.  I was after bigger things.  Things like why he loved to sing hymns about a mighty and loving God.  Things like what does forgiveness look like and how does it really heal a relationship. Things like what gave him hope to embrace each new day that was given to him.

 

I spoke with Pop for the last time on Christmas Eve and now I know that that time was a gift from God.  He didn’t talk about the pain he was in, even though I could tell he was hurting.  In fact, I’m not even sure he knew I was his granddaughter.  But there was One person he never lost sight of- even when his mind began to fade.  As I crouched down beside him in his chair, I told him I was praying for him.  With tears in his eyes, he thanked me and then began to tell me about his God.  He told me that he talked to God all day and all night long.  He told me that God had never once failed him.  He told me how much he loved the Lord and even though it seemed to him that God was being silent, he knew that He was listening.  He told me that he loved the Lord in spite of the pain he felt.  He said, in fact, that he loved Him all the more.  When Pop didn’t know anyone else, He knew that God was with him.  Because God had always been with him.  In the last days of his life, it was the presence of God that brought him peace and comfort.  And as all of us who loved Pop remember him today, we can praise the same God who he is sitting beside right now. 

I read Psalm 146 after I heard that my Pop had gone home to be with Jesus.  It seemed appropriate because to me, what my Pop left me with is a desire to praise God in everything and to hold on to the truth that He will never ever leave or forsake me.

Praise the Lord.  Praise the Lord, my soul.  I will praise the Lord all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.  Psalm 146:1-2

 

Looking back on my time with Pop, I realize now that what I fell in love with as a little girl was not super powers inside a super-hero.  What captured my heart as a little girl was the power of the Jesus living inside of Pop.  2 Corinthians 4:7 says, “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.”  I fell in love with Jesus who lived inside my Pop.  Because that’s what Jesus does… he takes an ordinary life and makes it extraordinary.  He takes a regular man with faults and flaws,and He turns him into a super-hero in the eyes of a little girl.