What a Day That Will Be

21 months ago, my grandfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. For those of you that don't know, in the world of cancers, pancreatic is a beast. It's the bully on the playground. It's fast-moving, painful, and aggressive. In April 2008, he was given until August 2008... and come August 2009, he was fairly certain he'd make it 'til Christmas. And he did. And he just missed his 83rd birthday by a month.

So today I sat in my grandfather's funeral. I sat and watched as the men at Lebanon Methodist Church brought extra chairs into the tiny chapel because the outpouring of love was so great and so large. I listened to stories of my grandfather's kindness and wit and laughed at the gentle pokes at his stubbornness and hesitance to spend money (my great-uncle was told by a car salesman NOT to bring Papaw back to the car lot). I didn't cry, though. I'm not a crier, and sometimes that embarrasses me... but not today. There is a void in my life where my sweet grandfather was, but his passing is a victory. He lived and loved and did both to the fullest.

People love to canonize the dead. My grandfather was no saint. I have seen him lose his temper. I have heard him utter and even exclaim phrases that cannot be repeated here. But Papaw never pretended to be perfect. In fact, he was quite humble and loved to love on others. He often embarrassed me by saying, "Lindsey got all her good looks from me... but she didn't leave me any!" He loved a good joke, and he loved to share stories. He taught me how to bait a hook with a live worm and how a "horse eats corn." The one thing he left me specifically is his gold-triggered shotgun, the one fabled to have killed my great-uncle Jim, and he loved that I was a better shot than my boyfriend. A day wasn't complete if he didn't work with his hands, and he would build frog caves in the sandbox for my cousins and me when we were small. More than once I brought my college friends home to his farm, and he delighted in teaching them how to cast a fishing line and introducing them to "Fred the Fish." Of course, you couldn't even get to the pond without a hayride behind the tractor or just a ride in the bed of the truck, where he would sling his leg over the side but caution everyone else to hold on for dear life.

No, my grandfather was no saint, but he was a good and strong man. Today I celebrated because today he is a good and perfect man. He is whole and happy and healthy, and I know this because I know my Papaw knew Jesus as his Savior. My mom and I have laughed a lot recently and mused about my brother dragging Papaw around Heaven showing him the ropes and introducing him to the whole gang. I like to think, too, that Papaw is fishing with the disciples and comparing notes on biggest catches (he caught a 20-pound bass on Smith Lake once).

This song was sang at the funeral today, and it hit me like never before. It's not just a funeral song, but a very real and exciting concept:

There is coming a day when no heartaches shall come
No more clouds in the sky, no more tears to dim the eye.
All is peace forevermore on that happy golden shore,
What a day, glorious day that will be.

What a day that will be when my Jesus I shall see,
And I look upon His face,
The One who saved me by His grace;
When He takes me by the hand
And leads me through the Promised Land,
What a day, glorious day that will be.

There'll be no sorrow there, no more burdens to bear,
No more sickness, no pain, no more parting over there;
And forever I will be with the One who died for me,
What a day, glorious day that will be.

What a day that will be when my Jesus I shall see,
And I look upon His face,
The One who saved me by His grace;
When He takes me by the hand
And leads me through the Promised Land,
What a day, glorious day that will be.
What a day, glorious day that will be!