Grandpa Olaf

My grandpa was a great man. No one is perfect, of course. In his book "Faith When Dreams Die" he said his greatest struggle was against pride. I know what pride feels like inside of me, and I also know what it feels like to be hurt by someone else's pride. It's probably one of the most common struggles in all of humanity...especially for a typical, strong, full-blooded Norwegian farmer! He also struggled with bitterness. When his company went bankrupt the year I was born (I like to think of myself as a good-luck charm), there were a lot of people and organizations that assisted the poor economy in causing this demise. I can't imagine the kind of strength it would take to forgive those who are responsible for the death of your life's work, but I do know it takes a strength greater than any man's. That's why Grandpa was great. His relationship with God was as much a part of his life as breathing. It's what inspired him to be an evangelist and touch the lives of so many people. Almost every time I visit a new church, someone there remembers my grandpa from the days of his travelling evangelism. His joy in the Lord was vibrant and contagious, and he was always bursting at the seams to share a verse, a prayer, or a song.
Another reason my grandpa was so great is that he loved me. I remember my sisters and I going out to visit him, and we all piled into his pickup and drove around the gravel roads to see where the old one-room schoolhouse used to be, the old church where the Revival happened back in the 30's, and the cemetery where a few of our ancestors were already buried. He never failed to remind us grandchildren how precious we were and how much he loved us and was proud of us.
A few weeks ago I took the opportunity to visit him in the Shaunavon nursing home. He'd just had a stroke which left him unable to use his right side or speak clearly. Grandma had gone to heaven two Septembers ago, and Grandpa's friend Vernon had gone just this past December. For a long time now he'd been more than ready to be home with the Lord as well, and now it looked like that might be happening soon.
I'll never forget being able to thank him for the book he wrote, which I'd just finished reading again. It had touched me very deeply, now that I was old enough to appreciate his descriptions of some of the struggles he'd gone through. I'll never forget the faint smile in his eyes when Dad showed him a picture of my brother's newborn son Gabriel. I'll never forget that last hug, holding Grandpa's swollen and rough right hand, and hearing him speak softly into my ear. The words didn't make sense, but I knew by the tone of his voice what he was saying. I told him I loved him.

He passed away around 3:00 this morning. It still hasn't really sunk in yet, but regardless of what I feel, he's up in heaven having the best reunion with his wife and family and friends, and finally being able to fall at the feet of the God he's loved so passionately and hear Him say "Well done, good and faithful servant!"