Missing those gone and Pointing up

Grandpa's hand

I miss my dad. I miss my brother. I miss my grandma. I wish I could have known my niece. Today, in a quiet moment in the car as we drove home from an appointment it hit me hard that my dad will never know our third superhero. This has struck me before but for whatever reason…today…it felt raw and new. It cut deep.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the picture above of him holding my second superhero’s hand in his when he was just 3 days old. I kept seeing this image and remembered all the rough weathered details of his hands and remembered his voice…how it soothed away my hurt ego and pains of the past…how his hands held my mom or us as we cried and how they could show incredible strength as he worked on equipment in the garage or cut wood with the chainsaw.

When I see something funny or laugh about our water problems I can hear his voice, how he would laugh and sympathize at the same time…not making you feel bad and yet seeing the humor that you saw. I read a blog today about someone dying well because she lived well and you know…there is truth in that.

Both my brother and dad had huge funerals. They lived. They touched lives. They loved. They helped those who needed it often to a fault and were at times, taken advantage of. Yet, that was who they were. They shared their faith in Christ but in a gentle, honest, way…like breathing…it was never forced…it just was. They both knew how to admit when they were wrong and apologize from the heart.

Did they have faults. Yes…but don’t we all? I see mine daily but also am thankful for who I am growing to be. It’s like an adventure that I don’t know the ending to. I just pray I can finish it with dignity and impact the lives around me in a way that points to the ONE who has changed, continues to change and has rescued me.

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