A Grandpa Lost, or Many Gained

On Good Friday, we buried my Grandpa Gliem. And as sad as that may seem, it wasn't, really. The Friday before he had turned 90, which was a feat for his lineage; he was second youngest and outlived his entire family. And he had a massive heart attack... and broke his back in a car accident, and had a pacemaker put in...

He was a tough old guy.

He also was kind enough to give us a week to say goodbye. Most of the family got an intimate last few words with him, and a prayer. I was around a little more than my other cousins, mostly because I'm so much closer. It was a very, very strange week. I always knew Grandpa was going to die, and soon, but when it actually came around, it was surreal. But I said goodbye, and got to hear him whisper, "It's beautiful." as he stared at the ceiling.

And that is what Grandpa Gliem was always about, God. At his funeral, an uncle asked the congregation if Grandpa had ever prayed with them or asked if they knew God, and almost everyone raised their hand. It was his favorite thing to talk about, and the thing he was most passionate about. His whole life was based around Christ, and he let people know about it.

The best story is how he was ready to quit seminary after surviving WWII, because the professors were teaching that parts of the Bible were myths. At the same time, Lutheran Memorial Camp was calling for a temporary director. The seminary shipped Grandpa out as fast as they could. And by the hand of God, Grandpa touched more people's life in that little camp than he ever could have in a church. Generations of kids went through there, workers under him shuffled through the years, even his kids' future spouses worked for him. And from that he built a legacy... for God.

The most amazing quality to his story is his humble beginnings. He came from a rough start, losing his dad early, his mom on bed rest and him taking over the farm, and trying to get an education. When the war started he lied about his age to get in, and was shipped off to Burma where he almost died many times. He found God there, in that godforsaken place, and was so grateful for being rescued that he couldn't help but proclaim God, couldn't be more excited for being taken out of his old life.

And now, a power base in my life is gone. But you know what? I don't think it really has. I have another base in my life. It may not be one man, but many men, desperate to be closer to God. And their story sounds a lot like Grandpa's. Rough beginnings, a divine rescue, and eternal gratitude.

And on Tuesday I sat with these men, who were flat on their faces on the ground, crying out to God to help those in need, and nurture our weak souls. If that isn't an oak like faith, I don't know what is.

I may have lost my last Grandpa, but I feel I've gained several more.



And I think Grandpa would be proud.