I had a conversation with my aunt a few days ago. We were just sitting at my grandmother’s (Nana’s) kitchen table talking when the conversation turned to my grandfather (Papaw).
You see, I’m the only grandson out of six grandchildren on that side of the family. So, naturally, I guess Papaw treated me a little differently than the five granddaughters. He kept me by his side just about all the time. He bought me pretty much anything I wanted. We would spend hours on end in the mountains looking for ginseng. He would show me huge trees and talk about how we would live the good life if we had enough trees that big. (He was a sawmiller.) He loved guns and shooting. When I developed the same interests you can guess what my Christmas present was that year. Yep, a brand new Marlin .22 rifle. The girls weren’t very happy when I got to the sixth grade and we all got off the school bus and there, waiting for me, was a Yamaha motorcycle gassed up and ready to go. In 1988 he took me out west, all the way to Yellowstone National Park. He said he wanted me to see that part of the country with him. He had contacted a rancher in Wyoming who was going to let our group (my dad, uncle, Papaw, any myself) hunt for deer on his property. And, of course, I couldn’t take a trip like that without something to hunt with. This came in the form of a new Remington .243, complete with scope and ammo. In the summer, when I was out of school, he hired me on to work for him. Most of my duties involved helping him mow his yard, shooting guns, watching TV, riding with him to the lumber yard or to get parts, wandering around in the woods and, on some rare occasions, actual work. He was just about the best friend a boy under thirteen could ask for. By the time I’d finished eighth grade I had gotten big enough to start doing more of the work at the saw mill and didn’t get as much “loaf” time. Because I was busy with my newfound duties I barely noticed when he said he wasn’t feeling good. I didn’t find it strange that he was wearing his coat in the middle of summer.
On the night of July first I had just went to bed when the phone rang. I heard my dad say, “Ok, I’ll be up there in a minute.” I jumped out of bed, got dressed and ran to catch up with my dad. When we got to Papaw’s house he was standing at his pickup, gasping for breath. Dad jumped in and I helped Papaw into the truck. We started toward the hospital. After just a few miles he looked at me and said, “I just can’t live, Kev.” He slumped forward and seemed to be groaning. I had my arm around his back and it was sweaty and cold; he seemed to be asleep. I can remember looking at the speedometer in the truck and it said we were going 85 mph. I looked over at Papaw. He was leaned back with his eyes closed. Now I stated in an earlier devotional that I was saved at a young age. And so I did the only thing I could think to do. I got as close to his ear as possible and shouted as loud as I could, “Pray, Papaw! Pray!” I was so scared. My life changed forever that night.
He spent two weeks in a coma before the doctors recommended my grandmother, dad and aunts allow him to be taken off life support. He died less than twelve hours later. I don’t even remember the next three weeks. But I do remember starting high school a short time later. I had a terrible time with it. I would beg my mom and dad not to make me go back. To beat all I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep and, even worse, I couldn’t cry. I hadn’t cried even one time since it happened.
Finally one night I was in my room – still awake – and my mom came in. She asked how I was doing and if school was going any better and then she snuck in, “Have you cried any since Papaw died?” I said no, that I felt guilty that I hadn’t, that I wanted to and needed to but couldn’t. She told me to pray that God would help me. She said that I couldn’t keep it all inside. Psalm 126:6 says, “He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” Psalm 30:5 says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” When she left I began to pray. I felt that old lump in my throat. Once it started I think I cried half the night.
I know now that this was the first major trial of my life. Why God chose that particular time and way, only He knows. But I Peter 1:7 says, “That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.” The purest gold and silver has been tried time and time again…by fire.
Now I know I’m not the purest gold or silver, but I also know that I’ve never grown in spirit without a trial. The next time you’re in a trial, just remember when you come through it that you’ll be more pure than you were when you went into the fire.
Bro Kevin Winebarger
CMBC DEVOTIONAL WRITER
