GRANDPA’S SMILE

He lay covered in white hospital sheets, hooked up to a tangle of tubes and wires. As I approached, I barely recognized him—the pasty skin, the sunken cheeks—but when he opened his eyes and smiled at me, it was all I could do to keep from jumping into his arms like I always had. Grandpa, whom I loved more than anyone else in the whole world, had had a serious heart attack.

Grandpa had always been my best friend, as well as my confidant and counselor when I’d had problems with friends or siblings. As the youngest child in my family, I was shy, gangly, and unsure of myself, but Grandpa always knew how to give me the boost I needed. If I needed a friend, he joined me in my games. If I needed a shoulder to cry on, I knew where to find one. Grandpa’s big, warm hugs were the most comforting place on earth! If I needed correction, he gave it firmly but gently. He would reach deep into my heart and make me want to change for the better. He also prayed a lot, and was quick to remind me that prayer was the surest way to make good things happen.

I was 14 years old, just leaving childhood behind, when we were called to the hospital. One by one, from the oldest to the youngest, we were allowed into Grandpa’s hospital room to see him for just a moment.

After a smile and a feeble but cheery “hello,” Grandpa took my hand. “Joyce, you have always been my favoritest youngest granddaughter. I know that sometimes you have a hard time finding your place. You often feel like you don’t know what to do, and you worry that you won’t amount to much. But I want you to know that God loves you and has a special plan for your life.”

Then Mom gently tapped me on the shoulder and guided me out of the room. “Grandpa needs to rest,” she said.

A couple of days later I saw Grandpa again. This time he was in his best suit, lying in a coffin. Almost