Papa...

Well friends, I know it's been a while since I've gotten on here.  I'm sorry about that.  I love ya and I love to post, but it's been rather hectic around the Ranch lately.  My goal in the new year is to post weekly.  I've completed several craft projects I hope to blog about and Sweet Pea will celebrate his SeCoNd BiRtHdAy in a few days, so there will be much to write about!

You'll have to bear with me on this post.  I'll admit, it's not going to be a super cute or funny one, but more a post just for me.  A journal-like post.  A therapeutic thing for ol' Sister Sass.  This is a post about my Papa. 

December 19, as you know, was just a few days ago.  No big deal, I guess.  It was just a Monday.  But December 19 holds some special meaning for me. 

December 19, 2003, the Deuce proposed to me after a nice dinner he prepared at his house.  He was 29 and I was 25, living with my Grandma and Papa at the time.  I loved living with Grandma and Papa.  I will cherish that time in my memory.  The talks we had, laughs we shared.  Papa getting excited over basketball games on TV!  heehee!  Good times. 

Then one day when I came home from work, Papa met me at the door and asked me to take him to the hospital.  Frantic, I turned back around, ran to my car and we zoomed down Highway 27 to the ER.  Now, Papa was well into his seventies at this time, but I thought he was healthy as a horse, or however that saying goes.  Sure, he had a few issues with hypertension, but otherwise, he was healthy.  Worked hard every day, even though he was 'retired.'  He hadn't been feeling well for a while, though, and Grandma had been trying to get him to see his doctor.  For as much as he was a hard working, loving and caring man...he was s t u b b o r n!  'Now Mom, when I need to go to the doctor, you'll know it!  I'll be right there, waiting to see him.'  I'd heard that line a few dozen times during the year or so I lived there.  So when he met me at the door that summer afternoon...July 22, 2003 to be exact...I didn't waste any time getting him there.  I chuckle now because I remember on the way there, Papa was telling me from the back seat, 'Now Honey, slow down!  We'll get there with you doing the speed limit.' 

Papa had a heart attack.  Eventually he ended up in a big hospital in Indianapolis and when he came home, he came with a laundry list of medications and restrictions. 

Papa was the rock in our family.  Our support.  Our prayer warrior.  He was amazing.  If I was interviewing for a job, I'd call Papa and ask him to pray.  If someone was having lab work or a test, he would pray.  I remember when we were little and my cousin J had some health issues.  Papa came to my aunt and uncle's house to pray for her.  I was there along with my brother, J, and my other cousin T.  J sat in a chair in their front room and Papa asked us all to gather around her and we put our hands on little J and we prayed.  It didn't matter to Papa or to God that I, the oldest of the kids, was probably eight years old.  J was sick, needed prayer and God heard our prayers, too.  That day made such an impact in my life. 

Papa was a church pastor.  But I learned more from how he lived his life and his example than what I learned while he was in the pulpit.  (Not that I didn't learn when he was preaching, too.)  Papa always wanted us to know that we were loved by him and by our Heavenly Father.  When I was probably four or five, I asked Jesus in to my heart during Bible School at St. Paul Church of the Nazarene.  I remember it well.  I remember going to the altar, praying, opening my eyes and looking at the windows at the top of the sanctuary and thinking that I couldn't wait to tell Papa what I did.  I can't quite remember what he did when I told him, but I do remember what he said to me every single time I saw him from that day on...and I'm not kidding.  Every time I saw Papa from four years old till I was 30, he would whisper in my ear, 'Papa loves you and don't forget what Jesus did for you in Bible School.'  Every time I saw him.  Sweet.

I'd give anything in this world to hear him say that to me again. 

On December 19, 2009, Papa went on to get his eternal reward.  I was pregnant with Sweet Pea at the time and was having some tests done at the hospital.  As I sat in the waiting room of the lab, my dad called to let me know Papa had passed.  It was sad, and it still hurts.  Bad.  But I can honestly say that I have always felt comfort knowing that Papa is getting his reward.  Knowing that he lived his life right and served the Lord. 

Just a few days later, on December 30, Sweet Pea was born.  Almost a month early and after five years of praying, fasting and believing that I would one day be a Mommy.  Papa prayed and prayed...and BELIEVED that the Deuce and I would one day be blessed with a child.  I wish I wish I wish Papa could have seen Sweet Pea, and even more than that, I wish so much SP could have known Papa.  I think about that every day.  So I try to live my life as Papa lived his.  I try to make that impression, live that example that Papa did so I can pass that heritage started so long ago on to my sweet little boy.  I fall short every single day, too.  But don't we all?  We all fall short.  But like Papa taught me, we serve a loving God.  We serve a forgiving God. 

I miss my Papa.  Every day I do.  But I'm so thankful for him and all he taught me and all he did for me and the hundreds, maybe thousands of others he helped.  From preaching to driving a church bus to building a church in Equador, he lived to love and to serve.  I hope that I can do the same.

I love you, Papa.