by Candace Beane
Crafted in the hand of God, we are different. He created us with emotions, to experience happiness, love, and sorrow. Even deeper still, He gave us the gift of experiencing these emotions with others, and each relationship has a different level of intimacy. The bond we share in these relationships can be the most blessed experience we may ever have. When a couple marries, when a mother holds her newborn baby, when a grandparent watches their grandchildren play, these relationships (and so many more) are a precious gift from God.
But because we live in a fallen world cursed by sin, these blessed moments shared in love and happiness do not go unmarred. Sorrows come, and we must say “goodbye” to the ones we love. And at this point that each person must go through their grieving journey. It is a lifelong journey, for we are never the same once we have lost a loved one or a dear friend. The hurt remains, not as sharp as in the beginning, but it remains, year after year.
I know little of loss and grief. Many have suffered infinitely deeper than I, yet I would still like to take you on my journey of grieving. And perhaps reading these stories will help as you walk along with me, knowing that you are not alone as you take your journey. My journey began in 2011 when God called Fredrick Joseph Oliver home to Glory.
I am convinced that God gives us special people in our lives to rescue us, and my hero was my Grandpa Oliver. Even though he died as poor as he came into this world, he didn’t die without investments in eternity! He wasn’t a preacher, but he helped many by just walking alongside them. He didn’t have teeth, but he had a contagious joy. And he didn’t have a spotless past, but he brightened the future for countless others. When I was young, he was my entire world.
I will begin by sharing three earlier writings from around the time he passed. And then share with you what I believe the Lord has laid on my heart to do—Children’s character-building stories. I read a quote recently, “Be the things you love most about the people who are gone,” (author unknown). My Grandpa loved pouring his life into us kids, not just his grandkids but his church grandkids. In that way, my grandpa was shining like Jesus, because Jesus loves the little children.
In the Garden of Memories
This story started my journey; it allowed me to grieve through a median I enjoyed. Remembering my Grandpa through writing helped me realize that crying was not the only way to grieve. I could now share with others this wonderful man who they would only meet on the other side of Glory.
CHOMP! The little girl kidnapped another carrot to fatten the by-standing Thoroughbred. The grandfather beamed as the curly golden locks bounced with the child from row to row as she searched for her next victim. The dark bay nickered with anticipation as the child came skipping back to him. Feeling left out, the chickens started squawking with impatience. They wanted the rotten fruits the youth had promised them. She, realizing this, left the still chomping gelding to appease the squabbling hens. Dancing towards the racket with her tiny arms laden with oozing vegetation; she attempted to hurl them over the towering fence with little success. Why did not it work? She had watched her grandfather toss many a tomato over that very fence with ease. As she looked at her strong hero, she welled up with all the pride her little heart could muster! She, snatching one of the offending fruits, began to run towards her pride-and-joy. Halfway to him, she tripped on a protruding vine and fell to the ground, her little hand crashed into a pile of thorns! Her screams of pain frightened the old man! He dropped his gardening hoe and rushed to her rescue! Once there, he took her on his knee and placed her wounded hand into his gentle hand. He drew out the tiny thorns and lovingly kissed her hand. She looked through her tears into his stalwart, wrinkled face; what would she ever do without him? After a gentle embrace, he hobbled back to his gardening hoe; and she, forgetting about her earlier intent, returned to her chickens. Her little girlish mind wandered to the future. She saw him sitting in the audience at her wedding and later with her little girl on his knee. In her mind, he stayed the same, never aging. She spun around to ask him if he would come to her wedding; but when she did, he was gone. Her little mind raced. Why was he gone? Where did he go? In her heart, she knew the answer; he had grown old, and he was gone to the perfect Garden where no thorns grow.