From ages past no one has heard,
no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
who works for those who wait for him.
Isaiah 6:4
It’s the first Sunday of Advent, and the theme for this week is Waiting. Because of the late date Thanksgiving fell on this year, we are in the uncommon position of having our season of giving thanks for our many blessings running right into our season of anticipation of the great blessing of the Incarnation.
It may seem strange to say this, but I find this happy coincidence of the calendar to be especially fitting this year, since we lost my grandfather a couple of weeks ago. His funeral was yesterday. For a variety of reasons, I was unable to attend, but my mother tells me that it was a lovely service, a true celebration of my grandfather’s life. I say that the intersection of thanks-giving and anticipation is appropriate for the weekend of Granddaddy’s funeral because those are two principles by which he lived.
Granddaddy was from a long line of pastors and missionaries, and served God himself his whole life, sometimes as a pastor (usually of fledgling churches just starting out), sometimes as a chaplain in a federal prison, and sometimes as a counselor. He served in the RAF during WWII, stationed in London. His obituary has more biographical details, but in my own life, he served God by being an example of gentleness, grace, and good humor. I struggle, as many Christians do, with exactly what it means to be a follower of Christ, and Granddaddy’s example is one that has returned to me again and again.
By the time I was born, he had long since lost his British accent, but always retained his precise British diction and cadence, and certainly his dry wit. He always wrote amazing letters in the most unusual handwriting. He used to wear English Leather cologne, and my dad had a bottle of it on his dresser, that I would occasionally sneak into their room and smell because it reminded me of him. The Christmas they were visiting and my brother got Tetris for his NES, I remember that he and my parents would stay up late playing it. As his health slowly failed him and he lost a leg to diabetes, he took to referring to himself as “some one-legged old geezer.”
I know that my grandfather, always thankful for his many blessings, anticipated death not as something to be dreaded, but as a home-going. Our faith teaches us that in death, we are united with our Lord, and I know that he was ready to welcome it.
So it’s in his memory that I run my Thanks-Giving right into my Waiting this year.





