On December 31, 2016, New Year’s Eve, my mom’s dad, my beloved grandfather, went to be with the Lord. We had just visited him a few days before around Christmas, and he greeted me with a warm joyful smile and said, “I’ve been waiting for you to get here, Thor.” His aged frame was thinner and his hair was almost completely gone. His frail body was about to release his spirit to the Lord. There was a sense of peace and of joy. His full life was about to enter real fullness. He was on the doorstep of Heaven’s eternity. He died on New Year’s Eve.
Most of my personality traits come from my parents. My dad was a hard worker and loved people. He had a caring spirit for others and readily gave. My mom, besides raising us and teaching us the Scriptures (my mom made us memorize verses and passages), was a disciple and counselor of many women. She led many studies, prayed for many, and I watched our home and her time as a revolving door of discipleship.
My mom’s dad, my grandfather, AKA Pop, lived a few miles from us, with my grandmother. This was a privileged heritage (for me) to have my grandparents for 45 years. My grandmother, AKA Gram, just had her 87th birthday right after Pop passed. We spent a lot of time with them when I was growing up. Pop was a house painter, a carpenter, and an artist. In fact, he is (was) a world champion duck decoy carver. His decoys, which look very real, are considered by some to be some of the best ever. Every Christmas, Pop would take his son, his daughters, and his grandchildren, to the shelved wall and say, “Choose.” Sometimes he would pick one for you. Often, you just chose. These ducks were 120-150 hour labors of love. He gave out of what he did best. Tears would flow because no one could match his decoy gifts. They were valuable but had no price. They were in essence, priceless. This steady man who painted, worked with wood and carved like a genius, also hunted and fished. I won’t tell you how many times I fell in the spillway in the old Milford, Delaware, only to have Pop pull me out laughing. He wasn’t mad. He just laughed and would take me home to get changed. Then we would go right back out. My grandfather was a slow man. He was steadfast. He gave gifts of time and of wood, painted wood that has a beauty that is completely unparalleled and unmatched. You knew he loved you. I knew he loved me- and it was just because I was his first grandchild.
Pop’s life wasn’t without battles. He served in World War II as a medic in Normandy and throughout Europe. He battled alcohol the first half of his life, only to repent of this with some major pressure from Gram. I don’t recall him ever drinking. I see him in his chair and at his workshop desk, carving and etching and burning and painting under a bright light those decoys, those beloved priceless masterpieces. And I suspect that The Great Carpenter, our Savior and Lord, Christ Jesus, has already showed Pop a thing or two and made his work even better than here on earth.
In Memory of Roland Downes (1922-2016)
