I went to visit my grandmother a few weeks ago in Los Angeles. I slept in the guest room that she keeps nice and clean downstairs. It was very strange to lay alone, asleep in the guest room downstairs in her house, where 10 years ago my grandfather lay dying. I stared at the cover over the four poster bed, wondering if during those last few months my grandpa stared at the same thing. What an odd thing. I remember the last time I saw him when he was alive, he looked like he was in pain, but he was filled with more love than I ever remembered before. He was a pretty conservative guy, not too expressive most of his life. He was a successful business person, he attended church regularly, he liked to cook breakfast for my grandma, he was an incredible carpenter ... but I seldom heard him speak about Jesus. But from what my grandmother told me, the last thing he did when they were carting him into the hospital was to share his faith with the orderly who was pushing the cart. Wow. Too many things going on there to even write about.

Do you ever wonder what your ancestors were like? Your great, great great grandfather? Did he want to be remembered? We are so disconnected from our ancestors in the US. Unless we have an ancestor that was famous for something, then we brag about it. So many years, so many lives going by that nobody remembers. Nobody but God. I'm sure glad He makes this life worth living.

Nathan