Monday, August 6, 2012

Poppa

We've been Bedouins since July 30th. Everything we own is tetris-packed into a pod with the exception of what we needed in suitcases for said Bedouin activities. We have no real plan. We have no real home. We have a dent in our back fender and a teenie crack in our windshield from a flying rock. Because evidently rocks fly in North Carolina. It's cool, though, and we've been taking advantage of the built in vacation we've been given. We've been seeing family because family's important.We lost one of the patriarchs the day Micah came home.  It was hard. Poppa and Dottie were the best. The perfect grandparents. The kind of people you want to be like. We had a memorial service that lasted long enough to lose track of time. People cried. People laughed. We remembered the legacy.

I didn't feel worthy enough to have shared the stage with those who knew them their whole lives, but this is what I would've said had I worked up the courage.

I didn't know what having a grandfather was like until Poppa. I knew two things about him before the actual meeting: 1) Poppa loved to tell stories and 2) Poppa loved Dottie. You never saw one without the other. They were more in love than newlyweds and more devoted to each other than anyone I'd ever seen. They were the perfect example of what a Godly marriage looks like. Ever since that first get together, Poppa would tell me, "You said you'd be back. I believe you meant it. And I'm sure glad you did."
One of my most cherished moments came in the midst of one of the most painful for me. I had a kidney infection that felt worse than labor pains. The only position that provided any relief was sitting up straight in Dottie's sheep-skinned covered rocking chair in the new kitchen. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't move. I didn't  do anything but cry. Poppa stayed up with me all night. He told me stories, kept reheating the rice-filled homemade heating pad, whistled his favorite tunes and read me his favorite Bible passages. I couldn't imagine anyone else being more gentle and loving. He didn't have to take care of me. He didn't have to stay up all night. He didn't have to be my Poppa. But he was.

2 comments:

  1. Kim Fielden SmithAugust 6, 2012 at 8:47 PM

    Amber, what a precious memory you have. Sometimes bizarre the way that our Sovereign God works, but although you didn't know Poppa (Uncle Pope to me) your entire life, God granted you a very speial unique lifetime memory that others of us didn't get to experience. Thank you for sharing.

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  2. Amber, you got to know "the real Poppa". Thanks for sharing that. His was one memorial service I wished could have gone on forever. I don't ever want to forget what an example of Christ we were honored to witness. We all have a job to do. It will certainly take ALL of us to fill Uncle Pope's shoes. We'll pray for you & Micah as you seek God's will for you lives. Love, Nancy Fielden

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