I was blessed to live near all my grandparents. I got to see them all the time. Grandpa and Grandma Thompson lived the closest. A short half mile down the gravel road on the farm. In the summer of 1981 they had been married for 56 years. That the marriage happened at all was a tribute to my Grandfather’s considerable charm and persistence. In a letter my Grandmother wrote to my cousin, she said, “I once told your Grandfather it would be a cold day before I would ever marry him. And it was. 34 degrees below zero on Christmas Eve in 1924.”

Grandpa Thompson was quite a character. A gifted conversationalist. A skill that served him well as a salesman and in talking his way out of speeding tickets. He had a dry sense of humor and a keen wit. He was a great story teller. An excellent woodworker. He taught himself to paint in his 70’s. He had a green thumb, loved to grow raspberries and roses. Best of all he was a quietly strong Christian role model. A Grandpa who was a wealth of wisdom and seasoned life experience for his grandkids.

About a month before he passed away, a big storm blew through. Summer storms in our part of Iowa always came from the northwest and this one had been building all day. It wasn’t a matter of if it was coming, but when it would arrive. We knocked off work at 4 pm, poured some lemonade, watched the horizon and waited. According to the radio, this one wasn’t some wannabe wind. This was going to be a “head for the basement and it wouldn’t hurt to pray” kind of storm.

The clouds were more ominous than anything I’d ever seen. Rolling, dark blue, then fading to black. The radio station said this weather cell had spawned a couple tornados and was leaving a trail of serious damage. I stayed out by the field taking pictures until I felt the air temperature quickly drop. Then it was a sprint to the house with my Shetland Sheep dog right on my heels.

Everyone went to the basement but me and my Dad. We looked out the window and watched the wind flip the switch to high. It was as impressive as it was sobering. Then just as quickly, the switch flipped off. Completely off. It was the first and only time I’ve literally experienced the “calm before the storm”. Everything outside in an instant went eerily still. Not leaf moved. There was no sound. The sky was a scary green gray. The air felt charged. It made my skin crawl.

Dad said, “Look out. Here it comes.”

Wham!

The storm after the calm shook the house. Trees bending, shingles flying and it sounded like a train was rolling through our living room. We went to the basement to ride it out. Time passes. Slowly and fearfully when you’re thinking your house could blow away.

After the noise died off, we went upstairs. The house was still there. But outside, what a mess. We’d be cleaning this up for days.

My cousin Jack, in a voice of urgent concern, said, “Man, we better get down the road and check on Mom and Pop. I hope they had time to get to the basement.” They were 81 and 82 years old. Trying to navigate those stairs in a hurry would be dangerous for them.

We jumped in the truck and headed south. All the way down the road we zigzagged to avoid the debris. Heading up the lane we saw chunks of corrugated steel roofing draped over power lines like laundry hung out to dry. A couple small buildings had fallen in. The tornado had hit the edge of Grandpa’s farm. It tore the roof off the hay shed and sent it screaming across the acreage. There was a ten inch hole in the siding where the wind had javelined a tree limb into the side of the house. A huge branch was blocking the front door. Jack and I scrambled to lift it out of the way.

Flinging open the door we instinctively headed for the basement but there was no light on down there. Curious. We poked our heads around to look up into the kitchen. There sat Grandpa and Grandma at the table, drinking coffee and having an afternoon snack.

Jack went off. “Pop, what the heck are you doing up here? Why aren’t you in the basement?! Didn’t you know it was storming outside?”

“Yep.”

My turn. “Then why the heck are you up here? Don’t you know a tornado lifted the roof off the hay shed and blew it over your house? It knocked your chimney down!”

“I thought I heard somethin’.”

“Heard somethin’?! You’ve got a hole in the side of your house! Another two feet over and that tree’d come right through the window and killed you. Why aren’t you in the basement?!!!”

He looked at us and without pause graced our 18 year-old questions with an 82 year-old answer.

“Because if you’re gonna go, you may as well go eating pie.”

And with that he put down his fork.

I can’t speak for Jack. But in my memory that was perhaps the first time I realized that in the sovereignty of God, when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. The best we can do is make sure we’re living life to the full every day, even in the storms, until we go. In this, we have a choice.

Several weeks later the entire extended family was gathered at our house for dinner. We grilled steaks and hamburgers, ate sweet corn, drank iced tea and enjoyed being together as we had so many times before. Grandpa Thompson was at the table, relishing the conversation and the laughter and his family when he fell out of his chair and died. A massive stroke or heart attack. I think he was gone before he hit the floor.

He was drinking a cup of coffee.

And eating a piece of apple pie.

“Show me, O Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life.” – Psalm 39:4

I remember my Grandfather saying these words. “My roses are blooming. Wanna come see?” He’d want me to follow and I would. Not because I had a passion for roses. More out of respect for Grandpa. Oh, I liked them ok. But he loved them. He even painted pictures of them. Me, I would lean over and smell them and say they were pretty with as much enthusiasm as a kid could.

Now that I’m (much) older I’m seeing what my Grandfather saw. I’m developing a passion for roses. Not just for the beautiful blooms, but for the entire process of cultivating and tending them. For example, since we don’t have a real winter in Phoenix, roses won’t go dormant on their own. If you want beautiful flowers in the spring, you must force them to take a three month rest. You accomplish this by stripping them of their leaves in January and pruning them back to naked canes. When you finish, if you step back and think you’ve surely killed them then they are probably pruned about right.

In March the rose bushes begin to wake up. They begin leafing out. Roses are big drinkers and big eaters. Ample amounts of water and fertilizer help the buds begin to form and in April they begin to bloom. I have twenty rose bushes in my small backyard. Hybrid tea roses, grandifloras, climbing roses and floribundas. They have delightful names like Rio Samba, Moonshadow, Sheer Bliss, Brigadoon, Midas Touch and Garden Party. Everyday I go out to enjoy the palette of colors and literally stop to smell the roses.

A few days ago I laid my nose on a perfect rose. I closed my eyes and inhaled the intoxicating scent. That’s when I noticed the bloom next to it. It had opened several days earlier and looked nothing like the one I was admiring. Its petals were spread out and displayed a different shade of yellow and pink. Only several days earlier it was a perfect rose.

Looking at the two of them I was reminded of a truth that God reminds us of. Our life, He says, is like the flower of the field. We bloom and then the wind passes over and we fade away. Which is to say our life, even if it’s long, is short. What’s 80, 90 or even 100 years in the span of eternity?

The challenge when you’re not a rose is that you’re slow to see your bloom fading. We tend to think of ourselves as younger than we are until birthdays and class reunions remind us that time is passing quickly. God instructs us to number our days so we’ll make the most of the time He gives us. Given that, it’s good to ask each other questions while the wind of life is blowing over us.

Do your kids know how much you love them? Have you told them specifically how they delight you? That you love to hear them giggle? That you are proud of them? That when you look in on them when they are sleeping you’re so overwhelmed by God’s blessing that it brings tears to your eyes?

Do your co-workers and employees know you as more than the person who gives the orders and checks off the checklists? Are you using your God-given talents and abilities? Are you chasing the American dream at the expense of God’s peace in your life?

Are you living today? Or are you wasting valuable time trying to change the past and/or fret over the future? Are you making a daily difference in the lives of others? What are you doing today that will last forever?

What are you doing while the wind is blowing over? What are you doing before your bloom fades?

My roses are blooming. Wanna come see? Better hurry. They won’t last long.

“As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.” – Psalm 103:15-16

Surrounded by appropriately noisy young families juggling kid packs, baby strollers and otherwise testing the limits of allowable carry on luggage, this matched pair sat quietly together with only their jackets and boarding passes in hand. Their appearance was pleasant. He in a tweed sport coat, she in a turtleneck and heavy gray sweatshirt with “Charlevoix, Michigan” elegantly stitched across the front in navy blue thread. They would be flying along with us and a DC-10 full of holiday travelers from Phoenix to Minneapolis. As I watched them I silently wondered what kind of Christmas they would have.

Upon arrival at my parent’s home one day later, we were told that my Grandfather had suffered a heart attack. He stabilized a bit for a few hours, but died early Christmas morning. My Mom woke me up to say simply, “Grandpa’s gone.” I guess if you had a choice of where to spend Christmas, heaven would be right up there.

My Grandmother asked me to speak at the funeral. During the next several days I sorted through the memories I had of my Grandfather. One memory in particular elbowed its way to the front of my mind. When I was a small boy, I loved to play in the snow. If I happened to be outside at my Grandparent’s farm when Grandpa Walt was headed toward the barn to do chores, he would pull me across the snow in a scoop shovel.

I remember the first time he ever pulled me. “Sit down and hang on.”, he said.

“But Grandpa, this is not a sled!”, I said.

“Sit down and hang on.”, he said.

“But Grandpa, this is a scoop shovel!”

“Sit down and hang on!”

So I sat down in the scoop and grabbed hold of the handle. Even as a preschooler I dripped with firstborn perfectionism. I spent every second of that first ride to the barn worried that this was not a sled. It was a scoop. Sleds are for pulling. Scoops are for scooping. This is not practical.

Before I knew it we were at the barn and the ride was over. Grandpa went in to milk the cows. I was left to look back toward the house and ponder the trip.

Sometime after that first ride in the scoop I quit worrying that it wasn’t a sled and started to enjoy the ride. I held on for dear life when Grandpa spun me in a circle over icy packed snow and swung me high and wide up the sides of giant drifts. I laughed and shrieked when he broke into a run; a mere eighth inch of aluminum between me and the frozen ground. Always before I knew it we were at the barn and Grandpa would go in to milk the cows.

I confess to you that I have spent too many of my nearly 40 years worried about what I’m riding on through life. I’ve wasted too much time wishing my scoop shovel was a sled or a sleigh or a snowmobile. And I think I’d hate to know how much excitement and joy I’ve missed by being practical instead of enjoying the ride. We Americans are particularly good at working for the future at the expense of the present. We’re so consumed with upgrading to a sled that we rarely experience the thrill of riding in our scoop.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 tells us that “there is a time for everything”, including a time to be born and a time to die. In between those two events is the trip to the barn. Are you enjoying yours? Are you hanging on for dear life and allowing God in His sovereign love and plan to swing you high and wide over the big drifts of life during this thrilling, exciting and sometimes scary pull? Or are you still trying to explain to God that your scoop should be a sled?

Whatever God wants to pull you in, sit down and hang on. Enjoy the ride. Before you know it, you’ll be at the barn. At the end when you’re left to look back and ponder the trip; you’ll want memories, not regrets.

When we boarded the plane in Minneapolis for our return flight to Phoenix, there they were. The Tweed and Charlevoix couple. Row 5, seats E and F. I wondered what kind of Christmas they had.

I can’t say for certain, but it looked to me like they were riding happily in their scoop.

I was playing behind my grandparents’ farm house, throwing a red rubber baseball high into a square of blue sky, framed on three sides by the tops of evergreen and elm trees that marked the borders of the backyard. It felt good to wind up and pitch. On the way up, it was a desperate attempt at a base hit by anyone from the Detroit Tigers. On the way down it was always a routine diving catch by the Twins’ Harmon Killebrew or Tony Oliva.

On this particular early afternoon in my backyard Metropolitan Stadium, the Tigers’ Al Kaline was trying to avoid going 0-4. His high fly ball along the right field line reached its apex when I heard the familiar squeak of the rusty spring on the front gate. Someone was either coming or going. I wonder who? Remembering we were in the middle of an inning, I looked up just in time for Harmon to make a miraculous over-the-shoulder grab. My game wasn’t over, yet who was at the gate? Hmm, what to do…

Suddenly an unexpected thunderstorm rolls in over 3rd base! The umpire waves both teams off the field. Up in the booth overlooking home plate WCCO Radio’s Herb Carneal, the voice of the Twins, announces yet another Minnesota victory while I run around the corner past the old stump to see whomever it was that made that metal gate talk.

I got to the fence just in time to hear the distinctive whine of the starter on Grandpa Thompson’s brown Chrysler Newport. I waved and yelled and he rolled down the window. “Whatcha want, bud?”, he asked over the idle of the engine. “Grandpa, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a ride.”

A ride? “Can I come with you?”

“Yep.”

“Wait for me, ok? I need to tell Grandma where I’ll be!”

Sprinting up the sidewalk I put two and two together. Grandpa was going for a ride. That must mean he’s going to Fairmont. And going to Fairmont with Grandpa means ice cream! And my sister isn’t here, so…I’ve got Grandpa and the ice cream all to myself!

Flinging open the front door I jumped the three steps into the kitchen. My Grandma was sitting by her porcelain topped table kneading out the dough for her delicious Parker House rolls. “I’m going for a ride with Grandpa. Can you call my Mom and tell her where I am?”

“Sure”, she said, pouring some flour into the sifter. I darted from room to room, looking for the jacket Mom told me not to take off and found it hanging over a wingback chair in the den. I grabbed it and ran out to the car.

It took a giant pull with both hands to close the big door on the Chrysler. Grandpa looked over at me from his side of the front seat.

“All set?”

“All set, Grandpa. Let’s go!” What a great day this is turning out to be! Warm weather, whipping the Detroit Tigers in the backyard and now a trip to Fairmont for a giant ice cream cone with my Grandpa. Life is good.

He dropped the shifter into reverse, reached his right arm over the seat and turned to begin backing up.

We’re on our way! Do I want chocolate or vanilla today?

He looked forward again and shifted into “drive”.

I think I’ll have chocolate.

He straightened the wheels.

Make that a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and a cherry.

Then he calmly drove into the garage, parked, and turned off the ignition. I didn’t understand. This is not Fairmont. This is the garage. I’ve been here before. Unless you’re a connoisseur of old hubcaps, there’s nothing to see.

“Grandpa! I thought you said you were going for a ride?!”

His eyes sparkled underneath the brim of his hat. “I didn’t say how long it would be.” He laughed himself silly all the way to the house where he would be sure to tell my Grandma and every extended family member he could find about the “big trip” he took with his grandson. I’ve yet to live it down. Over 25 years later, my family still asks me to tell them about my ride with Grandpa.

Grandpa’s joke inadvertently taught me an important lesson, one I wouldn’t recognize the value of until my backyard baseball days were long behind me. Simply put, not every trip we take in this life ends up the way we think it will. We begin with the grandest intentions and delicious dreams of chocolate sundae results. That is as it should be. When we pull the door shut on our life’s big Chrysler to pursue our adventure, it’s natural to think we’re really going somewhere.

“Son, heres a full ride Division I football scholarship. Next fall you’ll be dodging Wolverines and Buckeyes…”

“Congratulations and welcome to the company. Here’s your corner office…”

“Good news, Mr.. & Mrs.. Smith. You’re pregnant…”

Yet life being what it is, sometimes we find our trip was an all too short journey to an all too familiar place.

“Sorry, son. The ligament is gone. Walking? Yes. Football? Not a chance.”

“Due to our company’s downsizing, your position has been eliminated…”

“We can’t find the heartbeat. We’re very sorry…”

This isn’t Fairmont. This is the garage. I’ve been here before and there’s nothing to see.

If during the course of life one of your big trips ends up in the garage, remember the overriding promises of God.

“I love you” (Romans 5:8; John 3:16)

“Nothing can separate you from My love” (Romans 8:31-39)

“I will never leave you, nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5)

“I am near to the broken-hearted” (Psalm 34:18)

“I will complete the good work I began in you” (Philippians 1:6)

When you ride with God, you’re always headed in the right direction.