I believe in inspirations from the Holy Spirit. I saw my granddad on one of my trips from my hometown Wenatchee, WA when I was leaving to start the quarter at college. It had been one month since my grandma had died. He wasn’t looking so well.
He said as we talked, “You’re better than Billy Graham.” I think he had watched him often.
I helped mow his yard and stack some wood. He had chronic back problems from years of farming and bricklaying. We loaded up some garbage in his old pick-up truck to take to the county dump.
I can still smell that old truck. He had bought it new in the early 50′s. I imagine that was a proud day for him. He paid cash for everything and had likely saved quite a while for it. He loved that truck. But now the seats had cracked. There were springs showing on the driver’s side. He had painted it himself and it was a horrible green. The cab smelled like Beeman’s gum, which he chewed constantly.
After we unloaded the truck and got back to his house, I got in my Chevy Nova and headed over the pass back to Seattle.
About two weeks later I was on my way to class and I felt a strong nudge that I needed to see my granddad. I called my parents and they said he was grieving and depressed but looked okay. I knew I was supposed to see him though.
So the next morning I loaded my four-year-old son up with me and we drove the three hours to his house. I cared little that I was missing class. And my son was happy he was going to see my parents, his grandma and papa.
I arrived in town early afternoon. My granddad made some bologna sandwiches for us. He was so sad. And he just looked like he didn’t want to live. He had liver problems (sometime I will tell you about his hospital trip I helped with) and wasn’t well. He was a bit jaundiced.
We sat down after lunch under his huge sycamore tree while my son ran around in his garden. He asked me, “Will I go to heaven?” I was shocked. I knew he had not received Christ. I answered, “Only if you have received Jesus Christ as your Savior, granddad, like grandma did.” He began to cry.
I asked if he wanted to pray. He said, “Yes!” And we prayed together.
I went home. And he died the next morning.