Fear Knocks at the Window

"...because fear hath torment..." - 1 John 4:18  


Last week my Grandfather died.  He went more peacefully than anyone I had ever seen.  I know that sounds weird, but I have seen dozens (dare I say 'in the hundreds'?) of people pass away in my life, and I honestly can't recall anyone "going" so calmly.  And here's the thing about that - I'm not talking just about the moment he actually passed.   


You see, several months ago Gramps was diagnosed with lung cancer.  From what I hear from family, he seemed to accept his fate right from the start.  In the last couple months of his life, I had the honor and pleasure to spend just a bit of "quality time" with Grampa.  In those times, the most amazing thing that stuck with me (aside from the really cool stories he told me) was just how at peace he was with his coming death.  One day Grampa and I were talking and he asked several questions about "timing", essentially he was asking who would go first - him or Gramma.  When I told him that he would likely go before Gramma would, he just stated that that was good, he just never wanted to hear the words that Gram was gone.  I even asked him flat out if he was scared or upset about dying...in his own inimitable way, Grampa just said, "no."  And in the limited number of hours that he and I spent together in those last couple months, I never once heard him complain, and he never, not once, gave any sign that he was scared.  This I find amazing.


Don't misunderstand what I say next.  I don't purport to be one bit a hero - understand that.   Okay, I have faced the very distinct possibility of death a few times, mostly (I think entirely) in battle.  I was scared, there's no sense in pretending - I was.  But there's something about those moments when you realize that you HAVE to do something to prevent it, and the sense of self-preservation completely and entirely takes over.  Doesn't mean I wasn't scared, and it certainly doesn't make me a hero.  But in those moments, had I died, it would have been in the course of fighting back.


Then there's the thought of insidious death, the death of a disease that may grab hold and take time to take one away.  Watching Grampa, I have often wondered - would I, could I ever be so brave and peaceful?  My entire family attributes Grampa's peacefulness to his faith in Christ, and that may very well be so.  But I wonder if I would ever have that kind of faith.  


This is a hard one to write.  There's a decent possibility that my family may read this, and I hate the thought that my kids may see, yet again, a glaring weakness in their father, but alas - this is about truth.  In my head I know that God is there.  I have read, re-read, and read again, the many promises of God.  That to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.  Even the verse used in this post says, "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear."   My head knows these things.  But, to be honest, I still struggle with believing these things.  Hart Crane wrote this poem in 1917:


The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,—
But on the window licks the night.


Pile on the logs... Give me your hands,
Friends! No,— it is not fright...
But hold me... somewhere I heard demands...
And on the window licks the night.


I fear that's more how I would be.  Afraid of the night outside the window.  Don't misunderstand, even though I was a big chicken as a little kid, I've pretty much outgrown most silly fears (with the exception of the occasional, really good scary movie).  But when it comes to what-comes-next, well frankly - I still struggle with that.  When my day comes, will I sit in my chair shaking, fearful of what waits outside my window?  Will my last days be so consumed with fear that death comes with a mighty, sniveling torment?  I can imagine myself in terror.  What an awful picture.  


Faith.  Faith.  Faith.  Grampa, in his silence and by his example, has shown me what I still lack, still yearn for.