Granddaddy's Last Stand

Russian tea simmered on the stove, filling the house with its citrusy-sweet smell. Shiny packages lined the floor around the towering tree. The great-grandchildren laughed and played, all while speculating about what Santa might bring.

It was a Harbison family Christmas Eve, steeped in family tradition and full of love, but last year, a shadow lingered in all of our hearts.

Granddaddy was weak and growing weaker by the day, and our human hearts could not help but compose a single painful question: Would this Christmas be his last?

It was.

Granddaddy died on May 26 of this year, a story I shared with you a few weeks back. Now, as my family and I look ahead toward the holiday season that is stretched out before us, we are filled with a chorus of mixed emotions. This time last year, we were investing time by his side—holding his hand, sharing our hearts, and soaking up what we feared would be his ‘last’ this and his ‘last’ that.

And before I dare begin wrapping my heart about what will be, I can’t help but glance into the past and record the precious moments of that Christmas Eve—moments that I remember as his last stand, his last great moment of courage.

Christmas Eve fell on Sunday last year, and my brother Jason was asked to sing a solo at the morning worship service. By this time, Granddaddy had been bedridden for months. His disease had taken hold, robbing of him of the ability to do the simplest of things. No one expected him to make it to the service—I don’t even know how long it had been since he was physically able to make it to church.

Oh, how we underestimated the will and the courage of Derlan Avis Harbison.

Delightfully stubborn, my Granddaddy was nothing if not strong-willed. When he set his mind upon something, by golly, he was going to do it.

He set his mind upon hearing my brother sing at church for one final time. And he did.

Grandmother bundled him up in his warmest sweaters, and the men of the family hoisted him into his wheelchair and then into the car and on to my church, First Baptist Church of Holly Pond.

My most treasured moments of last Christmas are of that precious morning service. Our family filled a pew, and I sat proudly by my Granddaddy, holding his hand and watching his expressions. I watched the growing pride in his eyes as he listened to Jason sing. I watched members of the congregation, many who had not seen him in months and months, flock to his side. Tears slipped down my cheeks—an overflow of the thankfulness that was echoing in my heart.

I know Christmas is several weeks away, but my heart can’t help but look ahead and wonder what is to come. Our celebration will not be the same without Granddaddy, but the heart of Christmas remains the same—a rejoicing over the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. We will hurt and miss him, and I am sure that we will cry.

But we will also laugh and drink Russian tea and play Pictionary and talk babytalk to the tiniest of our family.

Granddaddy wouldn't have wanted it any other way.