Before and After

We all come from different places. Every person reading these words has a story, a beginning, memories. We have defining moments—times marked in our history that changed us forever. The moments that break our lives into the before and after.

Before my grandfather died.

After my divorce.

Before the murder.

After we moved.

Before the cancer diagnosis.

No matter who you are or where you come from, you have been changed in multiple ways by what life has thrown at you. Life has a way of making us shrink back or rise to meet its challenges. How we respond to life’s challenges either strengthens us or stagnates our growth.

Of course, the enemy’s goal is to stop all growth. It tells us in John 10:10, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy.” Jesus also goes on to say, “My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.”

I was in seventh grade and twelve years old when my grandpa died. My little developing heart was shattered. I remember running out into the bitter Minnesota January winds and the snow and crying out to God. The bitter cold got stuck in the back of my throat as the tears froze to my cheeks. I looked up at that great big red barn and listened to the howling winds grate against the old, tattered door. Nothing was alright in my world anymore. The adults were inside my grandparents’ home, some sobbing, others walking around in a daze. My grandma was in shock. I just had to run. Maybe if I ran far and fast, I could outrun this unexpected tragedy.

But no . . . it was still there. It beat me to the barn.

I found out at age twelve there would be no outrunning tragedy, death, or sadness. I would lie awake for the next few nights listening to the sound of my father’s cries. It was not something I had ever heard before. The pain he experienced losing his father was so deep that he sounded like a wounded animal crying out in the night. I would lie in my bed and question God for the first time in my young life. “Why? Why would you take Grandpa from us? Why wasn’t my dad able to save him when he did CPR?” No answers came. Therefore, I began to change my questions. I needed to find peace. Where was my grandpa now? Was he ok? Was he missing us? Would my dad ever be alright again?

It was then, at the tender age of twelve, that I began to dive deeper into The Word of God. I began searching. I knew God had been in our “before”. I knew he was present in the “now”. I could feel His presence at the funeral. I could see His Hand in the many ways that people showed their love to us. But would God be there in the “after” and what would that look like?

Deuteronomy 31:6 says, “So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you.” This verse reminded me that God was still with us and leading us into the future. Even though my grandpa was no longer with us, God was!

Numbers 23:19 says, “God is not a man, so he does not lie. He is not human, so he does not change his mind. Has he ever spoken and failed to act? Has he ever promised and not carried it through?” This verse was a reminder that God’s promises are true and reliable!

In John 11:25, Jesus told her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying. Everyone who lives in me and believes in me will never ever die.” This verse brought such comfort to my heart because I knew that my grandpa was in Heaven and wasn’t suffering. I also knew that as a Christian, I would one day see him again.

After a few nights, I no longer heard my dad crying at night. I didn’t know if he had stopped or if his tears had just turned inward toward his pillow and become muffled. He became more talkative as the weeks passed by, and his huge smile and quick wit returned. Looking back now, I don’t remember exactly when it all changed. I just know it was a journey—with good days and not-so-good days. My mom had already lost her mother about eleven years prior, and she walked my father through many sad days. But God’s Word had proven true. Matthew 5:4 promises, “God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” I saw that God had comforted my father, and he was alright again. Forever changed . . . but alright, because of his faith in God.

My grandfather’s death was also the beginning of many spiritual conversations with my grandmother and the start of a deepened friendship between the two of us. She was very active and in great health upon my grandpa’s passing. She continued living by herself and was quite capable of taking care of things during the day. However, the nights brought on a certain sadness that was new for her, and she didn’t enjoy being alone. She didn’t sleep well at night and mornings just wouldn’t come fast enough for her. The darkness taunted her as she tossed and turned. Because of this, we decided to start a new tradition. She was blessed to have many children and grandchildren living close by. Our family lived less than a quarter mile behind her—our driveway parallel to hers. My dad’s sister lived next door, and her three other children were also nearby. Her adult children developed a monthly calendar, and the “grands” began staying overnight with Grandma on a rotating basis. She no longer had to spend the evenings by herself, and she was able to see all of us a lot more often. We felt blessed because we became overnight “slumber buddies” with Grandma once or twice a week. Grandmas know how to spoil their grandchildren and none of us were complaining about that!

Before my grandpa’s death, I had two wonderful grandparents who loved me unconditionally. Before my grandfather’s death, I had never really questioned God or searched for answers. Before his death, my heart hadn’t been scorched by loss.

Now after Grandpa's death, God would bring new growth and deepened relationships that I had never expected. I now knew a side of my father I had never known. I had listened to the man I knew to be invincible cry like a lost little boy. I saw my mother be strong for my dad when he couldn’t be. And I was seeing my grandmother become independent right before my eyes.

As I rode my bike up our driveway one evening after my seventh-grade year, I could feel the warmth of the sun upon my face, and I grinned from ear to ear. I knew Grandma must have baked cinnamon rolls for me because the hint of gooey brown sugar and cinnamon had drifted out her kitchen window and into the mid-summer air. As my bicycle wheels whirled past the big red barn, the screaming echoes of that fateful January night had vanished and were becoming a faint Hallelujah.