Golden afternoon light filled the hospital room, the sun was setting both on the Thursday and my husband’s grandpa’s life. He was to pass away two days later, but we had the incredible opportunity to hear his heart for us, as he was (relatively) pain free and able to communicate with us.

His words to us that afternoon were very precious, affirming and his legacy challenging.

As I held his hand for the last time and kissed his cheek, I assured him that we would finish his tiling and would change the cupboard doors in their flat. Two projects he had started that he would not be able to finish for his wife of 50 years.

All the grandchildren were working on their flat when we got the news he had passed away. The next day Zac and his brother got the tiling done. They missed having him there, they’d always done that sort of thing together under Grandpa’s watchful, caring eye.

But Grandpa had taught those young men well, and this small vignette in our grief was a good lesson for me, Grandpa’s last lesson to me, perhaps.

There will always be work we want to finish, but can’t. We shouldn’t live as though we will tick everything off our list. That’s not the way it’s meant to work, God intends for us to pass on our work to the next generation. So…

Have we taught them well?

Do they care like we care?

Is our heart in their heart?

Is our skill in their hands?

As I got on the plane to fly home, I saw this, from Amelia Earhart:

Some of us have great runways built already for us. If you have one, take off. But if you don’t have one, realize it is your responsibility to grab a shovel and build one for yourself and all who follow after you.

Thanks for building our runway, Grandpa. We’re flying so high because of you.