My grandpa is a quiet man. Although he has strong opinions, and will meekly inform you of them when the conversation arises, often times he just sits back and listens to the less wise chatter around him. He loves to be informed about my college plans, my job, my relationships, and my life. Most people (and I’m guilty) tend to interrupt and to interject at any point they can when conversing, because they want control over the conversations they are a part of.

However, my Papa doesn’t look for the pause where he can get a word in. He looks for that pause instead to reflect more deeply on what the other person was discussing. Not only does he do this with his granddaughter, but also with the stranger that comes in to buy Coke and peanuts at his little country convenient store. I imagine that he also did this with his fellow soldiers in Vietnam. He probably listened to some of the men talking about their wives at home, and how they hope they make it back to their kids soon, and he probably listened to the other men talking about how they can’t wait to get home and sleep in their own bed in their bachelor pad, and grab a beer at a local bar.

Even though there’s no doubt in my mind that he missed his mother and his home town in North Carolina as much as any other, I’d like to think that if my grandpa was even half of the man then as he is now, that in that time of hardship, he gave people hope and a sense of security. In the most vulnerable position I think anyone could be in, though soft spoken, I believe he spoke volumes though his bravery and through the light of Christ that I’ve always known to shine through him.

In a situation like Vietnam, I imagine that many lose their faith, when they are dodging bullets. In my grandpa’s case, by the grace of God, he dodged those bullets but by the evil of the world got caught in Agent Orange. This tragedy messed with his lungs and his heart, and his overall health has been declining ever since. A quiet guy became even quieter because of his inability to catch a breath in between words. But he didn’t let the pain draw him away from the Lord, rather he realized that the pain gave him a reason to depend on Him even more, and speak more highly of His name. Though he couldn’t be cured and still suffers every day, he never let that stop him from being the man God planned for him to be.

As his grandchildren came along (I was the first), his health became worse and his body was full of aching, but his heart was still filled with joy. Although he had physical set backs he found ways to fill his grandchildren’s hearts with joy too. I remember one time we were riding around the family campground in a golf cart. We had fishing rods in the back of the cart, because we planned on driving down to the pond to fish. I was 9 and I wanted to drive so badly, so without hesitation, my grandpa jumped in on the passenger side and handed me the keys. I was too excited and darted towards the pond a little (or way) too fast. While my foot was pressed heavily on the gas, one of the fishing rods swung forward and a hook caught onto my Papa’s shirt. I stopped the cart and turned to him expecting a look of anger. What I saw though was the same sweet man that handed me the keys. He just removed the hook from his shirt and told me to drive slower.

10 years later, and my grandpa’s health is as bad as ever. His medical issues have increased and I’ve held his hand in the VA hospital more than once. Recently, I went for a visit, and every time I see him, my heart is broken a little more by seeing his condition. But I attended church with him, and after we sang out of the old red hymn books that are found in the back of the old wooden pews, a church wide prayer began. At the church I attend on a regular basis, the preacher will pray and the congregation with either listen or silently say a prayer in their head, so I was surprised when everyone in this church started praying out loud.

I started off by saying a prayer in my head, but I easily got distracted by the other 40 voices speaking. Although I usually view prayer as a private thing, I found myself tuned into all the cries, and I would silently second every prayer I listened to. Then I found myself only listening to one voice. This voice was so powerful and strong, and I'm sure it alone could’ve shaken the whole church building. It was loud and the words were beautifully spoken, but not in a way to please anyone but the Lord. The words continuously filled the room, and never even paused so the speaker could catch a breath. If I wouldn’t have known better, I wouldn’t have thought this voice was coming from a man who had a breathing machine right beside him. But I knew this voice. It was the same one that, in the gentlest way, told me to drive slower when I was 9. It was the same voice that was usually quiet enough to not scare the fish when we went to the pond. I started crying as his unselfish prayer echoed off the white walls and became the only one that was still being prayed. He spoke to the Lord for longer than anyone, and God and everyone else heard him more clearly than they ever have. I wouldn’t doubt that God saved my Papa’s voice for that moment so that other people may come to Christ through him by the end of his Amen.

Yes, my grandpa is a quiet man (most of the time) but he is LOUD for the Lord and that’s the thing I admire the most about him. I desire to speak loudly for the Lord through my words and through my actions, so that others can see the light of Jesus through me as I do through Papa. Sometimes silence speaks the loudest…but sometimes it doesn’t.