My Pap was the most sincere man of faith that I have ever known. He could (and did) talk for hours about the Bible, to anyone who would listen. He preached more sermons in his home than most preachers do behind the pulpit in their lifetime.

Not only did I love him for his spiritual fervor, but he had a heart of gold that never stopped giving. Pap never let us leave his house empty handed, whether it be twenty dollars for mowing the lawn or some Lebanon bologna from the fridge. He also gave his time and energy to entertain my sisters and me. I remember fondly, Pap sitting on the back porch, stopwatch in hand as my sisters and I ran to the end of the yard and back again. He would report our time and convinced us that we were superhuman.

The night that Pap died, he taught me what is truly of value in this life. My family and I were gathered at his side, taking turns holding his kind, strong hands one last time, and revisiting memories of time past through tears and laughter. He taught me what it means to be a child of God, by living obediently every day. He taught me what it means to be family, by loving and guiding me as I grew. He taught me that the time we have is a priceless gift, and it should not be wasted.

I was always (and sometimes still am) so caught up in myself and "my time." I held on to it like it was some precious treasure as if it was even mine to claim. But that night I finally realized that "my time" is not really mine, rather it is a gift from God. A gift that he gives so that we might use it to hold, encourage, empathize, laugh with, pray for, and fellowship with one another.

So now I soak up the words and the light and companionship from those much older and wiser than I.