Life, Death, and Life Again

The Remarkable Ordinary #20: Mark Legg on How His Grandpa's Faithful Life Inspired Him to Hope

I saw death on full display during Grandpa’s final days.

In hospice, he leaned back in the hospital bed, face gaunt and devoid of color, eyes sunken in, body frail, and all warmth, gone from his face. I found myself halfway across the world, separated from him in his last weeks by an indomitable distance.

Although death, like a peacock, paraded its power by turning the once exuberant, joyful man into a wheezing, colorless shell, it was an empty, weak display.

Death had no real power over my Grandpa. Why not? How could death be stripped of its might? How might peace flower in his absence?

Here’s how my Grandpa, a friend and hero, inspired me in his life through his death.

I crept into my grandfather’s room, hesitant but eager, 5:30am on the dot.

“Psst, Grandpa.”

Silence.

“Grandpa,” a little louder into darkness.

“Yep. Okay, I’m gettin’ up.”

From as early as I can remember, my Grandpa and I followed a morning ritual. We would read cartoon collections and newspaper funnies and eat white-powdered donuts, washed down with cold milk or burned Folgers. Then, we would chunk in a Looney Tunes tape into the VCR, and our conjoined laughs would echo through their charming one-story, mid-century house.

I could go on about their beautiful home, smelling of old books, packed with antiques, and floor to ceiling hung with tasteful impressionistic paintings. But my nostalgia doesn’t float unattached, as though it were an infatuation with esoteric antiques. Instead, my fond memories are grounded in my lifelong friendship with my grandad.

Bob Hansard, or Bobby, “Grandpa,” was the exemplar everyday saint. Cheer sprang readily from his red cheeks and conspicuous nose, youthful joy sparkled through his glasses, and his laughter erupted easily—as did puns, sarcasm, mischief, and pranks.

He lived his life full of happiness and juvenile fun, despite his less than idyllic childhood.

Before Grandpa died, I recorded an interview-style conversation about his life (something I highly recommend for those with elderly grandparents or parents). Listening back, I was struck by the surface-level ordinariness of his post-war, suburban-American childhood.

He recalled his father’s rampant alcoholism, mother’s faithfulness, their household’s quiet neighborhood, regular square dancing, and financial troubles; he even recalled touring US National Parks in a Volkswagen. Certainly, Grandpa’s life wasn’t easy, but it was incredibly ordinary otherwise.

Yet, he made his life into something extraordinary, but not in the worldly sense. Grandpa didn’t travel the world, hike mountains, or go spelunking, and he certainly didn’t make any waves in the fashion world.

What’s truly extraordinary isn’t the in vogue, individualistic, chaotic, cool, life, but one of lifelong faithfulness. The longer I live, the more I comprehend the rarity and richness of lasting devoutness.

Paul said we should run the race of faith with endurance. Here are a few of my grandpa’s honorific, spiritual accolades — signs of his endurance. As you read them, consider whether his life was ordinary or extraordinary:

• He was married faithfully to his wife for 57 years, until he died.

• He stayed in touch with his childhood friends, over 70 years, until he died.

• He was an Elder for 27 years at Doxology.

• He was a prominent father figure to my cousin and his granddaughter, Brianna for 25 years, until he died.

• He led Bible studies for 50 years, for colleagues, church members, friends, and others in the nursing home—so, until he died.

In addition, he knew when to take risks when those risks profoundly mattered. He adopted my uncle, Bao Minh (“uncle bud”) as their third child. He married a beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime, somewhat Bohemian woman from California, my Grandma Lynda.

And he didn’t risk when it didn’t matter. He lived within a few square miles, in Fort Worth, for his entire life, 83 years (until he moved to the nursing home).

Despite his father’s failures, Grandpa, to paraphrase Philippians 3:14, forgot what lay behind him, and strained forward to what lay ahead. He pressed on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

And, indeed, he won that prize.

So, death had no victory over him because he lived a life worth living—risking when it mattered, staying faithful and dependable in all other areas. When he died, we on this earth lost a champion in the war against Hell.

More than that, however, Grandpa would want you to know all this was chaff compared to his relationship with Jesus, whom he loved with all his heart.

I’m inclined to the theological view called soul-sleep, where each of us waits for bodily resurrection and Judgment Day to become conscious again. However, it’s hard not to imagine grandpa joining the “cloud of witnesses,” cheering on his wife, his children, and grandchildren. He’s beyond the finish line now, in the stands, cheering us onward with choirs of angels, the saints who’ve gone before, and of course, Jesus.

Although I learned so much about life, death, to life again, from the Bible, at some level, it always felt abstract. I’m thankful for my memories of Grandpa. But more than memories, Jesus has filled me with a sense of hope through Grandpa’s life, death, and anticipation of life again.

I grieved because I miss him, but many in my family, including my Grandma, quickly knew “peace that surpasses all understanding.” She smiled brightly at the funeral, happy he was with Jesus. She mourned him, of course, but she also celebrated that he could leave his decaying body behind, liberated in Christ.

A few weeks before he died, I got a text that he might die soon from a heart attack. So, I cried thinking about missing him, but mostly, I cried because of the magnificence and beauty of his life well-lived.

Then, as I gazed out the window of our flat, into the partially overcast day in Edinburgh, Scotland, I had a vision of him leaping lightly from cloud to cloud with Jesus, embodied in a spiritually empowered, whimsical way to match the youthfulness of his spirit, his laughter echoing into eternity.

Even in his death, Grandpa is an encouragement to me. I hope he is for you, too. If you follow Jesus, I can’t wait for you to meet him.

A huge shoutout to

Mark Legg

for submitting this absolutely excellent story. If you haven’t, please check out his publication

Agape Sophia

!

The Remarkable Ordinary is a weekly publication highlighting Christians performing ordinary acts of kindness, hospitality, and integrity. Its goal is to be an anti-moral failure, anti-church scandal, anti-hypocrisy kind of journalism.

For more info on the “why” behind The Remarkable Ordinary, check out this essay.

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