A Man of Many Words

Ever meet a person whom you are instantly intrigued by? Someone who emulates a life full of experience, passion, grace and triumph intertwined with immense pain and loneliness?

That's my Grandfather.

Growing up in the Mennonite religion taught him to work hard to provide for his family and to love and fear his God. He could never boast of wealth while growing up, but he could boast in a hard work ethic. It was that work ethic that laid a solid foundation for his eleven sons and daughters. But Grandpa wasn't the kind of man to hoard his hard-earned money. As far back as I can remember, strangers and friends were in and out of Grandpa's house. One time, I asked Dad who these people were that were always coming and going. He said they were people who owed Grandpa money. They were hardly ever there repaying debts; Grandpa probably wouldn't have let them.

Grandpa always had a story to tell, and there was always an audience to share it with. He LOVED telling stories of his grandchildren, children and great-grandchildren. He was always so proud to declare just how many descendants he had, and he always knew their names. Coming from a family of over 100 on each side, I confess I don't even know all my relatives' names sometimes. That was never the case with Grandpa. He was such a proud grandfather.

One of my favorite stories is of the time him and Grandma got hit by a drunk driver. While that incident was one of many that changed Grandpa's life forever and had such a tragic ending, it's my favorite because when Grandma breathed her last, Grandpa declared, "Not only have I lost my wife, I have lost my right hand."

Grandpa had such a keen realization of who his wife was and how hard it would be for him to raise all their children on his own. No matter how hard that undoubtedly was for him, you would never hear him complain about anything in his life. He knew he wasn't riding it out solo. Despite his incredible work ethic and passion for his family, his love for the Lord surpassed them all.

He was the most noble, generous, funny, comfortable person I've ever known. Anywhere we went, and I mean anywhere, if we referenced to a Mennonitische who Grandpa was "the one-armed Herman Neufeld in Chihuahua", they would know who he was and a huge smile would spread across their face. No doubt they were remembering the time they met Grandpa and what joke he had told them.

I can't help but think of how many people and angels Grandpa is making laugh right now. Heaven will never be short of stories now for Grandpa always had one. The sweetest thing I can think of is Grandpa being reunited with his wife once again and of Grandpa having two arms again. What a sweet picture to imagine Grandpa worshiping the Lord with his right arm raised up and his left arm around Grandma. Both of my grandparents worshiping the Lord together, just as they did on earth 25 years ago.

I love you, Grandpa. I will miss you, but I thank you for the Neufeld name you've given me and how very proud I am to carry it.