Rest in Peace, Papa

My great-grandfather, Wesley Potter (affectionally known as "Papa" to me and my siblings), passed away Saturday morning. He was 95 years old. The funeral is today at the little Baptist church in Leslie, Georgia, where he was a longtime faithful member.

I think it's fair to say that if it weren't for my great-grandparents and their godly influence in my family, I wouldn't be where I am today. I probably wouldn't even be a Christian. My mom wasn't saved when she married my dad. It was because of my great-grandma's influence that my mom became a Christian and I was raised in church.

Growing up, we made relatively frequent trips down to the tiny town of 200 or so people where my great-grandparents lived. Their little farmhouse could hardly hold us, but they managed to squeeze all of us kids into every available couch, chair and floor space. I have a lot of happy memories of helping my great-grandma--"Mama"--make meals (I never could master the secret of her cornbread, which is still the best I have ever tasted) and flipping through old family photographs together. Papa would sit in his chair on the porch and watch people pass, or take walks in the pecan orchard. They had a tranquil, happy life down there.

Mama is still living, but she has advanced Alzheimer's, to the point where she no longer recognizes anyone. Papa's mind, on the other hand, remained sharp even as his body was failing. It's been several years since I've seen him, but I will miss him anyway. Former serviceman, faithful husband and father, and a good, hard worker . . . they don't make very many men like that these days.

Today Papa is probably running around heaven with his new, perfect body, reuniting with all his old friends and enjoying his new "mansion." I have no way of knowing, of course, but I bet there's a rocking chair on the front porch and a pecan orchard nearby.

Welcome Home, Papa.