It’s 1:16 am, Korean standard time. Somewhere between the coffee late in the day and the coming funeral of my dear Grandpa, Glen William Michael, is coming and I now have two broken hearts. First, because I lost not just a grandpa (my second and last grandpa actually) but a friend. Second, because I can’t attend the funeral because of COVID-19. I always hoped I’d be officiating at Grandpa’s funeral and now I can’t even attend. But I know he is in good hands, better hands, with the minister officiating, the Reverend Jim Crist.
Even if I couldn’t officiate I imagined I’d be able to say something at Grandpa’s funeral. Just so you know, I’m still having a hard time associating those two words. It all seems so surreal. Somewhere between my association between Missouri (a.k.a. the show-me state) and my identification with Thomas (arguably the greatest disciple who went from doubting the resurrection of Jesus to being executed as one of Jesus’ apostles according to legend), I’ve always viewed it as vitally necessary to attend the funeral and see the body with my own two eyes. Well, perhaps for the first time I have to believe the oral and written testimony of those around me and just so you know, I’m not doing so well with that!
So, if I had the privilege of being able to stand in front, this is what I would say. Not to be a spoiler but I believe there are some mysteries about Grandpa’s life that need revealing. Okay, so I think I know something about Grandpa that nobody else does and it’s probably, no it’s certainly not true, could you please humor me as I go through this grieving process. Since I’m writing, I can’t guarantee you anything short and since this will probably not be read at Grandpa’s funeral, I don’t intend to please. Without further ado, this is on your behalf, Grandpa. I hope I don’t screw it up.
I’ll never forget after I lost my paternal grandfather, Erwin Dirks. I only have two memories of him. Both are good. Anyway, shortly after he passed away my family and I visited the Michaels, Glen and Eva Michael, my maternal grandma and grandpa (I’ve chucked the formal language of “grandmother and grandfather” because it just feels weird to refer to two of my closest friends this way). We were sitting at the table joyfully eating as we often did. I was sitting at the designated kids table which was a card table. My cousin Katie Michael (now Katie Arvizo) was sitting across from me. I’m guessing her younger brother, my cousin, Scott was sitting to the right and my brother Bruce was sitting to the left. I don’t remember. But I asked Katie, “Did you hear about my grandpa passing away?” Her response: “Yeah. I hope Grandpa Michael never dies.”
If you had the privilege of knowing Glen Michael, you know the power behind that statement. And if you are one of his grandkids you know the power of that expectation. Look! I’m 42 years old and I still have that expectation.
I’m thankful I had time to prepare for this, though I’m not sure I did the most appropriate things. I beg your pardon for feeling guilty. If you’ve ever lost a loved one, perhaps you know what I mean. If not, consider yourself blessed.
Still, even though I got 4 more weeks or so to adjust, it’s still hard. A friend of mine told me I should write him a letter with my three happiest memories. I couldn’t think of just three. They’re all connected. Asking me to pick out three is like taking them totally out of context.
Case in point, I tried eating Grandpa’s favorite candy, Peanut M & M’s. Well, let me tell you the basket case I became. My son and I had the quietest shower ever and after he stepped out of the bathroom I let loose, except for the bawling part. Then a few days later, I was listening to a Christian radio station in Korean and they played the song, “Give Me Jesus” by Fernando Ortega. I didn’t expect a contemporary song to rile me up. As far as I know, Grandpa wasn’t a fan of contemporary music and neither am I. But this was a special version with Billy Graham talking in the background about his wife, Ruth, after she passed away and the celebration he believed took place in heaven. Here we go again. Not quite as dramatic as the M & M’s but that’s probably because I’m not comfortable crying in front of my family.
And I suppose that sums it up. From M & M’s to Christian worship, Grandpa was quite a guy. I don’t remember awkward moments of silent with Grandpa. I remember going from lighthearted to serious conversations but they weren’t staged. Grandpa didn’t say, “Okay let’s talk spiritual.” Those conversations just came. I saw Grandpa have different emotions. I saw him laugh so hard he cried. I saw him cry over the loss of a dog named Beiner that got hit by a bus. And I saw him grieve the loss of the love of his wife to the point that he asked me to pray in front of the family because as he said, “…he just couldn’t.”
Just so you know, I can hardly see the computer screen right now. I hope you’re doing okay.
Oh sure. Grandpa got mad at me. When I was a pretty small kid, though not a toddler, I was trying to have a sword fight with tumbleweeds. I’m about as coordinated as…I don’t know. Let me tell you how uncoordinated I am. I tried to have a tumbleweed fight with my cousin Scott Michael and I ended up getting too close and scratching his face. Well, if you were the grandfather of such an even-tempered guy and he were your youngest grandson, you’d do the same thing. Yes, Grandpa got mad at me and even attempted to withhold Kool-Aid from me. But don’t worry. Grandma Michael was there to save the day.
As Grandpa aged and lost more and more of his mental state, I got the brunt of it. When I drove too fast (I think I was going the speed limit) he told me to slow down. Once I called and we were both confused as I was in South Korea and he was in America and neither of us expected to hear the other person and he thought I was a prankster. The last time I talked to Grandpa on the phone (I got to see him one last time after that) he thought I was calling to get “my part” of the inheritance. I just told him, “I don’t want your money. You’re my friend.” And when I visited him last after he seemed to think I fly airplanes (I guess he subconsciously thought I fly a lot. He didn’t think he knew many people who had seen the Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic in the same day) and he asked me to write down my name and address on paper, I wondered if he knew me. But the way he looked at me suggested otherwise. Please don’t burst my bubble if I was wrong.
Grandpa never told me, “I love you.” I told him plenty of times and he would say, “Yep.” And that was okay. He communicated love to me in a way I needed. He didn’t talk love to me. He just did it. Now I know some here are going to say that it was Grandma’s doing that made him come to Greeley so often and it was her doing that they called so much. And that’s fine. After all, when my wife Sinae Park-Dirks asked him what his secret was to a long life his answer was, “I had a good wife.”
So you really want to know about my three most unforgettable memories with Grandpa, eh? Well, here we go.
As you probably know, Grandpa had a hearing problem, allegedly due to his years in the tractor with no headphones. That was all it took for the whole family to get a good laugh. I remember driving to the Garretson reunion in Windsor (I don’t remember exactly where it was) and we’d be talking, having a good time as always. Somebody like Grandma would be saying something and Grandpa couldn’t hear so he’d ask her to repeat herself so many times that she’d just yell it out or he’d say a word that sounded like it and then Grandma would yell out what she was saying like she was getting mad and I tell you the truth, I think she and Jeff were the only ones who got away with that. I’d say a lot of our laughter happened from those times. There would be those moments when Grandma would get strong with him. It didn’t ruin his day. He’d just respond with, “Gracious!” And then Grandma would start laughing and explain why she raised her voice. If you knew her, you’d understand that she was sweeter than the day was long.
Speaking of Grandma and Grandpa, they really were my lifeline. Probably the hardest time in my life besides my ruptured appendicitis was when I went to college. I had attended Eastern Nazarene College on the east coast and was having a hard time making friends. I almost transferred to a Northwest Nazarene University in Idaho. Well, eventually I did but the switch was more calculated. Prior to the real deal, I almost transferred over a weekend. It was so ridiculous that my boss didn’t know if I’d be showing up to work the next day. I called Grandma and Grandpa about it and they just talked me through it but they acted as if they didn’t have a clue what to do. So I hung up the phone, thought about it and decided to stick it out. I called them back. Then I remember Grandma saying, “We were hoping you’d decide that way.” When I asked why they didn’t say so earlier they responded, “It’s your life. You have to decide.” That was huge to me that they trusted me to make the right decision.
While we’re talking about college, after I transferred I was confused as ever about what I believed. I think that was a conversation that neither of them could really relate to, the question of whether or not God existed. But Grandpa had an answer. He gave the greatest argument for God’s existence, “that than which nothing greater can be conceived.” No, not in those words but pretty-much the same concept. He couldn’t imagine this world being created without God’s doing it.
Well, go a little further on to seminary when I was still confused not about God but about Christianity. I came across "post liberal retrieval” through a conversation with the president of the seminary I attended, Nazarene Theological Seminary and I thought of the Michael family headed up by Grandma and Grandpa Michael. Grandpa was strict about not drinking alcohol and I thought about his life and how full of laughter it was and how alcohol had no part in it. And I thought to myself, “Who am I to discredit the faith of people like Grandpa who lived out his faith in God through Christ by the Holy Spirit day in and day out?”
I said three but it’s hard to stop. Grandpa loved stories. He told them well and laughed and he liked listening to funny stories, especially from preachers. Well, Grandpa had his own funny stories, like when he got pulled over in Colorado Springs because the police mistook him for someone else. He also had his own life experiences to draw from. His advice about relationship quarrels was very succinct: “Leave her alone.”
I really could go on and on. Grandpa loved people. He could be in a crowd of people and even if he wasn’t the center of attention he enjoyed listening. Even in the later years when his hearing got worse and worse and he couldn’t hear people talk in a crowded restaurant because his hearing aid picked up all the background noise, he still met people.
Sure. Grandpa had his own prejudices. But you know what, he didn’t hide them. And that may have set some of us young folk off from time to time but let’s be honest. He saw major social transformation from 1926 to 2020. And he’d speak to people, whether he was prejudice or not.
Grandpa had a weakness. He couldn’t express his love to his family, the ones he loved most. I told you he showed me love just the way I needed it. But sometimes the people who mattered the most needed to hear it from his mouth.
My mom, Marilyn Dirks, had to have an urgent surgery that was a matter of life and death. She called Grandpa before they took her in. He headed into Greeley to check in on her. She told him she loved him, a habit she picked up after Grandma passed away. He told me as we spent lots of time together, “Brent, don’t you think I could say those three simple words?” Of course he was talking about, “I love you.” Mom, Grandpa loved you.
There was a farmer in Holyoke that he really admired. He would tell people he was a good farmer. I heard it time again. I’d relay the message but I guess it’s just not the same as hearing it from the horse’s mouth. Uncle LeRoy, Grandpa was proud of you and he recognized you as a good farmer. And I dare say, a good son.
Uncle Jeff, you came later on. You know Grandpa harped on you a lot. I personally think it was his way of showing his affection for you. And Sinae saw it the moment she met everybody, that you are the apple of Grandpa’s eye.
I don’t want to quit. Grandpa had an amazing story. He said that when he went into the army his prayer was that he’d return safely. I don’t know the details but from what I understand he was assigned to go to the front lines where he’d most likely be shot down by the enemy and at that moment the war was declared ended. But that experience gave Grandpa a richness and an appreciation for other countries and cultures and languages that I don’t think he would’ve had before.
My wife Sinae, remembers an encounter something like this.
Grandpa: Howdy. Nice to meet you.
Sinae: Nice to meet you too.
Grandpa: Can you speak Korean?
Sinae: Yes.
Grandpa: Can you count to ten?
Sinae: Il, ee, sam, sa, oh, yuk, chil, pal, gu, ship.
Grandpa: How do you say thank you?
Sinae: Kamsahamnida.
Grandpa: Can you speak German?
Sinae: No.
Grandpa: Ine, swy, thry, fere, fiem, oct, noin, sain.
He wanted to connect with Sinae with his knowledge of different languages. It lost its impact when Sinae couldn’t speak German. Grandpa went on to teach her how to say thank you and you’re welcome in formal German and he even recited a Chinese sentence he learned in his younger days from a missionary to China.
There is a lesson from Grandpa’s life. I was thinking recently (I think a lot about every jot and tittle about Grandpa these days) and there was something about his aroma. The way he smelled. The way he talked. The way he walked. There was a day when he walked faster than me when I had to have two abdominal surgeries. I never thought I’d see that day. But you know what, I miss that walk.
My heart is really broken. I’ve lost one of my lifelines. When life got hard I always knew Grandpa was cheering for me. That last phone call, he forgot some things but he asked me, “Are you preaching?” And he didn’t mean in it a condescending way. That was my dream and something he and my dad always encouraged me to do.
There’s a whole lot I don’t know. But one thing I do know is that he had a hotline to God. I don’t mean that in a way that made him unique to everyone else. He wanted everyone to have that same hotline. He was honest about questions he had which made us able to talk when I was in a spiritual wilderness. And I hope that as we go forward that we won’t forget him (At this point I can’t imagine that happening) and I guess I want to say especially to my cousins but to us all: let’s press forward and live the life he emulated in a savior who testified that “for me to live is Christ and to die is gain” and now I’m talking to myself: “Let’s not be hindered by the sin that so easily entangles but therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses including Glen William Michael, let us run the race marked out for us with perseverance, fixing our eyes not on Grandpa but on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” For “to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
See ya on the other side, Grandpa. Pray for me that I can emulate 2 Timothy 2:15, your favorite verse, Grandpa. “Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."
