This weekend, my thoughts are with my grandfather. Last night, back home in Des Moines, he received an emergency surgery. Afterwards, he had a problem with bleeding, and blood pressure, or something. I think he's fine now, though he didn't sound very well when I spoke to him this afternoon. I'm not sure of his age — 90, I'm thinking. But he may be as young as 80. Not too many black men live to experience that number of years.
Among other things, my grandfather survived running away from home at a very young age. The story goes, he stowed away on a train from Kansas City, and ended up in Des Moines where he began a new life, away from an alcoholic household. Later in life, after his families house burnt down, he rebuilt it — ground up — with his own hands. He's a three-time cancer survivor, and lived through a horrific auto/trailer accident, which killed my grandmother. He remained strong in faith through all that life had to throw at him.
I'm at a loss for what exactly to pray for. A long life? He's had that. Good health? He's in extremely good health for a man his age. Peace of mind? One doesn't live 80-plus years without relative peace of mind.
Being some 900 miles away, I'm feeling helpless. But I find peace in thinking of him, and all he's done for our family. Regardless of what happens, I'm thankful for the years we've had with him. And I'm hoping, praying, for a few more.