An old, old man in a nursing home is how I remember my grandfather. He would make “snakes” with me out of straw wrappers. This was noteworthy because my mom would never allow me to do that in restaurants. But, through family photos and stories, I know so much more about the man he was before the nursing home.

Born in Nova Scotia on the east coast of Canada, he moved away from town after high school. Heading west, he lived in Chicago with his wife and became a priest. After her death, he remarried and moved to Washington State. There they had three children and he was the priest of a neighborhood Congregational church. When the children had moved out of the house, his wife passed away.

Once again he married, and they had my mother. When my mom was two years old, her mother died of Rocky Mountain Spotted fever. For a fourth and final time, he remarried.

There are family photos of times we were together, before the nursing home. He was so tall and I was so tiny. My grandfather was the priest who baptized me as a child.

When I was in 8th grade, my grandfather passed away. At his funeral, the church was overflowing with people who had been touched by his preaching.

The little New Testiment he kept in his pocket is one of my most treasured possessions. It has his own notes in it, showing which passages were particularly meaningful to him.