He wore overalls, named his cows,
Tilled and worked the land,
Took care of his hay, sold pecans,
Had rough and calloused hands,
Grandpa wasn't widely known.
His circle...relatively small.
It included his wife, his one son's family, his parents and siblings
That's all.
Well, he did have a few hunting buddies.
Deer and turkey were his prized game.
He was "Sonny" Alton.
His disposition matched his name.
His laughter was contagious.
He had a sparkle in his eye,
That can only be detected in one,
who loves and appreciates life.
He was a gifted storyteller.
He had a natural knack,
For captivating his listener
As one by one he relayed the facts.
He strummed the guitar a little.
He played the harmonica with zeal.
His absence has left a hole in my heart,
that no one else can fill.
He was a boy in an adult body.
He grew up, but he didn't grow old.
He fought to keep his youthful vigor
but in the end he had to fold.
He was faithful to take care of Grandma.
She still knew him the day he died,
But the toll her illness took on him,
Was something he couldn't hide.
He remembered his vow --- in sickness and in health,
Made seventy years before.
He stood by his wife 'til he drew his last breath,
And was carried out the door.
I know a man who's a pastor,
Who started the church my brother attends.
The many years they've been acquainted,
Have made them intimate friends.
This man was once a missionary.
He's shared the gospel with countless souls,
Helping them get their names recorded,
On God's eternal roll.
Now his wife's an invalid,
Requiring his constant care.
Sometimes the strain on this elderly man,
Is almost more than he can bear.
He had to step down from his position
And leave his flock to another man,
Freeing him to minister
to the immediate need at hand.
My brother once mentioned to this pastor
That our grandad had weathered this storm,
That we knew, he too, had often grown,
Weak, weary, and worn.
The pastor's gotten very low lately,
With news that he too is ill.
He's repeatedly told my brother,
The thought of my grandpa has strengthened his will.
Why am I telling this story?
I'm praying we may perceive
That choosing to do the right thing
Has results we may not see.
My grandpa lived a simple life,
A simple life, and yet
by doing something praise-worthy and right
He's helping a pastor he never met.
I know grandpa would feel honored
If he could look down from heaven today,
And know the difficult road he chose
Was helping someone along the way.
He would bow his head in humility
That his choice was strengthening such a man,
Who had spent his life in the work of the Lord,
Following the Master's plan.
You see, Grandpa's commitment came later in life;
He was in his eighties when he was baptized.
If he had known the impact his choices could make...
if only he'd realized.
Oh for the awareness,
That all of our "right things"
Strike chords and become the music
To which other people can sing.
Tilled and worked the land,
Took care of his hay, sold pecans,
Had rough and calloused hands,
Grandpa wasn't widely known.
His circle...relatively small.
It included his wife, his one son's family, his parents and siblings
That's all.
Well, he did have a few hunting buddies.
Deer and turkey were his prized game.
He was "Sonny" Alton.
His disposition matched his name.
His laughter was contagious.
He had a sparkle in his eye,
That can only be detected in one,
who loves and appreciates life.
He was a gifted storyteller.
He had a natural knack,
For captivating his listener
As one by one he relayed the facts.
He strummed the guitar a little.
He played the harmonica with zeal.
His absence has left a hole in my heart,
that no one else can fill.
He was a boy in an adult body.
He grew up, but he didn't grow old.
He fought to keep his youthful vigor
but in the end he had to fold.
He was faithful to take care of Grandma.
She still knew him the day he died,
But the toll her illness took on him,
Was something he couldn't hide.
He remembered his vow --- in sickness and in health,
Made seventy years before.
He stood by his wife 'til he drew his last breath,
And was carried out the door.
I know a man who's a pastor,
Who started the church my brother attends.
The many years they've been acquainted,
Have made them intimate friends.
This man was once a missionary.
He's shared the gospel with countless souls,
Helping them get their names recorded,
On God's eternal roll.
Now his wife's an invalid,
Requiring his constant care.
Sometimes the strain on this elderly man,
Is almost more than he can bear.
He had to step down from his position
And leave his flock to another man,
Freeing him to minister
to the immediate need at hand.
My brother once mentioned to this pastor
That our grandad had weathered this storm,
That we knew, he too, had often grown,
Weak, weary, and worn.
The pastor's gotten very low lately,
With news that he too is ill.
He's repeatedly told my brother,
The thought of my grandpa has strengthened his will.
Why am I telling this story?
I'm praying we may perceive
That choosing to do the right thing
Has results we may not see.
My grandpa lived a simple life,
A simple life, and yet
by doing something praise-worthy and right
He's helping a pastor he never met.
I know grandpa would feel honored
If he could look down from heaven today,
And know the difficult road he chose
Was helping someone along the way.
He would bow his head in humility
That his choice was strengthening such a man,
Who had spent his life in the work of the Lord,
Following the Master's plan.
You see, Grandpa's commitment came later in life;
He was in his eighties when he was baptized.
If he had known the impact his choices could make...
if only he'd realized.
Oh for the awareness,
That all of our "right things"
Strike chords and become the music
To which other people can sing.
