An encouragement ... it's never too late

It's never too late.

There are lots of times in life that you do things too late.

Pressing the brakes down just before you hit another car.

Arriving, as a guest, after the bride has walked down the aisle.

Wishing you hadn't asked the 'large' woman is she is pregnant.

But seriously ... whilst people, family and friends are still alive it's never too late to share the gospel with them.

This weekend we will have a memorial service for my beloved grandfather. He lived til he was 96. He was a war veteran. A devoted husband. Father of two. Grandfather of seven. And great grand father of ten. And most of his life he was a church goer.

Church going, for that era, was something everyone did. It was an expectation of all around and yet, the gospel wasn't not always preached. Ergo church going did not always mean a true relationship and meaningful conversion under God. This understanding will be important later on.

As a young man, during the war, my grandfather fought in an exceedingly important battle in PNG. It was a battle which really turned around the Japanese invading Australia. And is a battle that we shouldn't soon forget. It was/is/always should be BIG in our minds.

For a celebration of this vital victory, my grand father and a few others who were still alive at the time, were flown out to revisit Milne Bay. This was delightful for him, and yet, very hard time for him. Many men who returned from WWII, were told to just get on with life. "Return to work. settle down in life. Have a family. Don't talk about the war." We didn't really acknowledge the idea of PTSD or 'shell shock'. 

When the war ended, my grandfather came home and just got on with his life. He did not turn to the bottle. He was not a violent man. He needed to work outdoors and keep busy to push down the memories of fallen comrades, of taking other human lives, of finding body parts of his friends after an aeroplane had blown up. Sure, he was full of fun stories of the war. Like the time there was an air raid when he was having a shower, all the yanks in the camp next to them had left their BBQing steaks burning to jump in the trenches. The Aussies, having had no fresh meat all this time, had salivated at the smells. So, instead of jumping in the trench himself, he ran out, naked with his shorts over his arms and gathered up all the steaks so he and his mates could eat them. He was full of fun stories and antics they had gotten up to.

But after this return visit to Milne Bay, the memories that he had suppressed for such a long time came flooding back. At times you could see his eyes thick with the fog of what went on in those days. 

And when he came home, he was profoundly changed, again. Different from the first time. I obviously didn't know him then. But in this celebratory anniversary visit, he had changed. You see, he had visited many places when he was there. But one caught his attention. He found a place where many of his friend had been buried. And there was a memorial to them. He found the name of a chap he didn't know well. And he realised they had had the same birth date. Same date. Same year. Same country.

And he stopped. 

And he wept.

And he asked: Why is it the God spared me?

And he answered it himself: He must have been looking after me.

And at the time; at 91 years of age; after going to church for years; after going through a war; having all the major things in life go on; here, he came to truly accept God as his Saviour.

God has waited all this time. God had held out hope that this child of His would accept His love. God was patient.

It's never too late. It's never to late to speak to your older relatives, older friends. family, loved ones, neighbours. It's never too late. For God, our God, truly has patience, and wants everyone to come to Him. And He can do more than we ask or can imagine, which brings me to a hope. A hope for a dear beloved Stephen of mine, to still be called, at just the right time.

And at another level, it also strikes me: For if God had not spared my grand father, my mother, and in turn, myself would not be here. And although we know the my Pa dealt with the war battle hangover, God did not hand him over, but waited patiently, and called him unto Himself, as a true child of His own.