After reading
Donna Wasson’s
amazing
eye-opening
article about
her grandfather,
I felt inspired
to tell a brief
story about my
own grandfather
whose name was
Faris. After my
birth, I was
blessed to carry
on his name as
my middle name,
as he was an
amazing
Christian man
for as long as I
knew him until
he sadly passed
away in my early
20’s in 2003. He
was the best
“Papaw” (as we
use to call him)
and it was a
very sad day for
my family to
lose him, but it
was also good to
know he had gone
to meet the Lord
and his wife
Margie in God’s
Kingdom. I could
probably write a
whole
interesting
biography on
this man,
however there is
one little story
I’d like to
share in
particular about
his own
encounter with
Jesus Christ
while he was
alive…
It was during
World War 2 my
grandfather
served to go
fight the
Germans, as many
of our
grandfather’s
once did, and he
use to tell us a
very true story
about the time
he was hunkering
down in a fox
hole with
bullets
relentlessly
whizzing over
and around him
and his fellow
soldiers and a
moment came over
him where he
felt like he we
simply going to
die. Now, before
I go on, know
that my
grandfather was
never really a
storyteller. He
didn’t make
things up for
the sake of it,
but the true
stories he told
were amazing. He
was a truthful,
kind, fun and
gentle man who
loved his
family, playing
the acoustic
guitar, and
fishing, and he
taught me when
to yank up the
ole’ fishin’
pole just in
time to set the
hook into the
mouth of
whatever
soon-to-be lunch
we’d be fishing
for at the lake!
This was years
after the war
when he’d spend
his summers with
his family,
grandkids and
friends after
retiring from
his ice-cream
job driving
around in his
refrigerated van
serving the
children cold
snacks on those
hot days in his
later years.
So anyway, he
was in the war
and just to
clarify, a
foxhole is
basically a
trench,
a small hole dug
in the ground
during a war or
military attack
which is used by
a small group of
soldiers as a
base for firing
at the enemy and
is a kind of
shelter from
enemy fire. It
was 1944 in
Germany (I
confirmed this
with his son –
my uncle) and it
was nearing the
end of the war
when my
grandfather was
down in that
cold dirty old
trench, gripping
his rifle tight
and was
obviously
terrified like
the rest of his
comrades when he
says he suddenly
he looked up
into the sky and
began to pray…
Time stops. I am
now picturing
all of this in
slow motion as
if it were
almost a movie.
Now remember,
we’ve always
believed him
100% because of
the person he
was. I’ve raised
various
questions to him
throughout the
years during my
life and his
story never
wavered. Every
time he told it,
it was the same
experience
exactly as he
remembered it.
Now, from that
trench, he
stared into the
sky that day,
with dirt flying
in his face and
terror around
him as he and
his friends were
being shot at
endlessly from
the barrage of a
Nazi offensive
by Hitler’s
army. As he
looked up, he
noticed the
clouds began to
do something
rather odd. He
described a
distinct sudden
parting of these
clouds and what
he witnessed was
a figure
materializing
through the
opening
cloud-curtain
and this figure
was sitting on
some type of
seat and that
figure turned
around (almost
like in a swivel
chair he’d say)
and looked down,
pointing
directly at him.
Grandpa would
mimic this
pointed-finger
gesture every
time with his
crooked elbow
arm and said he
immediately knew
this figure was
Jesus Christ. He
said this figure
had a long
flowing white
robe as he sat
there staring
down at him.
Jesus said to
him in plain,
clear-as-day
English; “Son,
you’re going
home.” And that
was that. His
story was always
so sincere and
his eyes were
full of truth
and awe as he
spoke about it.
Just as quickly
as the vision
had presented
itself and
unfolded before
him on that
field, time sped
up again as the
jarring sounds
of exploding
gunpowder
quickly snapped
him back to the
horrible
reality, though
I imagine he’d
almost have a
euphoric-like
ease after
experiencing
such an awesome
thing.
The calming eye
of the storm had
passed, but what
an experience.
It wasn’t long
after this
encounter with
God, my
grandfather fell
on his rifle and
broke his arm
and had to be
brought back to
the States to a
hospital. If
Christ said or
showed anything
else to my
grandfather that
day, he never
told us about
it. He lived
through that
battle, and the
war, and did
come back home
to Hamilton,
Ohio, and lived
to be a good old
ripe age of 82.
Ever since he
broke that arm,
it was never the
same. He’d
always have a
funny crook to
it when he’d
point his hand
out, and you
could tell it
had been broken
and not reset
properly. I’m
sure this was a
lifelong
reminder to him
of God’s awesome
power and what
he did for him
that day. This
kind of reminds
me of Jacob’s
cripple!
“Son, you’re
going home.”
Enough said,
right? When
Jesus says
something, I
think it’s safe
to believe that
He means it. It
must have been a
phenomenal
reassurance to a
terrified man
being bombarded
by an advancing
enemy with your
ears ringing and
your friends
dying around
you.
What else can
you do but
surrender to
God?
Nothing about
this story he’d
tell ever left
us with any
doubt that this
was a literal
vision from God
to one of his
humbled
servants.
I don’t think
God had any
problem
revealing
himself to my
grandfather that
day because He
knew his faith
was already
solid and did
not require any
proof anyway,
though I am
positive it
would have been
more reassuring
to hear God’s
plan was to send
him home!
He wasn’t asleep
or knocked out,
and it wasn’t a
dream. If he
says it
happened, I
believe him, but
that’s up for
you to decide. I
wonder how many
other Christian
soldiers saw God
that day (or
even today) and
lived to tell
about it or keep
it to
themselves.
Grandpa told us
though, and he
did go home just
as God told him
he would.
Grandpa went on
to take care of
his soldier
friend Virgil’s
wife after he
died in the
Battle of the
Bulge in
December 1944,
as they were
both from the
same city and
had been friends
for some time
and both lost
someone they
cared about. My
grandfather
consoled her
before they went
on to eventually
get married and
live a long,
happy life
together right
up until she
took her last
breath in the
late 1980’s.
They brought two
souls into the
world after
their marriage;
my mom and her
brother.
Margie’s death
hurt Grandpa
more than any
war or bullet
could. I
remember him
very sad a lot
when I was a
child after her
passing but
somehow he
managed to pull
through and
lived another
15+ years
without her.
After lung
cancer took her
life, he quit
the smokes
cold-turkey and
never touched
them again,
which no doubt
increased his
lifespan!
What happened on
that battlefield
was divine in my
opinion. Jesus
didn’t say; “…
you’re COMING
home.” That
might imply he
was about to die
and go to Heaven
and anyone
probably would
have stood up
and gone out
shooting in the
blaze of glory!
No, he said
GOING and He
meant it to mean
he was going to
live through
that war, and he
did, and the
rest is history.
God is real my
friends, and he
will help you
through your
wars and trials
too, even when
the enemy’s
bullets are
flying past you
from every
direction,
threatening your
very life. Never
lose sight of
that, even when
it feels
hopeless and
you’re hiding
down in your own
foxhole in a
moment of
weakness or
fear. Whatever
your war is,
whatever battle,
whether
physical, mental
or spiritual,
remember one of
the first
passages my
mother made me
memorize at an
early age; “I
can do all
things through
Christ which
strengthens me.”
-Philippians
4:13.
Thanks for
reading, I hope
you enjoyed my
personal family
story.
snowcellar@hotmail.com