By Sarah Talbert 
Lauren Daigle’s song “You Say” played through a scratchy phone speaker as I watched tears stream down my grandpa’s 93-year-old face and into his weathered hands. He was broken. His wife of almost 75 years lay in a hospice bed in their home, a home where 19 grandkids and 28 great-grandkids grew up. A home where Bible studies were held weekly to point others and themselves to the feet of Jesus.
Their kitchen table was actually multiple tables scrunched together in awkward lines and chairs. There was never a table big enough to host family, friends, and strangers to sit together. And although crooked and mismatched, it was always welcoming and open.
Their legacy has made its way in and out of my writings in the past, but on this day I was up close and personal to their story. On this day, it felt like the laughter had crept out the doors and into the rainy puddles outside. We were all holding on tight to Grandma that day, especially Grandpa. And, as often happens when loved ones are in their last few days, family was sitting around the awkward tables and couches telling stories.
“Remember the time Grandpa took us to the creek and splashed us with rocks, and Grandma got frustrated when she found out?”
“Remember the time Grandpa bought that house to remodel at 80, and Grandma made him sign a contract he wouldn’t buy anything else?”
I think a smile crept across Grandma’s face as her eyes were closed. She heard us. But so did Grandpa. The tears dripping down his face weren’t about the memories. No, this time Grandpa’s tears were directed toward Jesus.
As the silence and stories played a song of grief, I saw Grandpa look at Grandma, and he whispered, “I need more faith.”
At that moment, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper, “You’re never too old to need me.”
Shouldn’t the man who has led this beautiful family to the feet of Jesus get it by now? Does he not see God’s hand of faithfulness, provision, and intense love? I shouted back to God in my head. It’s supposed to get easier right? I hope I get to where I’m no longer doubting you. I don’t want to doubt that you have my best interests at heart! But I don’t think that’s what God had in mind.
“So that you are not lacking in any gift, as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will sustain you to the end” (1 Corinthians 1:7-8a ESV). Scripture is clear. We don’t hold ourselves to a type of faith standardized testing. Our faith doesn’t come because we can muster up some form of fake strength to power through the pain.
It says in 1 Corinthians that it is Jesus Christ who will sustain us . . . to the end. The end of our trials. The end of those struggles in your marriage. To the end of the financial battles. To the end of our lives . . . He sustains us.
It doesn’t imply that those struggles disappear. It also doesn’t suggest that when you’re losing your wife of 75 years, you magically become supernatural and no longer need Him. It means that we never outgrow the gift of grace. And with that gift of grace, we also get hope—hope that He will one day make all things new again.
The lyrics reverberated through the room:
I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough
Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up
Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low?
Remind me once again just who I am, because I need to know.
So, if you’re fighting those voices of “not enough,” put down the defensive walls. Lean into Him, my friend. If my grandpa, a man who chased Jesus longer than anyone I know and loved people harder than I think most realized did it, you can too. It’s not a matter of you should be getting it by now. No. It’s a matter of if you get to the end of your road, are you still asking for more faith to finish your journey?
Grandma passed away shortly after this day and about seven months later, Grandpa stepped into the arms of his Jesus, the one who sustained him until the end.
Don’t let what you think you should be feeling in an intense moment of pain define what Jesus has done for you. Jesus, give me more faith.
by Liz Newman 
by Sarah Lango 
by Micayla Lyons 
