This afternoon while lacing my new boots (there is a story behind them) I was watching news and heard of the Homegoing of Dr. Oral Roberts.
I paused, remembering the man that had been, though we'd never met, a part of my life.
All of my life.
Like Billy Graham, whenever Oral Roberts was on the Telly, Grandmother would be found sitting in her chair, with her bible open to follow whatever scriptures he would read from. His voice, listen Dr. Graham's is as familiar to me as my mum's, sister' or grandmother's.
Oh I know he had his faults; don't we all? And as I grew up, I questioned many of the things he taught. But never did I question his faith.
I know that there are many will acutally celebrate his death, thinking its long overdue. Others making fun over his beliefs, his ministry, his father. I can hear the sick jokes even now as his grieving son, daughter and grandchildren prepare to lay him to rest.
Yes. I am aware of the stories-those that are true and those that are false.
I also have met many people knew Dr. Roberts and his family. Who were helped with getting an education, helped with getting their marriages restored and seeing wayward teens growing into men and women of G-d who are serving as doctors, nurses, ministers and teachers around the world.
I know people who had the honour of not only feeding at his table, but being treated as a son, as a daughter.
And from what I have heard of this man, the very people who are dancing on his grave, slinging mud and making cracks, Dr. Roberts would be the first to smile, laugh with them and offer them a place at his table.
That's the kind of person I wish to be when I grow up.
R.I.P Dr. Roberts