Noni (my grandfather) was a devout atheist. I only met the man once and was not overly fond of him. It had nothing to do with the atheism as my father was agnostic and my mother was an "Easter Catholic." What struck me most about him (I was 11 at the time), was his bitterness and apparent contempt for my parents and their children. We were only half Italian and therefore not worthy of his love or respect.
About 10 years after our one meeting, I attended his funeral. My father and uncle attended out of duty and four of his 13 grandchildren attend to support my father. That was the list of mourners. Near the end of the
debacle, I began crying, not because I loved or would miss my grandfather - I hardly knew him, but for what he missed in life. I realized this man truly lived a life of "quiet desperation." He lived with my uncle who abused him, and that was the whole of his existence for many years. He could have had the love of my father and his 13 children who desperately wanted to love him, but he chose to live with bitterness and resentment. A sad, lonely end is what it brought him and an eternity in torment.
The point of this diatribe is this, I'm reading Francis Chan's book "Crazy Love" and he's talking about people who's lives made a difference. How do I live that kind of life? How can I make a difference? Twenty-five years after his death, I still grieve for what my grandfather missed in life, and now in death, and pray I can learn a lesson from it. I want to let my God use me as only he can, be open to whatever He has. Actually, this is taking a risk, because it could be anything, but I know I don't want to end regretting that I lived a life of quiet desperation.