a fourth of july name story

We love the Fourth of July around here. After two full days of the symphony, parades, a baseball game, cook outs, and a lot of fireworks we are t.i.r.e.d. 

The Fourth has always been a big deal in our family and we celebrate big time. I had a hamburger and a hot dog in one day, for goodness sakes. That's a great day. And if there's ever a day where I should talk about the importance of one of the girls' names, the Fourth is it. Charleigh Grace was named after a patriot, a veteran, a preacher. A man whose reach and influence I'll probably never fully know in this lifetime. He was my ride to school more days than I could count, my encourager, my spiritual example, my short-order breakfast cook. He was an artist, an evangelist, a carpenter, a pastor, a friend. But most importantly, to me, he was my Papa. 

Charles Mark Grover 

Although he went by Mark for most of his adult life (or Mahk as it sounded from all the New Englanders), a few close childhood friends would still call him Charlie and he often referred to my mom and Aunt Lou as 'Charlie's Angels.'  So in honor of a man who loved this country, served this country, and prayed unceasingly for this country, I wanted to take some time to remember him. 

My grandma and grandpa moved in to help my mom raise us four kids when my parents separated when we were little. I don't really remember a time he wasn't there. He would wake us up with a clap and  'Awake unto righteousness and sin not for there are some who have not the knowledge of the gospel and I say this to our shame' or a rousing chorus of some old Navy song. He rode bikes with us, took us camping, forced convinced us to sing at church, prayed with us, watched baseball with us, dragged us hither and yon to visit friends or minister to people he heard were down and out, joked with us, watched the news with us, loved on us. In the 15 years I lived with him I remember him raising his voice maybe 3 times. And the four of us could really be a handful. Especially, me {ahem, red-headed temper}. I mean, Dionne. She was always the toughest. 

I went to his Alma Mater for college. And even after I moved down to Charlotte to teach he remained a part of my daily life. Those first few years teaching I would call him almost every morning on the way to school. He would have a verse he just read that day or up-lifting words that somehow encouraged me in just the right way. He listened to my worries about my class and prayed for my kids.

 He led a truly exceptional and full life. He was a gymnast, served in the Navy, became a pastor, and used his artistic talent to reach people with chalk art. People from Hawaii to Haiti knew who he was. One of the times I'm most blessed by and truly cherish was the week I spent in Haiti with him my senior year of high school. During the 50's and 60's, Papa helped a native Haitian plant churches in Port-au-Prince and a few small towns close to there. {Truly a sight back then, I'm sure, when a just-over-five foot white New Englander teams up with a well-over-six-foot black Haitian during a time when the color of ones' skin led to judgement and exclusion even within the church.} I remember seeing the churches, orphanages, and schools that had blossomed from the toil of two regular men and the awe I felt at the influence God allowed them to have. 

You couldn't go anywhere in our corner of New Hampshire where 'the pastor' hadn't left his mark. He was truly loved by many. But, for all the greatness his ministry was, he still cooked breakfast for the four of us almost every morning after finding out whether we felt like french toast, waffles, or eggs. He still took us to swimming lessons or dance class when my mom wasn't able to. He still entertained us for hours with stories about Taylor and the Navy and his childhood. He took time for us because he knew we were his ministry as much as any church he had served. And for that, I will always be grateful. 

I'll never forget the call from my mom saying Papa had died. It was very unexpected. He was up getting ready for church, going over his sermon notes for the day. No one had the slightest clue that in a few hours he would step from time into eternity into the presence of the Savior he loved so dearly. I'm sure he heard the precious words: 'Well, done.'  My heart was broken but my soul was glad. People flew in from all over the country for his memorial service and, again, I was in awe of the sheer number of people he had touched in his life. 

I think of him every day and there are still days where I have to catch my breath at the thought that he is gone for now. I remember standing on Paul's porch before we were even engaged and talking to Papa on his last Fourth of July. {Calling Papa on the Fourth of July was equivalent to the importance of calling him on his birthday.} He was so proud to be an American, so concerned for the state of our country, so loyal to the United States. I remember we talked about a book that was coming out that he thought I should read and about something he had seen on Fox News and, of course, how the Red Sox were doing. 

I so wished he could have been here to meet the girls. He would have loved them like no other. He would have been over the moon about twins. {He probably wouldn't have been as thrilled about my naming a girl Charlie but, hey...} Still, I feel unbelievably thankful for the time that I had with him and blessed to have had a grandpa that was more like a father. A man that I knew so well and learned so much from. A man that molded so many childhood memories and laid the foundation for the faith I have today. A man that in one second could call to memory the verse needed for the moment and in the next make a joke that my mom was taking 'longer and longer to shore up the ol' ship.' A man who drank coffee milk and had to have the fan turned off during supper so his food wouldn't get too cold. A man who was far from perfect but rested in the perfection of his Savior. 

I'm sad that, in this life,  Charleigh will never know the man she is named after but I'm thankful for such a meaningful legacy to tell her about some day. I pray that her faith will be strong like her great-grandpa's, that she lives life to the fullest like he did, that she loves others selflessly and fully, and that she finds joy in the little things. I hope that someday she will feel so proud to carry his name. I pray that I will be able to live a life like my Papa in front of these girls. I pray that I will be a prayer warrior like him, a patriot, and, most importantly, a daughter of the King. 

I miss him so much it still hurts sometimes. I'll never have a Fourth of July where I don't think of him and will most certainly tear up every time I hear 'Anchors Aweigh.' 

 But I know I will see him again. Until then, as he loved to say, I have 'all this and heaven, too.' 

Charleigh Girl, you are named after one amazing man and the grace he wanted the world to know. I can't wait to tell you about him and see the plans that God has for your life!