Grandpa

I got up early this morning to prepare for a lesson that I have to teach on Sunday (scary). A story from my Grandpa Woolf's funeral kept coming into my mind. It has nothing to do with my lesson. However, it is something that I want to remember, so I thought that I would share it here. Family who reads my blog will remember this story clearly.

Grandpa Woolf was a great man. He died at 90 after serving as a husband, father, Scout Leader, Bishop, Stake President, Mission President, Temple Worker, and Stake Patriarch. He was a peaceful man, loved by all. The Bishop of his last ward told the story of a less active boy that lived behind my grandpa. Grandpa's last house was small (maybe 1400 sq. ft.). He had a little backyard with grass that he kept very tidy. This boy lived just behind Grandpa in a house the same size. There wasn't much room for a little boy to play. Each day this boy would try and play basketball back there, and each day the ball would end up in my grandpa's backyard. It was an old ball, beat-up and ripped in some places. Now, many 90-yr.-old men would be grumpy about this. They might not want some noisy kid constantly throwing a ball over the wall. But, Grandpa never complained. He dutifully threw that ball back over before the boy had time to ask. Imagine the boy's surprise one day when Grandpa threw back over a brand new basketball! Yes, grandpa felt bad for that boy who played for so many hours with that same tired, old ball in such a little backyard. So, he went out and bought him a brand new one. No words were ever exchanged. The boy never said thank you, but it made Grandpa so happy to do it. This was his way. Later, when the Bishop went for a visit to this family, they told him about the ball and how happy it made their son.

I want to be better at this. I wonder how good of a neighbor I am. How good of a friend I am. Would I complain about the ball or throw over a new one? I want to be better at this.