Eighteen years ago this November, Daddy died. And for 40 years prior to his death, I was unsure of his salvation. He never opened his Bible, never set foot in a church, and he could be cantankerous. He lived with us two years before his death and my heart yearned to know if my daddy had truly given his heart to Jesus.
A week before his death, I gathered the courage to ask, “Daddy, are you afraid to die?”
He snorted and grumbled, “Of course not.” I plunged on. “You do know if you’re a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, He will send His angels to carry you over to the other side?” He looked at me with that you’re-about-to-stomp-on-my-last-nerve expression. “Well, I’m just layin’ here a waitin’ and a wavin’.” He rolled over, done with our conversation. But my heart contorted—“waitin’ and a wavin’?” What was that supposed to mean?
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