My Grandad passed away Friday the 26th of October.  In his sleep, in his den, in the hospital bed that had taken the place of his beloved recliner.  I was working a clothing booth at a vendor show and had missed my Dad’s call.  I noticed that Vann was calling me and not leaving messages so I quickly took the call – he was with the girls, trying to find me so he could tell me the news.  Immediately, tears sprang to my eyes and I felt my stomach fall out from underneath me.  Because I was working, I had to keep it together until the designer could come and relieve me.  When I got outside, the 50 degree temp hit me smack in the face.  It was cold and windy, a beautiful sunny day – what would ordinarily bring me enormous pleasure was bittersweet.  When I got to the car, I struggled for my keys and got into the front seat and turned on the heat.  And wept.  For my Grandad, who I had lost.  For my Mimi, who I knew he was finally walking with in heaven – 25 years after she lost her battle with ovarian cancer.  For my Mom, who now faces life without her parents. For my brothers, who I knew would be mourning just as much, if not more, than I. I got home to my family and a husband I am still undeserving of.  He held me while I cried.  It felt really weird, knowing I wouldn’t see my Grandad at Christmas.  Wouldn’t get to chat with him the next time we brought the girls by.  The finality of life.  Just shy of 90 years on this Earth.  Oh, the stories he could tell. The funeral was the following Tuesday.  On a little hill in New Summerfield, Texas, my Grandad was buried next to my Mimi, side-by-side, for all eternity.  My Mom asked my brothers and I to read eulogies – so I read the post I wrote here only a couple weeks before.  My brothers wrote and read their own versions, and as anyone who knows me knows, if I’m around you’ll never cry alone.  (It’s like my tears are hard-wired to my soul.  I am hopeless that way.)  So when they went first and the tears began to fall, well, mine flowed as well.  My sweet brothers, saying goodbye to a man whom they had admired and were deeply saddened to let go. And on that hill, four grandchildren (including my cousin Michal who sat beside me) grew up just a little bit more, as the stability and history of our Grandad was all we would have to remember him by.  He isn’t with us anymore, and soon, his body will turn to dust and the pocket watch he was buried with will rust over. But his soul, the place where the Holy Spirit inhabits, will live on.  No more pain, no more suffering, nothing more than the great, amazing face of Jesus as his spirit was called Home. And that, my friends, is what’s on my heart today, as we face the morning after the election.  I try really hard not to “get political” because I have a sensitive heart, and inevitably, get my feelings hurt.  I self-protect by keeping my mouth shut.  I’m going to try (read: try) to not focus on the disappointment I feel (because I do feel it) and instead call out what I believe to be the lesson here.  Lord knows I have a tendency to go off the deep end when it comes to worry.  Fortunately, I am married to a man who is the most stable, most level-headed, most faithful man – my total opposite and everything I desperately need.  And when he reminded me of the sovereignty of our God last night I felt this…peace…come over me.  Like none of it matters.  Truly. I heard God say, “I’ve got this.” “I’ve got you.” And as long as we can remember this, we are on the right track.  “My” guy may not have been elected last night, but really, it doesn’t matter who is President, Because Jesus is King. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.  To share my faith, to say who my God is, to live my life in a way that points towards the heavenly Kingdom. Romans 8:28 says, 28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[a] have been called according to his purpose. According to His purpose. He’s got this.