For My Grandpa (French)

When my grandma asked me to write a memorial to be read at my grandpa's funeral, I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with it. I thought maybe I could tell about being a little girl and traveling 12 hours from Chattanooga to Michigan to visit them, only to be greeted by what he called "love pats," which actually felt a whole lot like spankings. I could tell about spending the night at his house and being awoken at ungodly hours of the morning by the sound of his yodeling up and down the halls (that's right - yodeling). I could tell about how I felt so safe with him that when I was 3 years old I made that 12 hour journey with him and my grandma, all by myself, to stay with them for several weeks. But I'm not sure that's what he'd want me to say.
What I think he would want me to say, and what I think would show him the most honor to say, is that his faith was strong. When many people lose faith as adversity strikes, my grandpa's faith grew. I have never seen anyone with such a strong desire to know God as I have seen in my grandpa in the last few years since his cancer diagnosis. He spent hours reading God's Word, studying it, determining to know it. In the last few weeks, as his pain increased and he could do little of that studying on his own, he would have someone reading his Bible to him as often and for as long as he could persuade them.
This desire doesn't come naturally. It only comes from a heart that has been rescued by God's grace. I believe this was true of my grandpa.
When we heard the news that he wasn't doing well, my family came up from Chattanooga as soon as we could. It was strange walking into the house knowing my grandpa wasn't there. It was clear that his presence was missing. We went to visit him in the hospice unit the next morning, and his pain was obvious. He slept a lot, moaned some, squeezed my hand. He was a shell of the man he was even the last time I saw him about two months ago.
Though the image of him in such pain weighed heavy on me, it will not be the way I remember him. The grandpa I remember is a strong man. He stands tall. He loves quietly, yet fervently. He gives. He laughs.
I picture him now, resting in the arms of his Savior, as that man. He is not sick. He is not weary. He is strong. He has won this battle. He is waiting for the rest of us with that unforgettable smile on his face. The smile I can't wait to see again.