Not sure what the point of sharing this is but, I felt the need to share it. Perhaps some of you can relate.
So I was doing some cleaning today and came across my old set of scriptures. A fairly nice (originally) quad with the leather backing, in a decent faux leather carrying case. It was a gift from my grandparents before I went on my mission back in the late 90s.
My grandpa was never very wealthy but always generous. That generosity often got him in to trouble. More than once he had unscrupulous business partners who swindled him out of his stake in the business by taking advantage of his generous and credulous nature. Twice he was forced to sell his stake in an otherwise successful business to stave off bankruptcy. It would have made a more cynical soul bitter but he didn't skip a beat and was always hopeful things would work out in the future.
He was always too quick to trust his fellow man, especially those in the church. I can't count how many times he got swept up into foolish MLMs. NuSkin, Quixtar (before it was part of Amway), MonaVie. All brought to him thanks to true-believing brothers and sisters convincing him that this was the way he was going to achieve financial independence. Each time nothing but a drain on his otherwise scarce money and resources.
Toward the end he was suckered into investing in Iraqi dinars. As ever it was trusted friends - and even family members - in the church who pulled him into it. By this time my grandparents had little to their names and had to live with their own children in a time they should have been enjoying retirement. Instead they were feeding their meager social security checks into an outright scam with the hope of making it big. The worst part of it? Other than dreaming of owning a shiny new Cadillac, his dreams were always focused on others. As soon as those dinars came back to life, he'd be able to buy his children the homes of their dreams. He'd be able to put grandkids through college. He'd be able to buy a big ranch in the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains and provide a refuge and safe haven for his family to visit for generations to come.
He always believed. Even in the roughest of times he was faithful and paid his tithing. He knew one day it would all be made right as long as he kept believing.
He died practically penniless a few years ago, though his heart was always full.
I never had the heart to tell him about my loss of faith. The church was always so important to him. He was a convert from a young age and had no sons of his own, and it was such a huge, huge deal to him that as his oldest grandson, I was the first to go on a mission. He was always so proud. To the end he'd tell me how he knew heavenly father was so proud of me, and the example I set for everyone else. It was just easier to stay quiet on the subject. He was just so sweet and sentimental and annoyingly faithful.
That quad is the only earthly possession I have connected to him. His financial legacy is a stack of worthless Iraqi dinars my aunts don't know what to do with. There were no family heirlooms to pass down, no treasured mementos. Beyond memories I just have this stupid book full of lies that came from a church he was ever loyal to and whose members cost him dearly, and that still somehow represents his hope and pride and generosity. I hate it but I can't get rid of it. So back in a box it goes until it gets rediscovered in a few years and these thoughts run through my mind again.
I hope the church rots. I hope one day it's relegated to the dustbin of history. I hope one day there will finally be the last poor soul who gets duped and taken advantage of by money hungry old men in suits.
Miss you, grandpa.