A Memorial Service...

There was so much we had wanted to share, so much we had to say, so many thoughts running through our minds. How did the time get away?

"Long before he was ever my dad, he was somebody's little darling. A little boy who loved to run and play with his older brother, who couldn't sit still in school, and who made the mistake of calling his father a "son of a gun". He got into plenty of trouble throwing rocks at his uncle's bull, water on passing cars, and chickens out the haymow window. He had a girlfriend named Jane Ellen, a dog named Pal, and 46 first cousins. He loved boats and water, and even a spanking couldn't keep him away from Irondequoit Bay.

He married my mom in 1953 and together they moved to "the farm" where he accidentally locked Mom in the chicken coop. She had open toed shoes and red painted toenails, and was none too happy with the experience of chickens pecking relentlessly at her feet. Dad took us camping almost every summer, washed our dirty feet in the bathroom sink, and on cold winter days threatened to warm his icy hands on our warm tummies. He drew pictures for us and with us, read bedtime stories, and taught us to pray. He still sings songs and plays his guitar and harmonica, teases his grandchildren, and laughs at his own childhood antics. I wouldn't trade him for the world!" (excerpt from post dated April 12, 2008 when I had missed Dad's birthday)

For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. Philippians 1:21

"As September 2009 slipped away, so did the man I have loved and admired my entire life. I could tell you stories of my childhood and that of my children because he was a wonderful father and an adoring grandpa, but the greatest thing about my dad was his love for Jesus Christ and the gospel he lived from day to day. He was the same man at church as he was sitting at home on the back porch playing his banjo and harmonica. As he reached out to residents in the nursing home, so he reached out to his own family. Though he poured his heart and soul into his ministries, he was never too busy to help celebrate a grandchild's birthday or be at family picnics, and his dedication to Mom remained constant through the years.

In his seventy-seven years Dad's commitment to Christ allowed him to touch many lives. As the years passed his love for Jesus grew and we watched him undergo a transformation as he allowed God to direct his life. The songs he played and sang became those not only of living for Christ, but dying for Him also.

Dad's cancer diagnosis came as a surprise to us. Though there were signs of illness in the months previous, we never heard him complain, instead he moved steadily on. He had hoped to return to church and his ministries after being released from the hospital but never regained the strength to do so. Instead he was a ministry to his family and friends, constantly quoting scripture and encouraging us to "hold onto Jesus". Even in his final hours his words were the same.

When he moved on to heaven he left behind the treasure of his music on cassette tapes. We can still listen to Dad play his guitar or harmonica and his banjo. We can still hear him sing those old songs, and the words have taken on new meaning. He lived the words, finished well, and waits for us there."