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Archive for the ‘Tributes’ Category

Like most kids who grew up in the 1960’s and 70’s, my parents had home movies they’d occasionally pull out and show on a big projector screen.  One that particularly sticks out in my mind is of my brothers and I playing on the street in front of my grandmother’s house in Brooklyn.  It was a cold, dreary looking day, and we were all in our winter coats, but we were running around with the sort of abandon that only young children seem to possess. 

I believe that I was about 5 yrs old in the film, which would make my brothers 6 yrs and 7 yrs old.  In particular it was my brother Tom (the oldest sibling) who stood out.  His big eyes and childlike manner in these movies were such a sharp contrast to the serious and pragmatic fellow he would eventually become.  These old reels were some of the only evidence that he’d not really started out that way.

Life has a way of pushing back against innocence and cultivating cynicism.  And for little boys, wide eyed compassion and sensitivity aren’t generally a sustainable course.  Very quickly it becomes clear that having such emotions or at least allowing folks to know that you have them, is a precarious path to take.  Early on, it becomes a matter of survival to learn how to hide your vulnerabilities and to always come from a position of strength.  For many young men that manifests in a form of aggressiveness that is generally accepted for young males.  For my brother Tom, it manifested in the form of intellect.

My brother had a brilliant mind and was usually one of the smartest guys in the room.  He also had the ability to express himself, which made his intelligence harder to ignore.  Because my father was in the Air Force, we changed schools constantly, but wherever we’d go my brother would quickly be viewed as the smartest kid in the class.  As the sensitive nurturing elements of his personality receded into dormancy, the power of his mind emerged.  He wasn’t just smart, he was a born leader, and soon that was all you could see.  

As a younger brother, who had no desire to be led by someone I thought of as a peer, I just viewed him as overbearing and bossy.   By the time we got to high school, his identity as the smart kid was already set in stone, and he further solidified it by dating the smartest girl in school.  In those days, if you had asked anyone who knew my brother to describe him with three adjectives, his intelligence would have been referenced with the first word.

Forty-five years later, as I sat through the various memorial services celebrating my brother’s (too short) life, I suddenly recalled those scenes of us frolicking on the street as kids, and I realized that not one person had made a singular reference to his intelligence.  Indeed, there was barely any mention of the impressive work he had done at Ball Aerospace (e.g., the Hubble Telescope, the Mars Rover), or any of his other accomplishments.  

As the montage of pictures scrolled across the screen, they were mostly scenes of Tom with his grandchildren, or his god children, or dear friends, or with his beloved wife.  In many of them he was dressed funny and clearly goofing around with that same sort of abandon that we’d had as children. 

When people eulogized him, it was his warmth, compassion, faith, and wisdom they spoke of.  And I found myself wondering how this transformation had occurred.  What was it that allowed my brother’s true heart to re-emerge over all these years.

The short and simple answer is that the God who gave Him that heart, also worked throughout his life to preserve it.  But at the center of God’s plan was Tom’s beloved wife Fawn. 

By the time they’d met in high school, Tom had developed a pretty sharp edge to his personality, yet around her, he was like Jello.  He was crazy about her from day one, and she was not the type of person to use that as leverage against him.  If there were ever two people who seemed destined for each other, it was these two, and absolutely no one was surprised that they married and spent a lifetime together.

Looking back, I realize that because Fawn loved my brother for who he was, she made it safe for the nurturing, loving, playful part of his heart to re-emerge.  Because she routinely engaged that part of his being, it regained strength and eventually became the hallmark of his legacy.  Though it sounds cliche, she brought out the best in him.  And to his credit, I believe that he did that for her as well.

As I pondered all this, I couldn’t help but think that this is exactly what God had in mind for marriage.  That these unions were meant to amount to more than just the sum of the parts.  That both partners would help each other become the people they were created to be. 

If Tom had chosen to spend his life with someone who only related to him on an intellectual level, he may well have become a stoic recluse. Thankfully, he found a loving soul, who was full of spirit, and every bit his intellectual equal. She loved his heart and nurtured it throughout their years together.

In my brother’s final days, the room was filled with people who loved him and whose lives had been touched by his.  And right by his side was his beloved partner Fawn.  Though we could wish for more days, it would be hard to imagine a better way to finish the race.

He who finds a wife of worth, receives the favor of the Lord (Prov.18:22)

A wife of noble character is worth far more than rubies (Prov.31:10)

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Slowly, but deliberately, we’ve made our way to the water. At times it has seemed like a celebration, as we revisited the joys of our collective history. But at other times, it has grown ominously quiet, as the reality of our impending farewell settles in.

Reaching the pier, the sound of the ship’s bell reminds us of the scarcity of time, and something that feels like panic briefly washes over me. There is a very human tendency to want to avoid such moments, and perhaps an even stronger urge to fixate on them. I know that I am not ready to say goodbye, but as I look into your eyes, it’s clear that it’s time for you to go.

I can see that you are shivering, and that these blankets have lost their ability to make you warm. And as much as I dred letting you go, I would not wish for you to spend another night in the cold. I can tell that you are worried for us, because that is how you’ve always been, but like our own apprehensions, it’s something we must set aside. We’ve arrived at the moment, and regardless of whether we feel ready, it is here.

So even though I cannot fathom a future without you, my heart cries,

Run to the light dear brother

Journey to that distant shore

Don’t look back in anguish

Be at peace

Know that the Father who awaits your arrival will care for us

Know that you will always occupy this place in our hearts

One day we will all be together again

Run to the light dear brother

Run to the light

And be free!

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Sometimes a couple picks a song to be their song, and other times the song seems to pick them.  For me, “For the First Time” by Kenny Loggins, was one of those songs that seemed to pick itself for me, and my relationship with my wife, Anita.

For the first fifty years of my life, I had a condition which kept my eyes from working together.  When I’d look at anything for any length of time, my eyes would drift apart, and skew the picture.  Consequently, I learned to take quick sideways glances, and was self-conscious about looking people in the eye.  Over time, my ability to feel people became stronger than my ability to see them, and consequently, I rarely developed much of a mental picture of anyone.  Combined with the fact that I was raised to never view another human being as a piece of meat, I was never one to “check-out” a woman, no matter how beautiful she was.

I can’t claim that I didn’t notice how beautiful Anita was when I met her, I just didn’t allow that observation to attach itself to any sort of emotion, or feeling.  I considered myself to be happily married at the time, and she was simply my co-worker.  I related to her much the way I would relate to a sister, and for the first five years I knew her that didn’t change. 

But In that time, my first wife decided to be with someone else, and my illusion of a happy marriage disintegrated.  The collapse of that life caused me to turn to God, and changed the course of my journey.  In that same period, Anita also went through relational upheaval, which left her as a single mom, who was extremely cautious about who she let into her daughter’s life.  Our first meaningful conversations centered on God, as neither of us was thinking about a future with someone else.  Even as our friendship grew, we stubbornly refused to view each other through the lens of a potential mate.

Over time, it became clear that God was up to something, but we remained steadfast in our commitment to not get ahead of Him.  Of course, this included not sleeping together before marriage.  As we grew closer, keeping those thoughts and feelings in check became more of a battle, but in lieu of bonding physically, we bonded emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually.  Looking back, I realize that’s exactly what God intended.

After 18 months of growing together, and waiting on the Lord’s leading, we were married in March of 1998, and after a long season of trying to restrain our passion for each other, we were finally able to express it fully.  I vividly remember a moment on our honeymoon, where Anita was sitting on the balcony, doing her daily devotions.  She wasn’t aware of it, but I was staring at her through the sliding glass door.  And for the first time, I let myself look at her without being guarded about the thoughts or emotions that might result from it.  Even decades later, my eyes fill with tears as I recall that moment.  I felt like she was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, and I caught myself thanking God that He brought us together.  Whenever I hear the song “For the First Time”, I relive that instance.

For the First Time

Are those your eyes, is that your smile

I’ve been looking at you forever

But I never saw you before

Are these your hands, holding mine

Now I wonder how I could have been so blind

*

For the first time, I’m looking in your eyes

For the first time, I’m seeing who you are

I can’t believe how much I see

When you’re looking back at me

Now I understand what love is

Love is, for the first time

*

Can this be real, can this be true

Am I the person I was this morning

And are you the same you

It’s all so strange, how can it be

All along this love was right in front of me

*

For the first time, I’m looking in your eyes

For the first time, I’m seeing who you are

I can’t believe how much I see

When you’re looking back at me

Now I understand what love is

Love is, for the first time

*

Such a long time ago

I had given up on finding this emotion, ever again

But you’re here with me now

Yes I’ve found you somehow

And I’ve never been so sure

*

For the first time, I’m looking in your eyes

For the first time, I’m seeing who you are

I can’t believe how much I see

When you’re looking back at me

Now I understand what love is

Love is, for the first time

Anita imagines that after all these years, this is just a sweet memory.  But whenever I take the time to look into her eyes, this song still plays in my head.

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Now that I am on the other side

And the relentless pain is gone
Now that I am free of that broken body
And my tormented thoughts have been stilled
Now that my hope has become my reality
And I can view it from above
*
I can see the times it was difficult
And you responded with patience
I can see the times you were exhausted
And you found another bit of strength
I can see the times it was hurting you
And you refused to leave my side
*
In a season when my world got small
You chose to be a part of it
On the days I couldn’t remember who you were
You simply served in anonymity
During the most difficult miles of my journey
You decided to carry my pack

*

There are no words to do it justice
But there is a special gift waiting here for you

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This is something I wrote many years ago, as my father battled ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease).  At the time, we were about six months in to what turned out to be a two year battle.  He called that day to let me know that he’d lost use of his other arm, and was worried that my young children wouldn’t understand why he wouldn’t hug or hold them during our upcoming visit.  I held it together while we were on the phone, but afterward, as I sat in the dark, these words were the cry of my heart.  I realize that it’s not the most artful writing, but it is an honest portrait of what I was feeling.  I share it now in hopes that it might help those who are currently living through this kind of moment.  I encourage you not to let your grief turn into distance.  Run to them, even though it hurts.

 

My father’s hands always seemed big to me

In the first moments of my life, I just fit in them

Throughout my life, they have been a source of strength, guidance and love

Even as I’ve become a man, my father’s hands seem big

 

A year ago, my dad still had the strength to carry me

Today he doesn’t have the strength to grip my hand

My heart struggles to contain this thought

It somehow makes me feel like a little boy again

 

The hands are but an extension of the heart

And my father’s heart is still strong

When we speak of the heart, we’re really speaking of the spirit

The spirit of my father still towers over me

 

It is just like my father not to consider himself

It is just like him to be concerned with everyone else

It is just like him to spend the time he has left getting things ready for when he’s gone

My dad’s body is failing him, but his spirit is not

 

But my own heart falters at the thought of losing him

It is tempting to be angry about what he’s facing, but with whom could I be angry

Certainly not the God who gave me such a wonderful father

This would not be such a hard thing, had God not made him to be the treasure he is

 

So what shall I do with all these overwhelming feelings

What shall I do with the days that God grants me with my father

I will put my hurt in the hands of my Heavenly Father

I will thank Him every day for the gift of my earthly father

 

While my father’s hands have lost the strength to grip me, his heart has not

He is still guiding me, teaching me, protecting me and loving me

He is still a source of strength for my life

He is still a living testimony of God’s love for me

 

In the days that we have left on this earth together, I want to celebrate my father

As his body fails, I want to see him handled with the dignity & tenderness that he deserves

I want my hands to be a source of strength & love to him, as his have always been to me

I want to grip his hand and walk with him for as long as I can

 

Someday, sooner than I’ll be ready, I will have to let his hand go

On that day, he will be in the hands of “Our Father”

It will be both a glorious and a terrible day, but that isn’t today

Today, I thank Our Father for another day with my father

 

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psp5Eighteen years ago, I remember driving through an ice storm during a Level 3 Snow Emergency, in the middle of night. Your mom was in labor, and Mamaw was clinging to Katelyn in the backseat. Looking back, I had no real concept of how much our lives were about to change, and then you arrived.

I was amazed by the beautiful complexity of your being, and am even more so all these years later. From the beginning, you were anything but typical, and I knew that God had something special in mind when He created you. Even in your childhood, I’ve seen Him use the special gifts He’s given you, and I believe that they will only get stronger.

I know that the world has not always been kind to you, but never forget that this is not your home. I wish I could promise you that things will get easier, but it’s doubtful they will. Just know that God has made you strong, and that with HIm there isn’t anything that you cannot overcome.

You were always in a big hurry to grow up, and as of today, the world recognizes you as an adult. But remember what I told you, “You’ll know that you’re grown up when you can take care of yourself, and you’ll know that you’re a man when you can take care of someone else; because God never made a man to simply take care of himself”.

It’s hard to know that you’ll be leaving in just a matter of months, but you were born to fly, and I would never want to hold you back. Please know that wherever the road takes you, my prayers will go before you and that my heart will be with you.

You’ve never taken the easy road, so it’s not surprising that you’d become a Marine. I believe that you’re up to that challenge, and I’m proud of your strong desire to serve.

Though I was given the great privilege of being your dad, never forget that you have a Father that is greater than I. He loved you first, and He loves you best, and long after I’m gone, He will remain. Let His voice be loud in your ears, let His light illuminate your path, and let His heart beat in your chest. He will never leave you, nor forsake you.

I always knew that it was my job to guide you towards manhood, but I guess I hoped I might have a little more time. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, and I believe that you are ready for what lies ahead. .

Happy Birthday Patrick! Know that I am here for you, and that I will always love you – Dad

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Last Friday evening was Senior Night for the football team, and we parents were encouraged to write a letter to our Senior player.  I’ve pasted a copy of that letter below.  Though his mother is just as proud of him (and he knows it), we agreed that some things need to be said in a father’s voice, and so I wrote it from that perspective.

 

Dear Son

 

Well, here we are closing another chapter from your childhood.  I feel like we’re going to do a lot of that this year.  It seems like you’ve been playing football forever, but I remember the beginning as though it were yesterday.  As much as I was surprised by your brother sticking with the game, it was a no-brainer that this would be a part of your journey.  From your first day on this earth, you were long on passion and short on fear.

 

I remember you playing on the line during Pee-Wee ball.  You were really undersized for your position, but that never stopped you from taking on the biggest guys on the opposing team.  I specifically recall a Unioto scrimmage, where you got low and lifted a kid, who outweighed you by at least 50 pounds, off the ground.  It was just one of those pictures that will forever be etched in my memory, because it helped me to understand who you are.

 

I remember the year when you decided not to play because some of your teammates made you feel like you didn’t belong; but when Coach Bonner called and said the team needed you, you stepped right up.  I remember the year, when the team only had 13 players, and everyone had to play both ways.  Somehow you guys still managed to have a winning season.  And I remember last year, when your arm was shattered in the Clinton-Massie game.  Though people on the sidelines and in the stands were horrified at the sight of it, you never made a sound, and wanted to stay until the game was over.

 

As much as I love football, your participation in the sport has never really been about the game itself.  It was about getting stronger and pushing yourself beyond what you thought you could do.  It was about sticking to a commitment, even when it was hard, and overcoming adversity.  It was about being a part of a team, and making sacrifices for something bigger than yourself.  Ultimately, it was about preparing you for life, and from that standpoint it has been an unmitigated success.

 

Even though we place a huge emphasis on education, life isn’t much like a classroom.  In truth, it’s a lot more like a football field.  The classroom is a controlled environment, with a set script and a seat for every student.  But life is not something we can control, and it cannot be scripted.  It comes with bad field conditions, and injuries, and adversaries who hope to stand in the way of our victory.  It comes with dropped passes, and interceptions, and blindside hits.  In the end, it is our ability to deal with these hardships that sets the stage for our victory.

 

I know that in some ways the final chapter of your football career has been a disappointment.  I know that you never envisioned spending your senior season on the sideline in a cast, but as I’ve watched you cheer on your teammates, and lift your younger brother up, I want you to know that I’m not disappointed.  It takes a far bigger man to celebrate other people having the success they hoped would be their own than it does to make tackles or to catch passes.  I can’t help but admire a man who can set aside his own disappointment and lift up the people around him.  From where I sit, that is the sort of man that you’re becoming.

 

Tonight, as your mother and I walk across the field with you, I will surely shed a few tears (because that’s how I am), but I won’t be sad.  I will be grateful for the years you’ve played, and the teammates and coaches you’ve played with, and the things you’ve learned, and the strength you’ve gained.  I will be thankful for the injuries that never happened, for the care you received for the ones that did; for all the wins, and even for some of the losses.  But most of all, I will be humbled by the privilege of being your dad, and for the man God made you to be.  I love you son, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. 

 

Love Always – Dadsenior-night-16

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Yesterday, as I combed the internet looking for contact information for my best friend from high school (Mike), I came across the obituary of his mother, Laura McAfee.  Apparently, she passed back in August, which shouldn’t have been surprising, as she was in her eighties.  Yet, I was somehow caught off guard, and a profound sense of loss swept over me as I looked at her picture.  My association with this remarkable woman dates back over 35 years, when her son became my closest friend.  It was a season in my life when I was floundering to find my identity, and this wonderful family turned out to be a God-send.  Though Mike and I didn’t necessarily make great decisions together, our friendship was as substantial and genuine as any I’ve ever experienced.  At a time when I desperately needed someone (other than my own family) to believe in me, he did; and so did his mom.  When I joined the military, it took our lives in different directions, but whenever I was trying to get in touch with Mike, I always knew to start with Mrs. M.  She and I had many wonderful conversations over the years, and I sensed an incredible depth to her being (i.e. intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually).  As a black woman, born in the south, during the 1930’s, I can only imagine the tales she could have shared; but this highly intelligent, highly educated woman never let our conversations be about her.  Instead, she was a fountain of warmth and wisdom to and for me.  I suppose that shouldn’t have been surprising either, as her life’s work had been that of a teacher.  Last night, as I sat at my computer, I found myself wishing that I had asked her more questions about her life, and had thanked her more profusely for her generosity toward me.  I can’t help but lament that the opportunity to do so is now lost.  Thankfully, I’m the sort of person who believes that there is another life that comes after this one, and I have every confidence that this beautiful soul has taken up residence in that place.  Her legacy lives on in the hearts and minds of her two amazing kids (Mike and Michelle), and in her grandchildren.  Her memory has haunted me today, and so I decided to pen this little tribute.  For me, it is not sports figures, celebrities, or heads of state that have ever been my heroes, it is people like Laura McAfee, whose amazing heart touches the people around them.  Rest in peace my dear friend.

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Clearly, I meant to post this yesterday.  But, as is so often the case, things got away from me.

 

Over the years I’ve written a few tributes to my father, but I don’t recall ever doing so for my mom.  I’m sure this has to do with the fact that my dad contracted a terminal illness (and passed away) at a relatively young age.  But honor shouldn’t be reserved for the dead, and kind words ought not be saved for eulogies.  So on the occasion of Mother’s Day, I thought it would be fitting to share a few thoughts about my mother.

 

My parents had four children, three stair step boys, and then, more than a decade removed, a daughter.  I was the bottom rung of the first wave, and easily my parents most challenging kid.  My oldest brother was one of those precocious children, who talked as though he was 35 years old by the time he was six.  Our middle brother was quiet, but did well in school, and excelled at every sport he ever played (My grandmother actually referred to him as her “Golden Boy”).  And then, I came along.  Blind as a bat, emotionally unstable, and full of imagination; I was literally walking into walls by the time I reached school age.  Between struggles in the classroom, skirmishes on the playground, and little brother meltdowns, I was a kid who required a lot of parenting.  And because of my father’s demanding Air Force career, the lion’s share of that fell to my mom.  I have no doubt that it was at times exasperating, and exhausting to deal with me.  Lord knows, that was the way it felt to be me.  But my mother was never one to shrink back from a challenge, and she wouldn’t let me do so either.  As much as I wanted to accept the rather overwhelming evidence that I was simply an inferior model, she was having none of it.  She made it her mission to ensure that all of her kids would be ready to face to the world, and little by little, I began to pull out of my tailspin.

 

Unfortunately, just about the time I grew strong enough to stand on my own two feet, I began to drift into things that my parents had strictly forbidden.  My weak sense of identity caused me to look for the place that I fit in, and resulted in me trying a little bit of everything.  In those years, I made many disappointing and hurtful choices, but my parents stuck with me.  My mom’s persistent belief, and her prayers of protection, were without a doubt a key to surviving that season.  Though I broke her heart many times, she refused to give up on me.

 

It took some years, but the seeds that were planted throughout my life finally took root, and things began to turn.  God finally convinced me that my mother had been right all along, and that I wasn’t some sort of defective piece of machinery.  In His grace, God allowed me to become a father, where I gained a new appreciation for the kind of love it takes to raise a kid like me.  As I look back, I can’t help but think that God gave me to a mother that He knew would be strong enough to fight the battles, and persistent enough to go the distance.  Indeed, my mother is an extraordinary person, whose love for me has made all the difference.  If not for her, I would not have become the man that I am today.

 

As I look back, I thank God for the love that she and my father shared, which showed us that marriage was meant to last a lifetime.  I thank God that she refused to raise boys who sit around in the underwear, watch cartoons and don’t know the first thing about taking care of themselves (or anyone else).  And I thank God that after years of dealing with my disarray, He rewarded my parents with their best kid, my sister.

 

Happy Mother’s Day mom!

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Given the requisite age of rock stars from the late 1960s, and early 1970s, it’s not really surprising that many of these pop culture icons are passing away.  This last week has seen two significant figures from the world of rock and roll step into the annals of music history.  First it was David Bowie, whose eclectic collection of musical styles, and personas, made him impossible to categorize.  If you’ve never listened to his music, here are ten cuts worth seeking out:

  1. Space Oddity (from the 1969 album, “Space Oddity”)
  2. Changes (from the 1971 album, “Hunky Dory”)
  3. Ziggy Stardust (from the 1972 album, “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars”)
  4. Suffragette City (from the 1972 album, “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars”)
  5. Rebel, Rebel (from the 1974 album, “Diamond Dogs”)
  6. Fame (from the 1975 album, “Young Americans”)
  7. Golden Years (from the 1976 album, “Station to Station”)
  8. Ashes to Ashes (from the 1980 album, “Scary Monsters”)
  9. Fashion (from the 1980 album, “Scary Monsters”)
  10. Under Pressure – w/Queen (released in 1981 as a single, and included on the 1982 Queen album, “Hot Spaces”)

In recent days, Glenn Frey, of the band “The Eagles”, also passed away.  After starting out as background singers for Linda Ronstadt, Frey and drummer Don Henley went on to form what became one of the most successful rock bands of all-time.  Though detractors have often criticized the groups soft-rock, country tinged sound, the music buying public devoured their records, and turned out in mass for their concerts.  If you’ve never listened to their music, here are ten cuts work seeking out:

  1. Peaceful Easy Feeling (from the 1972 album, “Eagles”)
  2. Desperado (from the 1973 album, “Desperado”)
  3. Bitter Creek (from the 1973 album, “Desperado”)
  4. Best of My Love (from the 1974 album, “On the Border”)
  5. One of These Nights (from the 1975 album, “One of These Nights”)
  6. Lyin’ Eyes (from the 1975 album, “One of These Nights”)
  7. Hotel California (from the 1976 album, “Hotel California”)
  8. Life in the Fast Lane (from the 1976 album, “Hotel California”)
  9. Wasted Time (from the 1976 album, “Hotel California”)
  10. Seven Bridges Road (from the 1980 album “Eagles Live”)

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