Final Tribute

As many of you know, I had the opportunity to speak at my father's funeral last week. Today was a little tough, being Father's Day. So I am sharing the eulogy I wrote for him. I only wish I could have known him better to paint a better picture.


My Dad had a big heart. He always had a certain something about him that drew people to him. He wasn’t a rich man, unless you consider friends as currency. I can’t remember an instance of going into town with my Dad and not running into someone who knew him and not just casually. He had a way of making everyone he came in contact with feel they were the most important person in the world. A lot of salespeople would kill for that gift. But the funny thing is Dad was sincere. He genuinely loved to be around people. Some folks have read the book, “How to Win Friends and Influence People”: Not daddy. I think that book could have been written about him, though.

I can speculate about Dad’s connections with others out in the world, and after some of the conversations with you last night-- I have confirmation that he loved well, and was well loved. That is a comfort to my heart. But today, I really want to talk to you from a unique perspective. That of his daughter. You may not have ever had the opportunity to see this tender side of him.

Daddy was 29 when I was born. I hear that I was doted on. . .a tow-headed, brown-eyed girl. Such a little thing. . To have such a big fella wrapped so securely around that itty bitty finger. Jason joined me almost 3 years later. And Jessica completed the family 10 years after that.

One of the strongest images in my mind of my dad is his hands. They were usually calloused from hard work, but they were HUGE! I would place my hand in his to compare the size and I was always dwarfed.

Before I would fall asleep @ night. . Daddy would “pop” my toes to the “this little piggy” nursery rhyme. Its funny to think about the sheer size of his fingers compared to my baby toes. He had the power to pull ‘em off @ the joint . . . but with his gentle touch, no harm was ever done.

The only spanking I can ever remember from my Dad was a well deserved one. Most kids will never confess the need for discipline, but let me explain.
For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to try my hand at barbequing. I gathered some twigs and built my little secret grill behind the woodpile –just out of sight of grandma hanging out the laundry. I got an apple, put it on a stick and proceeded to roast it over my fire. Everything was going just fine when I felt a hand on my shoulder. . and in a flash Grandma was stomping out my creation. . .and whooping’ my bottom. Not long after that, Daddy got home. . the story was repeated. . and so was my whooping. I don’t remember the spanking as so much as that Daddy was crying. I found out much later that he was afraid he had hurt me . . . his big size. .. .and that he punished me because of what could have happened.

I forgot to mention that my fire was built not just behind the woodpile. . . .but beside the 500 gallon butane tank. The fact that there is NOT a 50 foot crater at my grandmother’s house--You can be thankful I am not a good sneak. Or a good fire starter, I’ll leave that to my brother.

At around the same time, Daddy taught me how to ride a bike. I was afraid of falling over into the gravel road, but the faith I had in his big hands catching me was greater than my fear.

Thru the years the greeting I got from Daddy was always a hug and a kiss. But when I graduated college. He extended those big hands and shook mine. I felt as if I had done something grown up, something for him to be truly proud of me for.

But as I’ve grown older, I realized I’ve never had to DO anything to make him proud of me. Just by the virtue of being his daughter makes me good enough. . Someone he was proud of. And that is the way Daddy was.

You didn’t have to be important for him to treat you well. He was a guy who befriended those who had no friends. He always rooted for the underdog. Daddy took the verse, from Matthew 22. . . to love your neighbor as yourself very seriously. Dad was not one to wear religion on his sleeve. I don’t remember seeing him carry around a Christian flag. . waving it around for everyone to see. But the way he lived his life showed Christ’s love. And I think that witnessed more to people than most Bible-toting evangelists.
Even as sick as Daddy became.. and even after the 100 lbs he has lost. . . .his hands have not changed one bit.. I held his hands last night. . and they were the same. . .Today I find myself releasing my Dad into my Heavenly Father’s hands.

Don’t weep for my dad. He lived a short life, but it was more full than most. He would be embarrassed by this show of emotion; but he would have loved to be in the midst of all of you, greeting you, sharing a story or a cup of coffee.
Lets celebrate his legacy of friendship. Lets remember to love one another. That is how I plan to keep my dad alive in my heart.

Darlene, I want to honor you specifically in this assembly. Thank you for helping my Dad to be a better man. You are the best thing that ever happened to him. I am grateful to you for completing him and being his soul-mate. You may not be my mother, but I am grateful you were his wife. For the past nine months, you stood by him, ministering to him, and showing him compassion. I can only hope that I have that kind of love in my heart.