That's all.
I just wanted to say that.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
In loving memory
I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad today. You see, it was ten years ago today that he was killed in a car accident. At the time, I was living in Wisconsin with my brother and his family. Within hours of receiving the news, my brother and I were on a plane headed to Utah. I remember sitting in the Minneapolis airport during a layover, watching all the people rushing about and thinking to myself, “Don’t they know? Don’t they realize that the world was forever changed today?”
In the days that followed that tragic event I learned a great deal about hope, faith and goodness as our family and countless others came together to honor the amazing man that my father was—and is. The bitterness of losing him was made so much sweeter by the legacy of love and faith that he left us. His life was shorter than we all would have liked it to be, but he had no unfinished business. He never hesitated to tell us that he loved us. He enjoyed life and happily served everyone he knew. He taught us the truths that made his passing a celebration. We were sad, but not devastated. We miss him, but it doesn’t make us miserable.
My father was one of the most remarkable people I have ever known. I am who I am because of the lessons his life taught me.
My dad was his own man. He marched to his own drum and never seemed to care what other people thought of him. (He did, however, realize that I did care what other people thought so he took great delight in embarrassing me in public. Once as we sat in a movie theater waiting for the feature to start, he suddenly let out a long and loud Tarzan yell—just for fun. I whispered an exasperated “Dad, please!” to which he responded, “Who cares? You don’t know any of these people!")
My dad didn’t care about stuff. Even as a successful university professor he drove an old run-down work truck with a mismatched door and beat up interior. And he honestly didn’t care. He was known to use duct tape to repair everything, including his pants and found clever ways to reuse household items. He understood that money was merely a means by which to bless the lives of others and he was always generous.
My dad’s life was centered in service. Throughout most of my childhood my father was in fairly influential leadership positions in the church. I grew up understanding the importance of magnifying callings and giving of your time and talents. But it didn’t take a calling for him to help people in need. He lovingly looked after his aging mother, coached my brothers’ basketball teams, went the extra mile to help his students succeed and was always available when his children needed him. That’s just who he was.
My father understood the value of work and working together as a family. He was always busy. In addition to his career as a professor, he was a part-time beekeeper; apartment owner, plus we planted a giant garden every year. And he did all of that for us—his children, so that we would have the opportunities to learn t work and to spend time together. He often said, “I’m not just raising bees, I’m raising boys.”
My father’s greatest joy was his family. We knew he loved us, he told us and showed us often. Despite his many responsibilities in life—we always knew we were his greatest priority. He took advantage of little moments to give each of us kids individual attention. He would often take one of us along on errands or trips so that we could get some one on one time. I remember once when I was about twelve he let me skip a day of school and go with him to a meeting in a city about two hours away so we could spend the day together. He took me to lunch at a “real” restaurant and asked about school and my friends and he listened to me. I’m sure if you asked any of my ten brothers and sisters they could each tell you a similar story.
Some days I miss my dad terribly. I’m sad that my children don’t know what his laugh sounds like or that my husband never got to really know him. But more than anything, I’m grateful. Grateful for the example he was. Grateful that he is still ours in the eternities. And grateful for the inspirational and inspired life that he lived.
In the days that followed that tragic event I learned a great deal about hope, faith and goodness as our family and countless others came together to honor the amazing man that my father was—and is. The bitterness of losing him was made so much sweeter by the legacy of love and faith that he left us. His life was shorter than we all would have liked it to be, but he had no unfinished business. He never hesitated to tell us that he loved us. He enjoyed life and happily served everyone he knew. He taught us the truths that made his passing a celebration. We were sad, but not devastated. We miss him, but it doesn’t make us miserable.
My father was one of the most remarkable people I have ever known. I am who I am because of the lessons his life taught me.
My dad was his own man. He marched to his own drum and never seemed to care what other people thought of him. (He did, however, realize that I did care what other people thought so he took great delight in embarrassing me in public. Once as we sat in a movie theater waiting for the feature to start, he suddenly let out a long and loud Tarzan yell—just for fun. I whispered an exasperated “Dad, please!” to which he responded, “Who cares? You don’t know any of these people!")
My dad didn’t care about stuff. Even as a successful university professor he drove an old run-down work truck with a mismatched door and beat up interior. And he honestly didn’t care. He was known to use duct tape to repair everything, including his pants and found clever ways to reuse household items. He understood that money was merely a means by which to bless the lives of others and he was always generous.
My dad’s life was centered in service. Throughout most of my childhood my father was in fairly influential leadership positions in the church. I grew up understanding the importance of magnifying callings and giving of your time and talents. But it didn’t take a calling for him to help people in need. He lovingly looked after his aging mother, coached my brothers’ basketball teams, went the extra mile to help his students succeed and was always available when his children needed him. That’s just who he was.
My father understood the value of work and working together as a family. He was always busy. In addition to his career as a professor, he was a part-time beekeeper; apartment owner, plus we planted a giant garden every year. And he did all of that for us—his children, so that we would have the opportunities to learn t work and to spend time together. He often said, “I’m not just raising bees, I’m raising boys.”
My father’s greatest joy was his family. We knew he loved us, he told us and showed us often. Despite his many responsibilities in life—we always knew we were his greatest priority. He took advantage of little moments to give each of us kids individual attention. He would often take one of us along on errands or trips so that we could get some one on one time. I remember once when I was about twelve he let me skip a day of school and go with him to a meeting in a city about two hours away so we could spend the day together. He took me to lunch at a “real” restaurant and asked about school and my friends and he listened to me. I’m sure if you asked any of my ten brothers and sisters they could each tell you a similar story.
Some days I miss my dad terribly. I’m sad that my children don’t know what his laugh sounds like or that my husband never got to really know him. But more than anything, I’m grateful. Grateful for the example he was. Grateful that he is still ours in the eternities. And grateful for the inspirational and inspired life that he lived.
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