“There is no indispensable man.”

“It’s better than a sharp stick in the eye.”

“God of my Fathers, I acknowledge and glorify you.” Daniel 2

Memorial Day will always be associated with My Dad, the best man I’ve ever known.  He was part of what Tom Brokaw called “The Greatest Generation.”  He fought in WWII, but in my opinion that’s not what made him truly great.  He was a faithful husband and father.  He defined success not as what he could accomplish or accumulate, though he did become quite successful, but rather what he could provide and pass on to his children.  He provided well, instilling in us the importance of God, country, faith and family.

Dad taught me a lot about life, religion, spirituality, faith, authenticity, humility, and so much more! Admittedly it has take me a lifetime to learn and appreciate his lessons.

Dad’s “Life Lab” was found outdoors, usually hunting, cutting wood, or doing chores.   It was living things that provided us life.  There was a deep appreciation for nature.  Dad was most at home there. 

Religion was not a priority for dad, though he went to church.  I remember as a little boy him doling out Lifesavers during VERY long sermons to keep me still.  His favorite activity at church was the Easter Breakfast, which he organized and managed every year.  The picture is of him making batter for buttermilk pancakes made with real starter from the cheese factory.  But honestly, I don’t think he had much use for church or religion, as he recognized the inherent hypocrisy of religiosity.  Instead, he connected with God outside of church.  Literally outside.  He was deeply spiritual.  I realize in retrospect that though hunting put food on the table, and cutting wood warmed our home during cold Wisconsin winters, both of these provided him with opportunities to commune with the God that he encountered, and dare I say embraced, in nature.  Creation was his cathedral, the cacophony of the birds was his choir, and the silence of the woods was his sanctuary, where he heard God speak so clearly.

Dad’s faith was simple and genuine and authentic.  Like him.  He wasn’t pretentious.  Definitely not one for putting on airs or trying to impress others.  Dad was himself, and he valued that in others.

Dad died too young at the age of 62 of an aortic aneurism.  It was sudden, so I didn’t see him before he died.  The last time I was with him was in Del Rio, TX, where he had helped us move to start vicarage.  The last thing he did was tell me goodbye and put a $20 bill in my hand.  Had I known . . .

I carry dad with me.  Every day I am reminded of him in some small way.  And Memorial Day I’m reminded of him in a very BIG way.  It’s why I try and go to a cemetery to attend a service, to honor his legacy.  And what a legacy he left!  That, I believe, is the best inheritance we can give to our families—a legacy of what it means to be truly human. 

I leave you with this saying that was one of his favorites.  He carried it printed out  on his personal business cards. 

The Indispensable Man

Sometime when you’re feeling important,

Sometime when your ego’s in bloom,

Sometime when you take it for granted,

You’re the best qualified in the room.

Sometime when you feel that your going

Would leave an unfillable hole,

Just follow this simple instruction

And see how it humbles your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,

Put your hand in it, up to the wrist,

Pull it out, and the hole that’s remaining

Is the measure of how you’ll be missed.

You may splash all you please when you enter,

You can stir up the water galore,

But stop, and you’ll find in a minute,

That it looks quite the same as before.

The moral in this quaint example

Is to do the best that you can.

Be proud of yourself, but remember—

There is NO indispensable man!