The Lord Gives. The Lord Takes Away. Blessed be the Lord.

Sometimes, the best thing Gayle and I can do is lead you to something outside of us. Today, I do so twice. The first is a YouTube video done by my friend Matt Mooney. Matt was one of my closer friends at Kanakuk. He's the kind of guy that invests so much of himself in the moment that, once you're outside of his presence, he moves on to something else. And that's not a criticism. So, while I have not talked to Matt in several years now, the Matt whose voice and face is on this video is the same as the Matt I knew. If you have .1 of a billable lawyer entry to spare, WATCH THIS VIDEO. (I learned from friend Ted that this video is extraordinarily popular, and Matt and his wife appeared on Oprah (twice) to tell their story).

The second is a picture of Grandpa Spud's grandkids as they celebrated his life and mourned his death together in Erie, Pennsylvania. We're all wearing one of Grandpa's old hats the night of his funeral in honor and celebreation of him. I have many emotions about that funeral, but am going to leave it to my great writer and great Uncle Gary to sum it up for me. Uncle Gary wrote this, in 300 words or less, for a submission to a contest. Before I paste his words, I'll first highlight the most memorable part of Spud's funeral service for me. The preacher told us that, after Spud's first wife Ruth had died, Spud called him in tears and said: "The Lord Gaveth. The Lord tooketh away. Blessed be the Lord." Amen. And now here's Unlce Gary's posting (in red) and the video:

None of us chose this moment to gather, yet here we are, sad, glad, sober but smiling, many, yet one. We would have preferred a park or resort for a reunion, I suppose, but our shared love and grief make the location irrelevant. All that matters is that Spud has called this family gathering by his last act: his dying.

The missionary, husband, father of six, grandfather of twenty-one, and great-grandfather of eleven, has been such a part of our lives we hardly know how to act now that he’s gone. Even latecomer in-laws like me, married by him to his youngest twenty-seven years before, feel disoriented by his absence.

We all attend the various funeral events, but the life Spud lived is what really unites us. Sharing memories, laughing and crying, and working our way through mountains of food from friends and neighbors, gives us something to do. The powerful reality of who Spud was is the invisible, precious inheritance that makes us who we are.

I’m listening to us around a campfire, hearing many separate conversations, blending into voices now raised as one in song. I’m seeing all of us around tables in the church hall, recounting Spud’s rich life, singing his songs, laughing at his jokes, recounting his foibles and triumphs. I’m caught up in the ebb and flow of family into and out of his daughter’s house, a tidal wave of our common love and heritage.

And, I’m smiling to see grandpa’s many hats on the heads of his many laughing grandchildren: all different, all unique, yet, crowned by their grandfather with something marking them as related, each one celebrating their happy unity.