Celebration of Life - Some Things Just Go Without Saying

Celebration of Life 
Some things just go without saying
By Deb Moken

I don’t recall ever hearing my Dad say the words, “I love you.”   Some things just go without saying.  But there comes a time when it seems necessary to put words to the unspoken laws of one’s world - and that, in part, is what today is about.  

Every person here will have a different perspective, different relationship, and possibly a completely contrary take on my Dad - and that’s ok - but this is from the eyes of his daughter, and one that was solidified long before dementia’s talons had taken hold.

While pondering this day, a verse in Corinthians floated to the forefront of my mind.  The one in chapter 8 that says: love builds up.  Well, for goodness sakes, I realized that’s the kind of love I grew up experiencing from my Dad!  He had built with the tools of love!  And when I jumped over to chapter 13 - the famous love-is chapter - more popular at weddings than funerals - with that idea in mind, and it became easy to see how I could articulate the unspoken.

My dad showed me love by building me up.  When I read that love is patient, I was reminded of the wedding we’d gone to, arriving after it had started because being on time for events scheduled during milking time… well you know, can’t happen.  

We got there near the end of the ceremony and found seats in the back row of the overflow area. While waiting;  Dad, patiently and me not so much ‘cuz I was pretty sure the cream-cheese mints were going to be gone before we’d get the go-ahead-it’s-your-turn usher’s nod - Dad just shot me his lopsided grin, shrugged a shoulder and said, “Somebody has to be last.”   AND HE WAS OKAY WITH IT! That look and those 5 words taught me, in that moment, life’s not about jockeying for position, or that being last means you loose.  Being last affords a view, a perspective that constitutes a win from a different kind of game.  

Love is kind.  The healthiest environment for growth is one that encourages wonder and discovery.  One of the quickest ways to stop a person from becoming all that their Creator intended, is to demean, belittle, ridicule, and diminish the value of faltering first steps and failed attempts. To do so would be cruel, unkind, and very short-sighted. I don’t ever recall hearing dad speak disparagingly to me. Ever.  Cruelty and fault-finding had no place in what he was working to build.

Love does not boast and is not prideful.  Dad did have an intolerance for braggarts and self exalters. If something was going to stand, it was to do so on its own merit, not propped up by hot air.  He preferred proof by actions and elbow grease.   But, when any of us kids managed a purple ribbon in 4-H, we were rewarded with a family road-trip to the state fair in Huron, an understood consequence for an accomplishment well done.

A love that builds does not dishonor others, is not self-seeking, and keeps no record of wrongs.  This requires confidence.  A knowing who you are, what your life is about.  A farmer’s life is a calling.  Like any other calling from God, it has enormous value and purpose, though often unrecognized, and under-appreciated.  But a person, confident in their worth, knows their calling isn’t validated by popular vote. It’s not built by tearing  others down, self-seeking, or tipping the scales that say I’m better than you.  Dad didn’t validate his life with comparisons.

 Not easily angered - when talking about my Dad, this tool deserves a paragraph all its own.  As a counselor, I learned that anger is often a secondary emotion, one that we unconsciously adopt to protect the more vulnerable, less understood ones.  Before things started to unravel in his world, I don’t think I could have filled a single hand with accounts of seeing outbursts of anger especially ones directed at other human beings.  Stubborn, kicking cows, that’s another issue.  

 A builder in love always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres.   As a man who took his role seriously, I believe the charge to protect was one of the final issues we dealt with.  And as we held hands, those final hours, I told him how much I appreciated him and all he had been to me, that he had honored his call, and performed well his duties as my protector, and that I had asked The Lord to step into that role,  when he was no longer with us on this side of Heaven.  I said, Dad, I release you, from the responsibility of being my protector, and  he instantly let go of my hand.  30 hours later, he was safely in the hands of The Lord.  

 His practical, craftsmanship has been something I’ve not yet mastered, but intend to practice till the day we’re together again.    

 Having you as my Dad made it easy to trust in a Heavenly Father.  In my eyes, you represented Him very well.  Thank you.