We attended a burial service this weekend for Karl’s Uncle Ted. Family (most of whom I’d never met before since Ted, like me, married into this family) converged on the lone prairie from all over the country on Saturday. It was a day with tears, many chuckles, a few outright laughs, and a beautiful time to remember and be thankful for a life well lived. Ted was married to my husband’s Aunt Gwen and was a most remarkable man. He was brilliant and outgoing and joyful to be around. He was an accomplished vocal musician (a fact I did not know until this weekend and now I’m looking forward to hearing him sing when we all get together again up there!), widely read, and able to discuss literally anything intelligently. He built boats, restored old vehicles, and never tired of being curious. Earlier in his life, he earned his Ph.D. and worked as a physicist to create laser guidance systems. In the late seventies, tragedy struck his family. Gwen and Ted had two daughters. The younger, at age fifteen, passed away. In the ensuing months, reeling in pain from their loss, the couple reevaluated their lives. After prayer and leading, they gave up their lucrative and important jobs and became missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators. Their new life took them to Africa and around the world.
It wasn’t celebrating Ted’s accomplishments as a physicist or a missionary that made the day precious for me. I did love the fact that so many family members came from so many places to be together and cherish their memories of the man. But that wasn’t it, either. What was most impressive and beautiful was the clear power of Ted and Gwen’s legacy of simply living what they believed. Maybe the most profound example of their influence can be illustrated by telling you one small event from the weekend.
The youngest grandchild present over the weekend was nearly-three-year-old Owen. He’d been a trooper. He’d survived a ton of new faces, an airplane ride, a new bed to sleep in, a total change of routine. He’d put up with the chilling, cold prairie wind as the older folks enjoyed being outside at the ranch. He’d even done pretty well Saturday evening when we all lingered at the ranch after dark (with plummeting temperatures) in order to glimpse the milky way.
Dinner was late because of the sky watchers, but when the family convened back at the rental house and dinner was finally ready, someone called out, “Who is going to pray before we eat?”
An innocent and absolutely confident voice, Owen’s voice, answered. “Me!” Then, without hesitation or further prompting, Owen began to sing a rendition of grace set to the tune of “Frere Jacques”. Simple. Thankful. Fearless. Perfect. I can imagine Gwen and Ted, newly reunited and possibly holding hands, pausing for a moment in their exploration and wonder of the heavenly home they’ve been given to listen.
