"A Big Heart," a Short Narrative Biography of a Man I Never Really Knew

In the previous post, I mentioned that my Uncle Danny died. I find it unfortunate to me that I was never afforded the opportunity to get to know the man well. All I remember are the childhood memories of hunting for arrowheads in the Texas Hill Country or playing baseball in the yard or always going to my cousins' house that never really seemed to be quite finished with missing doors and drywall. I remember a gruff carpenter with a lip full of snuff, often exiled in his workshop. Yes, a carpenter, and a good one at that. But I never actually knew the man. I can only regret that I was just a kid at the time. I haven't seen my uncle in over fifteen years and my only hope is that I will see him again someday in a place that has eased his pain and given him great peaceful rejoicing in its stead.

Through the eyes of an onlooker whose desire it was to know the man even just a little, the service yesterday was moving and inspirational, a true memorial and celebration of the life of a man with a "big heart," as friends closest to him would repeatedly describe. Even though I am unable to speak of the man from personal experience, it was good to hear others. His youngest son, my cousin Joe, described to the crowd of mishmashed souls on varied journeys in life, that his father was a man that deeply cared for people, his family in particular. My mother then rose to the podium to describe a few things that only Danny would do in his own unique way before reading a letter from another uncle of mine who wasn't able to be there. My Uncle Kevin described Danny's friendship as an everlasting bond that would always beckon his visit when traveling south to Texas. Then ensued a flood of tears from friends who will miss this man who had such a big heart despite his own personal demons about which he would tell others "you can't understand." "He always had a smile and a hug for me," a friend would say. Another chimed in, "We would just sit and talk for hours and he would tell me how proud of his kids he was, while asking me about mine." The pastor himself, who had known Danny for more than a decade, told a story about one rainy morning in which a van full of free lunches were to be handed out down the street. Danny ran up to grab a lunch for himself and a blanket not for himself but for another lady who was getting likewise soaked in the downpour. This was typical with Danny, always sharing of himself and his time so that others would feel loved. The stories continued for a while longer, from more friends for whom Danny was one of the few friends they could really talk to, to family members who had unique memories of Danny from previous years, to more recent memories from family members, to other friends who only had tears to offer in the place of words. The man will be well missed. From these stories, I am thankful that I can miss him well also.

In addition to the vastness of his heart and his willingness to show love to so many people, I found, in the stories told, that a very real sense of humility was a big part of this man's life. The life that he lived, the demons that he fought and the lifestyle that he lived, were very real humbling experiences that seemed to transform Danny into someone who truly appreciated the beautiful things that he did have, for their own sake. "A gift," he once said, "are the hands that God gave me to make beautiful things." In the likeness of the greatest man who ever walked the earth, Danny carved masterpieces from wood and stone. Arrowheads, moldings in Louisiana plantation mansions, simple boxes for baseball card collections, houses that would soon become homes, and any number of other carvings became the expression of an inward beauty that few who really knew him could ignore. When asked how he was doing, Danny would often reflect, "Progress but not perfection," while clinging to a mustard seed-sized faith in God that he had hoped would ease his heart along the journey. He seemed to always have this sort of tension in his life: a battle not against flesh and blood...

The debate between belief and unbelief is by no means a debate between himself who believes and another who disbelieves. It is also in large part a debate within himself, who both believes and disbelieves, and who must ever continue to pray humbly, 'Lord, I believe; help me in my unbelief.'"
-John Baillie

To put it differently in the context of the grace of God that enables a humble faith like this, consider the following four line poem by Pastor John Piper:

"Not grace to bar what is not bliss,
Nor flight from all distress, but this:
The grace that orders our trouble and pain,
And then, in the darkness, is there to sustain."

This may very well be the essence of a life like Danny's. Although there was no shortage of distress and trouble, yet through the evidence of his open and loving heart, it is perhaps God's enduring grace that sustained him throughout, even until the end.

Through the hearing of all of these stories from friends and family, a piecewise biography of this man has served him well, for although his existence could have disappeared into an obscure dark place in this harsh world, it certainly did not. It cannot. Instead, the heartfelt outpourings of fondness and affection for this man enlivened and celebrated his existence for all who cared about him to see. It is all the more clear to me how the psalmist felt when he wrote, "Those who sow in tears will reap a harvest of joy."

For Daniel Jandle:
May you rest in true peace, our friend, absent from all anguish and pain and sorrow. A life celebrated is a life well lived. May your progress now bear the fruit of perfection.

Leia Mais…

There is a Love that Never Forsakes

A couple of days ago, my uncle died. He had been around a while, but I haven't seen him since I can remember. He and my aunt have been divorced for about fifteen years I guess, but she's always loved him. Through all of the alcoholism and drugs, abandonment and prison time, she never gave up on him. Never. Quite often, my aunt would invite him over and many times let him sleep under the roof of her home because he didn't have anywhere else to go. Despite the divorce long ago, she's very distraught with his departure because, as she told my mom, "You know, we've always been connected." To me, that's something truly peculiar, perfectly divine. I can appreciate something like that: a thing that can endure any number of hardships and difficulties, yet remain intact and transcendent throughout.

A while back, I posted my thoughts of love being like a chisel. I wonder, especially in this context, if love might also be like a furnace. In the same way that gold is melted down by the fire in order to be purified, perhaps lasting love can do the same. It's for the same purpose that a chisel shapes the heart, yet the fire doesn't just chip off the rough edges, it removes everything that is impure. That "connection" isn't just some cosmic fate intervening in the lives of two people. That is the expression of our hearts that God has designed, the manifestation of love.

In so many weddings, I think 1 Corinthians 13 is often overused and sometimes trivialized. If you're unfamiliar, it's the quintessential passage in the Bible that depicts the type of love that God desires for us to both give and receive. Along with a list of attributes, the passage describes the importance of love, that it is the greatest thing that people can express to each other. At one point, Paul says that "love never ends." I'm sure my aunt can attest to that.

During the very last moments of Jesus' life on the cross, he uttered some words that may seem impossible to believe: "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" that is, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (see Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34). How could the Father forsake the Son? Aren't they essentially one in the same, both God? It would seem an impossibility, a mystery of mysteries. Yet, if we realize that Jesus is actually referring to Psalm 22, our mystery may become less of one, and we may learn a little about this "connection" that bound my aunt and uncle together, despite so many things that insisted on breaking them apart.

Psalm 22
1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?
2 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer,
and by night, but I find no rest.

3 Yet you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
4 In you our fathers trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
5 To you they cried and were rescued;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.

6 But I am a worm and not a man,
scorned by mankind and despised by the people.
7 All who see me mock me;
they make mouths at me; they wag their heads;
8 “He trusts in the Lord; let him deliver him;
let him rescue him, for he delights in him!”

9 Yet you are he who took me from the womb;
you made me trust you at my mother's breasts.
10 On you was I cast from my birth,
and from my mother's womb you have been my God.
11 Be not far from me,
for trouble is near,
and there is none to help.

12 Many bulls encompass me;
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
13 they open wide their mouths at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion.

14 I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
15 my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.

16 For dogs encompass me;
a company of evildoers encircles me;
they have pierced my hands and feet—
17 I can count all my bones—
they stare and gloat over me;
18 they divide my garments among them,
and for my clothing they cast lots.

19 But you, O Lord, do not be far off!
O you my help, come quickly to my aid!
20 Deliver my soul from the sword,
my precious life from the power of the dog!
21 Save me from the mouth of the lion!
You have rescued me from the horns of the wild oxen!

22 I will tell of your name to my brothers;
in the midst of the congregation I will praise you:
23 You who fear the Lord, praise him!
All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him,
and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!
24 For he has not despised or abhorred
the affliction of the afflicted,
and he has not hidden his face from him,
but has heard, when he cried to him.

25 From you comes my praise in the great congregation;
my vows I will perform before those who fear him.
26 The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied;
those who seek him shall praise the Lord!
May your hearts live forever!

27 All the ends of the earth shall remember
and turn to the Lord,
and all the families of the nations
shall worship before you.
28 For kingship belongs to the Lord,
and he rules over the nations.

29 All the prosperous of the earth eat and worship;
before him shall bow all who go down to the dust,
even the one who could not keep himself alive.
30 Posterity shall serve him;
it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation;
31 they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn,
that he has done it.

What an interesting passage! David, an ancestor of Jesus, experienced a similar, albeit much less, type of hopelessness as Jesus experienced on the cross. This is the very reason Jesus quotes it with his last few breaths. As we read this section of Scripture, it alternates from complete desperation to God's transcendent love that rescued his people, back to utter hopelessness and self-loathing, and then back again to God's patience in deliverance. We see this several times, finally ending in an abode of faith and hope. Yet as Paul described in 1 Corinthians 13, the greatest of these is love. Verse 24 in Psalm 22 says, "For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him." Although strained at moments, they were connected.

I thank God for my aunt and uncle. I am sad to see that they are torn and that he is gone after such a difficult journey of life, but I praise God for their picture of a love that doesn't forsake.

"So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

Leia Mais…