Victory in Jesus

Saying goodbye is a process. I have friends who are still mourning loved ones a year, three years, even longer after they've passed away. A new friend in church, a decade younger than me, but a mama of five, lost her dad eight days before I lost mine. We bump into each other and compare notes, shorter than any other conversation, because words aren't needed when the same story is in our eyes.

It worked out well that Buck's mom rented a car. We were able to load the boys (puppy included) and luggage in one car, girls and music in the other. Buck split for my sister's house, we ladies made our way to the church.

When we walked in, my brother was on stage working through his message. We spotted dad's youth pastor, Jose, in the auditorium and exchanged greetings and hugs. I looked at my brother, who looked pretty comfortable up there behind the pulpit. Jose shook his head saying, "And he says he's not a preacher." He sure looked and sounded like a preacher that day :)

Our girls did their soundcheck, got all their mics and monitors worked out, and then we wondered what to do next. Because a box of all the things that were supposed to go on dad's memorial table were already there, the girls, my brother, and I just started setting up. We brought Buck's art easel for the giant picture my brother printed out. We set out a Hebrew prayer cloth (hopefully the right way up), dad's stoles for preaching and weddings, his Bible, his AA handbook, and eventually a pair of sailboats and a cross-stich I made him that said "Preach the truth no matter what." My mom loved the *beauty in a burlap sack* flower arrangement from Buck's aunts and cousins. We didn't realize they had sent it, but it fit the earthy, simple story that dad's memory tells. I think the urn mom picked out is perfect, sandstone depicting the poem Footprints in the Sand.

By the time the funeral coordinator for the church arrived, we'd already hauled in the abundance of beautiful flowers. We'd set up the entryway with dad's service program (my brother did a BEAUTIFUL job printing these), flowers, and guest books. I think the funeral lady was a bit flustered, "We don't usually have the family set up," she said confusedly :) In the end, she didn't even charge our family for use of the church, since I guess we did most of her and her helpers' job.

But, that's how our family rolls. We see a need, we meet a need, we have a strong opinion about how that need should be met ;)

After the church's pastor introduced our family and prayed, Buck's time came to deliver the eulogy. He struggled at the really emotional points, but he gave such a heartfelt and loving remembrance of my dad. Tears and laughter, just the right mixture on such a sad, but joyful day. Here is the text of his eulogy (I edited out some of the personal details) . . .

In Job 14:5, the Bible says, “Since his days are determined, the number of his months is with You [God]; and his limits You have set, so that he cannot pass.” In His great wisdom and kindness, God chose July of 1950 to start the days of Barry’s life. His life served a purpose for a very specific season carefully planned by God.

Barry grew up in farm country. He graduated from a small town high school in 1968. Several years later, he completed his college degree. He married Sharon less than a decade later, and they began their family. Later in life, God called Barry into full time ministry and he received his Master of Divinity from D Theological Seminary. These details and more are in your program. They give an outline of the life Barry lived, but they cannot possibly describe the person Barry was.

As a child, he was . . . rambunctious. There’s the story of Barry using his brand new bb gun to shoot his mother in the keister as she leaned over to do some garden work. That story always gets the grandkids giggling. If Huck Finn had moved into the neighborhood, he and Barry would have been best friends.

As a young man, he was . . . adventurous. His high school friends and fraternity brothers could tell you stories of their antics, like the time they all convinced a friend he was sick just by taking turns telling him he didn’t look well. The unfortunate buddy actually went to a doctor to be checked out! (Barry wasn’t always proud of these stories).

As a father, he was . . . always finding ways to make childhood more fun, and maybe a *smidge* more dangerous. In the winter, he’d take the kids ice skating . . . sometimes with actual skates and sometimes spinning them across a frozen lake in his blue pick-up “ThunDAR the Wonder Truck.” In the spring, Barry brought home a steady stream of pets for his kids, like a basset hound, bunnies, goats, and even a baby sheep or two. In summer, Barry could picture himself piloting a gondola in Venice as he puttered down the river in his metal canoe—with outboard motor. In the fall, rides on a 40 foot rope swing, rigged in a tree brought small passengers gasps of terror and delight. The way the cousins tell it, that ride swung way too far over the cliff above the old railroad track (and sometimes into the tree itself). In every season, Barry taught his kids to love Jesus, God’s Word, and naps.

As a community member, he was . . . interested. He spent hours listening to farmers talk, shooting the breeze in his little coffee shop/gas station/restaurant/bait shop—The Trading Post. He enjoyed people and their anecdotes, and he loved collecting and redistributing stories!

There are so many more examples I could give, and you could probably add dozens yourselves, but that was all before I knew Barry. To me, Barry was more than my father-in-law. He was a real example of God’s love, and the best person I can think of to show me how to love my own kids.

I met Barry in Southern California in 1999. I was interested in his daughter, now my wife, but I didn’t know it yet. The first things that stood out to me were his big, bushy mustache and very strong hands; you don’t forget a handshake like Barry’s. He seemed more “biker” than “pastor.” In fact, when it came time to ask for permission to marry Jess, he said ominously, “Yes, but if you hurt her . . . I know people.” As I got to know him, I saw how much he loved his children and how much he cared about the people who were in his life.

So, as my father-in-law, he was . . . accepting. I didn’t meet him until I was 23 years old, but he became my dad. To me that means someone who prays for, cares for, hurts for me like I was his own child. Barry walked Jess down the aisle, then he switched from his dad clothes to his pastor clothes and pronounced us husband and wife (in fact, Barry wed several couples in our family; it’s nice having a pastor “on call” J) When the unique opportunity to travel to my family’s cabin in the mountains of Colorado presented itself, Barry could hardly get there fast enough. No electricity? Yes! No running water? I’ll get a pail! Bears and mountain lion cub cries? Okay kids, back to the cabin! Barry’s double taste of mountain man life, trout fishing in a beaver pond, chasing horses through the meadow, eating big meals (with plenty of salt) cooked on a woodstove—fed into his love of adventure.

Hunting. Hunting is another way we connected. Getting up early, heading to the blind with CJ and our kids, harvesting a deer or two and bringing them back for the family Huntsgivingmas, always seemed more epic when Barry retold the story. He had a way of finding excitement and catching everyone up in it with him. I am so glad that Barry shared his generations old shooting tips with us; that is the kind of memory I want locked in for a lifetime. God knew someday a former knucklehead like me would meet a former knucklehead like Barry, so He built ready-made connections like hunting, fishing, the mountains, the ocean, and the celebration of good food into our backgrounds. I’m so thankful Barry accepted me, a guy who mostly grew up outside of the church, because he recognized and firmly believed that in Christ our Father is the same. It is quite a family tree, and that reminds me . . .

As a grandpa “Papa” Barry, he was . . . entertaining. Sure, a swing set with a slide is fun. But a swing set with a garden hose running down the slide into a pool of water is even MORE fun. Mule driving school sessions often commenced with drivers FAR too young to be behind the wheel. It ended with sound-effect-based skill critiques (maybe a “ding” for well done, and an explosion for “needs more work”)—these are funny moments the grandkids will never forget. Barry loved to write (never mind his spelling, another similarity we share). Sometimes unexpected letters arrived in the mailbox addressed to “Businesswoman Granddaugther” or “Nobel Prize Winner.” Inside these mysterious letters, Barry wrote the kids in the voice of different characters, sometimes including cash prizes, and always carrying a lot of laughter in small envelopes. He certainly kept the grandkids on their toes, wondering what goofy thing grandpa might do next. Once when he was chopping wood with my son, the axe head fell off the handle mid swing. Barry looked at the empty stick, then at the sharp chunk of metal next to his foot, pursed his lips, and said, “Hmmmm.” That was it. Steady as the day is long and always seeing the humor in the unexpected. To his grandchildren and others, Barry was an example of faithfulness, generosity, and such a great listener.

As a pastor, he was . . . inviting. Whether he could talk you into dinner at the Chinese buffet (he did love a good Chinese buffet, or a bad one, it really didn’t have to be good) or a cup of coffee at a local dive, Barry ministered in his every day way to everyday people. He was also obedient. He loved God’s Word. He believed every word was true, and he knew that God changes lives. Barry liked to preach on Sundays in the power of the Holy Spirit, trusting God to tell his audience what needed to be said. He loved the stories of Enoch, Gideon, Noah (I assume . . . I mean, he did have a boat J), Hosea, John the Baptist, and Paul. Now he’s hearing those stories firsthand from the men themselves, and you know how Barry loves a good story.

I never expected to be in the room when God called Barry home. I thought we’d all have years of sitting under his teaching, directing our steps toward the Lord. I will miss that every day. Every time something difficult comes up. Every time I feel like I just wish I could hear his voice, just ask him to pray for me. I will miss his prayers; I know he prayed for me, and for all his family, and so many others, faithfully.

Barry completed the mission God gave him in July 2019. He’d spent nearly eight weeks in the hospital in three different states working through a combination of leukemia, diabetes, several strokes, and eventually a heart attack. His body was used up. But he kept preaching! He kept teaching God’s love in Jesus’ name to every doctor, nurse, visitor, family member, friend, every person who walked through the door. He took his ministry seriously, and preached God’s Word continually.

Barry fulfilled his mission; he wanted to go to heaven. He wanted to see his Savior face-to-face. His heart echoed the Psalmist when he wrote, “My times are in your hands” (Psalm 31:15). May that be both a glorious challenge and a heavenly comfort to every person in this room.

Next up, my brother delivered his Gospel-centric, you are a sinner, but God loves you anyway, what are you waiting for, why am I telling you this, come to Jesus, please! message. He seemed so grown up, in my big sister eyes. He ripped my heart out when he asked if someone knew the cure for lung cancer, would they withhold it from him? Then why would he withhold the cure to sin and death apart from God from you? It was a good word from my brother. Praying that it hit the hearts of all the young men from my brother's trap team, who arrived in uniform to support their teammate in his time of loss and grief. Praying that it touched the hearts of family and friends who knew my dad and what he stood for, what he believed, what he desired to share with every person he met. The service was for my dad, but the focus was on his Savior.


I don't know if funerals have segues, but if they do, my brother did his just right. Earlier in the week, my mom chose the song "Well Done," for our girls to sing. The reference comes from Matthew 25:21-22. I, along with everyone else I spoke to, thought the girls did a lovely job. They've never sung in that large of a space to that many people, and never in such an emotionally intense situation. Here are the lyrics to the song (by The Afters) . . .

What will it be like when my pain is gone
And all the worries of this world just fade away?
What will it be like when You call my name
And that moment when I see You face to face?

I'm waiting my whole life to hear You say

Well done, well done
My good and faithful one
Welcome to the place where you belong
Well done, well done
My beloved child
You have run the race and now you're home
Welcome to the place where you belong

What will it be like when tears are washed away
And every broken thing will finally be made whole?
What will it be like when I come into Your glory
Standing in the presence of a love so beautiful?

I'm waiting my whole life for that day
I will live my life to hear You say

Well done, well done
My good and faithful one
Welcome to the place where you belong
Well done, well done
My beloved child
You have run the race and now you're home
Welcome to the place where you belong

What will it be like when I hear that sound?
All of heaven's angels crying out:
Singing holy, holy, holy are You, Lord
Singing holy, holy, holy are You, Lord
Singing holy, holy, holy are You, Lord
Waiting my whole life for that day
Until then I'll live to hear You say

Well done, well done
My good and faithful one
Welcome to the place where you belong
Well done, well done
My beloved child
You have run the race and now you're home
Welcome to the place where you belong

Well done 


Oh my heart.

My nephew read Psalm 25 . . .

To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.
² O my God, in you I trust;
    let me not be put to shame;
    let not my enemies exult over me.
³ Indeed, none who wait for you shall be put to shame;
    they shall be ashamed who are wantonly treacherous.

⁴ Make me to know your ways, O Lord;
    teach me your paths.
⁵ Lead me in your truth and teach me,
    for you are the God of my salvation;
    for you I wait all the day long.

⁶ Remember your mercy, O Lord, and your steadfast love,
    for they have been from of old.
⁷ Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
    according to your steadfast love remember me,
    for the sake of your goodness, O Lord!

⁸ Good and upright is the Lord;
    therefore he instructs sinners in the way.
⁹ He leads the humble in what is right,
    and teaches the humble his way.
¹⁰ All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness,
    for those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.

¹¹ For your name's sake, O Lord,
    pardon my guilt, for it is great.
¹² Who is the man who fears the Lord?
    Him will he instruct in the way that he should choose.
¹³ His soul shall abide in well-being,
    and his offspring shall inherit the land.
¹⁴ The friendship^[b] of the Lord is for those who fear him,
    and he makes known to them his covenant.
¹⁵ My eyes are ever toward the Lord,
    for he will pluck my feet out of the net.

¹⁶ Turn to me and be gracious to me,
    for I am lonely and afflicted.
¹⁷ The troubles of my heart are enlarged;
    bring me out of my distresses.
¹⁸ Consider my affliction and my trouble,
    and forgive all my sins.

¹⁹ Consider how many are my foes,
    and with what violent hatred they hate me.
²⁰ Oh, guard my soul, and deliver me!
    Let me not be put to shame, for I take refuge in you.
²¹ May integrity and uprightness preserve me,
    for I wait for you.

²² Redeem Israel, O God,
    out of all his troubles.

And then Jose gave part of his testimony and shared about the extent of my dad's ministry at his church in California. I truly hope that God allows Dad to see all the ministry connections, the seeds he planted over 69 years of life, the souls that are on the path of righteousness now in some small way due to Dad's reflection of God's love. I bet he's having a great time in heaven :)







After the service, we all stood and greeted those who attended and wished us their condolences. It was often hard to put a face with a dozen background possibilities (especially those that were as many decades older to me as I was to them :) 

The biggest surprise was my high school math teacher--I remember her being much bigger and more intimidating :) She said, "Do you recognize me?" and then all the junior and senior year math memories came flooding back. I've often told my kids and Buck the story of getting a lower grade in math because this teacher thought I was making faces at her in class. What she didn't realize was that I was making English-major-to-be faces of utter confusion and perplexity which was my constant mental state, so it couldn't help but show on my face! 

I introduced Buck, and he said, "OH you're THAT teacher!" Ha! I told her that I would be teaching pre-algebra, algebra I, algebra II, and trigonometry/precalculus all this year. How's that for math-complishments?! At the end of the greeting line she told Gabby, "Your mom is very nice. I understand why she made the faces now, and I forgive her." But she still didn't invite me to her 50th wedding anniversary party like she did my sister (who won her a golden apple teaching award and made her reconsider retirement after I graduated :)



There were lots of flowers to unload at my mom's, where we mostly all went for food and family time after the service.








The kids took a break from the arctic indoors to swelter in the humid outdoors. I mostly stayed inside and tried to do selfies with my nephew. He's so much better at it than me :) Also, Graysen and Grandma J got to recreate a little of G$'s childhood with a special ride through the living room, ha!



So many beautiful flowers! My cousin Martin accidentally bounced a big ball into them. He carefully tried to put the petals he'd knocked off back in place :) It was fun to try to use my basic sign language skills to chat with him. I know he understood some of it! He even told his mom he had fun and wanted to come back for another visit. It was good talking with aunts, uncles, and cousins who live far away. It was good to share laughter and memories. It was good to retreat back to my sister's house and not have to drive home after that emotionally draining day! And my kids were thrilled to find Aunt J really does have a house! We hadn't been inside for more than half a decade! ;)