Speedy

This weekend I celebrated the life of a man. He was neither famous nor grand. He would have chosen to be called nothing other than an unlettered and ordinary man. He left the world exactly the same day as he came into the world, only this day he left knowing what his whole purpose in life had been. His purpose wasn't for wealth, or fame but for love and truth. He loved and lived for his wife of fifty-nine years. His existance thrived on bringing glory to his Grand Creator.

His mind was limber but his body was not. He'd hobble along the pavement at a snails pace. He called me Shortie and in return I called him Speedy. I was never left in need of a candy to suck on, a grumpy grimace or a comment that always started off as 'if you really think about it.' Looking at his inability to walk, see or even hear many wondered why he made the pilgramage to the hall each and every meeting. He said 'the day I stop going to meetings is the day my heart stops beating.' He could recite biblical text as easily as a poet could recite his own sonnets.

He was from a generation that toiled and labored for everything; they labored to live, to love and to learn. His laborious work paid off. He truly made the day of his death far superior to his day of birth.