Along with my brother and sister, I was honored to share a tribute to my Daddy at his funeral service yesterday. It was a hard and beautiful day. This is what I shared.

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I’m writing this sentence while sitting in the kitchen on September 28, 2024. It’s 12:01p. 

My mother is tending to something at the sink.

My sister is working on her computer. 

My brother is on his way to the house. 

And over my left shoulder is a hospital bed where the couch used to be. And a sleeping man.

Whose last three weeks have been a mixture of fairly normal, big changes, and slow-motion. 

We’ve done a lot of watching over the last few days. 

Vitals. And positions. And breaths.

And if I read this in public in the days ahead, I know his final one will have come. 

So many memories…

We’d see his car pull up next to the curb. Another long day at work, done.

Street parking was being enforced, not in the garage, because that would have interrupted our basketball game in the driveway. 

Another epic 2-on-2 championship game for the NBA Finals at Elder Rd. stadium. 

The tired Shift Manager knew that Larry Bird and Kevin McHale and Magic Johnson and James Worthy couldn’t have a car – even if it was a Ford – driving through the court.

So he’d walk along the top edge. 

And that’s when it would happen.

We’d hear, “Gimme the ball”, as a grinning adult would start running across the drive.

Whoever had the ball, passed the ball. 

And we watched with repeated awe as a Kareem Abdul Jabbar hook shot left his hand and arced toward the rim.

To this day, I can’t remember how many of those shots he made.

I guess that’s because shooting percentage wasn’t the issue.

Stepping into our world was. 

And by that measure, he never missed.

Consistent people have a knack for that sort of thing.

In 1930, things were different. 

A new product called Scotch tape was introduced. 

So was Mickey Mouse.

President Hoover was dealing with a crash.

Ray Charles was born. And in Asheville, NC, Jimmy Gaddy was, too.

And as times have changed, for the last 94 years, that man named Jim, hasn’t. 

He was Rita and Clingman’s only boy, 

Angie/Tippy/Jean/Marge’s only brother, 

Ruthann Graham’s husband of 64 years, 

Lisa/Tim/Todd’s Daddy, 

and six grandchildren’s Papa, and he’s marched on. 

Solid. Dependable. In a world less populated by both. 

He’s stood out. Not because he wanted to. But because that’s what honorable does.

Words whisper. Actions speak. Lives shout.

The man didn’t change, but some circumstances did.

What used to be quick darts across the court, became a slower tempo, a shorter gait, and eventually a cane in the corner. 

What used to be long hours at a plant, became retirement in Little Rock.

What used to be cheering for the Cubs, became… sorry, my bad. That didn’t become anything. He still bled Cub blue.

And what used to be worship at First Apostolic up north became worship at a place called New Life down south.

I suppose as I’m thinking about it, some thank yous are appropriate. Though I know my list is utterly incomplete. 

May God extend his grace and my heart to those I forget.

Thank you, New Life. 

My Daddy loved his church.

He talked recently of the worshipping young people. Your energy inspired him. He talked about the new building. And two of his favorite pastors – and as he put it two weeks ago: “One with hair and one without.” 😀

Thank you, New Life, for the food you’ve brought us. Thank you also for the food you’ve brought us. And finally, for all the food you’ve brought us, thank you. 

And the calls and the texts. The prayer you’ve offered. And the love you’ve demonstrated. 

Thank you for loving our father for the past 24 years, and for continuing to love our dear mother.

To Carl, thank you for being my Dad’s favorite neighbor and a best friend. An older man needed you. And we’re honored by your kindness to him.

To our spouses, and my niece and nephews – the Grands – how do we adequately express gratitude for what you’ve done? 

You’ve given perhaps the most precious of possessions, your time and care to someone who needed it. That someone, the one we honor today, heard and saw and recognized each of you over the last month. You ran alongside him, until his last solitary step. He finished well, thanks to you. So, thanks to you. All of you.

Thank you to my siblings. We grew up together and in the last few weeks. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing most of the time, so thanks for overseeing, and for the shared laughs, and tears, and comfort. Poking fun of each other comes naturally most of the time, and we’ve enjoyed exercising that natural tendency many times over the last month, but please know through the laughs and fun, I’ve also been watching you. How you’ve worked, and cared, and loved. It’s inspired me to work and care and love more. And better.

I love you, Lisa and Tim.  

We carry on a great name. I’m privileged and proud to do that with both of you.

And to our Mother, thank you. No one in this room knows more of what has brought us to this day than you.

As Daddy’s years advanced, especially the last three or four, you’ve sacrificed and cared and protected and loved at a level few will ever experience. 

What you’ve sought so carefully to do, you’ve accomplished. Well done. 

So much can and is being said about Daddy’s faithfulness, but he not only possessed that attribute but also witnessed that attribute. In you. Every day. Of every week and month. For the last 64 years. 

Death changes a status, but it also magnifies a legacy. Thank you for showing us, all of us, what commitment looks like. 

We love you so much. 

Finally, I’m writing this sentence while sitting in the upstairs bedroom on October 4, 2024. It’s 1:45p. 

About this time tomorrow, I’ll probably be saying this sentence.

I remember, and will forever, last Sunday morning. When what had been anticipated, happened. 

When the breathing changed. And then stopped.

It was in that instant, everything changed.

Not just for us, though it did.

But for him.

No more frustration.

No more confusion. 

No more lack. 

No fear.

Peace.

In a very real sense, our Daddy walked through a door last weekend and simply kept going. Discovering that the Finish Line is actually the Starting Line, and ahead, forever.

No more past. 

No more future.

Simply, present. 

With the Lord.

He’s now fully living and realizing the words of the final chapter of his Bible:

(God) will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” – Revelation 21:4

It’s a promise made to Jim. And now kept by God.

And now the answer to one of life’s greatest questions, that little boy from North Carolina now knows and has experienced:

“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. – 1 Corinthians 15:55-57

Thank you for joining us today in remembering and honoring and celebrating our Daddy. 

The foundation of his life and our Daddy’s faith stands. 

Solid. Consistent. True.

And like him, it lives on.