Re: An Unreasonable Man

I'm trying to find a way to express how very good this depiction was without
sounding lame. Let's just say I feel I knew your dad, and miss him, on the
strength of your writing. Looking forward to getting to know him better in
person in heaven.

Johne Cook
| http://raygunrevival.com | http://authorculture.blogspot.com |*
*


On Mon, Apr 4, 2011 at 1:28 AM, pcg <[email protected]> wrote:

> The eulogy I delivered at my dad's memorial service:
>
> ==
>
> My dad was an unreasonable man.
>
> By that, I mean that when he got it in his head that something was the
> right thing to do, he couldn't be bothered by silly questions like
> whether or not it was feasible. He was a man of strong conviction. He
> didn't just stand up for what he believed in -- he raised a flag,
> walked to the front of the crowd, and called others to come along and
> stand up for the right thing with him.
>
> In a memory that he recounted to me many times over the years, my dad
> heard a story when he was nine years old, a story that made his heart
> glad, and have hope to a fatherless little boy who often felt alone in
> the world. It was a story that lifted his spirit, gave him promise,
> and and a vision for something great.
>
> That story stayed with him as he became a man, and for nearly all my
> life -- certainly as far back as my memories reach -- he spent nearly
> every waking hour trying to figure out ways to share that story with
> other people. Dad believed in something greater than this world, which
> is so often dreary and difficult, and he wanted nothing more than to
> share that vision with others. He wasn't content to nurture hope in
> his own heart, not when there were lost, lonely, broken people out
> there who needed to hear a good word of encouragement.
>
> Over the years, I saw him more times than I can remember, in the dark
> and quiet hours of the night, hunched over his desk, illuminated by
> lamp light, his Bible and study guides spread out before him like road
> maps. Or, more often, it was the church books and a table calculator,
> as he wracked his brain, trying to figure out how to keep the damn
> thing going. Most often, though, he was scheming, laying out new plans
> for some crazy crusade, or concert, or revival meeting -- some new way
> to reach out to the community. Unreasonable.
>
> It's a legacy that I am reminded of all the time, when I run into
> people at the grocery store, or the mall, or some public event --
> people I barely remember, or don't remember at all -- stop me and ask,
> "Aren't you Rich Glenn's son?" They go on to tell me how much he
> impacted their lives. It's something that I just got used to over the
> years, and something I too often took for granted.
>
> I'll close with two of my favorite stories about my dad, two stories
> that demonstrate what kind of man he was.
>
> When I left for college, I was afforded many freedoms that I didn't
> have at home, including the freedom to listen to any music I liked,
> and I took full advantage of that freedom. One afternoon my parents
> called to say they were coming for a visit, and I went into a frenzy,
> cleaning my room of all "sinful" evidence. I hid all my worldly on my
> closet shelf and closed the door. A few hours later, mom and dad were
> standing in my room, and mom opened the closet to have a peek inside.
> I nearly wet my pants. As she glanced around, exclaiming, "This is
> nice and roomy," my dad leaned in next to her, glanced up, and
> swiftly, silently, grabbed a couple of my folded sweatshirts and
> pulled them over the stack of illicit CDs. He didn't look at me, and
> never said a word about that moment, but I never forgot it.
>
> The second story is one that took place while I was still living at
> home, in the parish of that big old church on the corner of 8th and
> "C." It was late, after dark and a there was a knock on our door.
> There was a family outside who had been living in their car. They
> needed help, and didn't know where else to turn. Just a couple of
> desperate people with two children.
>
> We had nothing. The church was going through a dry period, and there
> was no money in the coffers. My dad went into his bedroom, reached
> deep into his chest of drawers, and pulled out a couple of small
> silver bars. I have no idea where they came from, or how he got them,
> but that I saw him weigh that decision for only a moment. Then he took
> those pieces of silver, and filled a grocery sack with whatever he
> could find in the cupboards, and he handed them over to these
> strangers, It was everything he had in the world. He prayed with this
> couple and sent them on their way, and as far as I know, we never
> heard from them again. That was the kind of guy my dad was.
>
> I've known a lot of good people in my life, people far better than
> myself. But I've never personally known anyone who spent so many
> hours, so much sweat, worry, strain and tears, over so many years,
> working to leave this world a better place than he found it.
>
> My dad was a dreamer -- a trait that is often associated with
> foolishness. He knew that, and he didn't care. Sometimes that traint
> made me want to pull my hair out, but no matter how many times over
> the years I wanted dad to *just be reasonable,* it was his ability to
> keep dreaming that made him, to me, some kind of hero.
>
> --
> -pcg
>  [email protected]
>

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