Special Olympics, Special People

A couple weeks ago, we received an email from Ms. Karen. Ms. Karen was one of Teegan's preschool  therapists and happens to be the the therapist who got a little teary eyed during his last preschool IEP meeting because she would no longer be working with him as he moved on to kindergarten. Since that meeting almost two years ago, she has kept tabs on Teegan through other therapists who still work with him and through events that we attend in our old neighborhood (where she happens to live as well). It's safe to say that Ms. Karen holds a special place in our hearts because Teegan holds a special place in her heart. So, when we opened and read this email, we were on board before we even read the the following:

Hi Denise

I am hoping that Teegan would like to participate in Tahoma School District's Special Olympic Track and Field program with us this year? Our season begins Monday March 9^th. See attached flyer and call me if you have questions

Thank you

Karen Smejkal

Program Coordinator Special Olympics

Tahoma School District

So, we completed the necessary paperwork and cleared our schedules to attend the informational meeting...which also happened to be the awards banquet for the special olympics basketball program. Christian arrived at the banquet with Teegan as it began, Kyson and I arrived about 30 minutes later, after I finished playing "play practice carpool" for Jadyn and her friend. As I walked into the room, I felt this wave of emotions wash over me as we searched the room for Christian and Teegan. We found them at one of the tables toward the front of the room and as I took a seat next to Teegan, he looked up at me, with pizza sauce all over his smiling face and excitedly said, "This meeting is for me!"  Yeah buddy. It sure is!  

As I looked around the room, I found myself fighting tears. This has been a long time coming, but I never really thought we would be here. Kyson has been involved in sports since he was three, and I always worried that Teegan would feel somehow robbed or left out because we hadn't enrolled him in any extracurricular activity. But the thought of putting him on a team with coaches, teammates, and parents who don't understand what he is dealing with and that he is doing the best he knows how, was an absolutely terrifying thought. I found myself looking (probably staring) at the other moms in there and thinking, "These are my people...these moms. They KNOW. They ACTUALLY KNOW!  Their situations are different. Their children are different. But they know the feelings and fears that go along with having a kiddo who needs extra help. THESE WOMEN KNOW!"  Then I looked around at the dads and felt the same way. They know what it's like for Christian. And these kids? They get Teegan!!  They won't get frustrated with him for moving at a slower pace. They won't try to leave him out because he takes longer to understand. They won't be cruel. These are Teegan's people.

Don't get me wrong, we have an incredible support network.  A village if you will. Our family were incredibly supportive when we told them that we were going for it. My girlfriends immediately told me that they want to be there cheering him on,  when he races. The handful of others who I have shared this with have expressed similar support for Teegan.  He is loved. We are loved. As we move ahead with this, it feels good to be surrounded by such incredible people. I'm overwhelmed. Our village will now be expanding to include others who are in our shoes. And that is a great feeling.

Teegan has had his first practice. He got right out there. As he was running, he was looking at us with a huge smile on his face. Toward the end of practice, they moved across the field to practice jumping. We watched him high fiving the other athletes and at one point we heard his little voice yell from across the field, "MOMMY, DADDY....I DOING IT!!!!"  Yes you are, kiddo. And we couldn't be more proud of you.

Special Okympics, this village is coming for you.

The ones that keep me grounded...

There are nights when I dread my drive home from work at 2:30am.  It is a forty-five minute drive with no traffic, a large portion of which is down a dark curvy two lane highway.  There are nights when I wish I could just teleport myself directly to bed.  Tonight was not one of those nights.  Tonight, I NEEDED that drive to decompress.  Forty-five minutes in silence, to reflect on a pretty crazy day.  Forty-five minutes to adjust my mindset and attitude.  Forty-five minutes to remind myself that no matter what storms are swirling around me, I have a lot to be thankful for.  Tonight the recurring theme was friendship...these two groups of friends in particular

I have a job that allows me the opportunity to cultivate some pretty amazing relationships with the people that come to see me each week.  There are three that stand out.  Three that are among my favorite friendships to come out of my move to Seattle.  I met them while I was behind the bar.  Relationships that started over superficial talk of sports and everyday life have evolved.  Where we were once talking across a bar top, we now sit side by side on the same side of a bar or on a warm patio somewhere with discussions of the deeper sides of life, both the beautiful and ugly, and sometimes the hilariously stupid sides of life.  Conversations about moves, relationships, death, life, childhoods, and even penguins gave way to great friendships.  Friendships where I know that in a moment of weakness (or irrational frustration with myself), they will know the right words to say. Friendships that will (in the case of two of them) endure the unfortunate physical mileage put between us.  Friendships where I feel safe letting my guard down.  Friendships where there is genuine affection, care/love, and adoration shared.  For these friendships, I am thankful.

Then there are the friends that have been there through all of my ups and downs over the past decade. My friendships from Oregon have stood the test of time and distance.  I am blessed with the best group of close friends from home.  True friendships.  I love them all, but I am thinking of three in particular.  Three who know me better than anyone else.  Three who know the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of me and love me just the same.  Three with whom there is such an incredible connection, I don't even have to tell them anything is amiss.  Somehow, without fail, one or all of them will randomly send me a message that brightens my day.  Unsolicited acts of love and friendship.  This happened tonight, at a moment when I needed a heavy dose of sunshine.  For these friendships, I am thankful.

Thank you for allowing me to be me.  Thanks (to one in particular) for putting up with my minor break downs and negativity this week.  Thank you for loving, encouraging, listening, laughing with, and supporting me.  Thank you for letting me gush in moments of sentimentality.  Thank you mostly for being the friends that I need.  I love you guys!!!  Life is good.

I will NEVER do this when I have kids....Pssshhh

I was one of those lucky kids.  School was always extraordinarily easy for me and I loved it.  I aced tests and brought home A's with little to no effort.  I was a very fast learner and picked up new concepts easily.  I craved knowledge and thoroughly enjoyed learning.

When I DID come across a topic that was harder to grasp or that I couldn't figure out on my own, I became extremely frustrated!  (Understatement of the year)  Thankfully for those instances, I had my dad.  My dad is brilliant.  As a child, I remember thinking my dad knew everything.  LITERALLY everything.  But, Dad is a civil engineer. NOT A TEACHER.  This fact, combined with our similar personalities (both type A perfectionists) created disastrous experiences at our dining room table for both my dad and I...although at the time, I'm sure I thought I was the only one suffering.  To be fair, I should state, there was no torture going on (at least not anywhere but in my head).  There was no belittling or verbal assault (at least not anywhere but in my head).  There was just pure unadulterated frustration, on the part of BOTH of us.  I was frustrated with myself because I was so used to everything coming easy and with my dad because he was supposed to be able to supply a simple solution that would make me understand.  My dad was frustrated because it was all so simple to him yet he couldn't figure out how to get me to understand (Again...NOT A TEACHER!!) and frustrated because he wanted me to do well.  Eventually we would bridge that gap in understanding, but never before many tears had been shed on my part.   And of course, as is typical of any child, I thought, "I will NEVER do this when my own kids ask for help with their homework."

I bet you can guess where this one is going.  Yep.  A few months ago, I was slapped in the face with a reality stick while trying to "help" Jadyn with her homework.  And I'm pretty sure that I was actually a little (or a lot) more maniacal than I ever thought my dad was.

Jadyn was working on her science fair presentation and had her poster board out on our table as I was getting ready to leave for work.  She asked me a simple question about the project and I went into "crazy perfectionist mother" mode.  And I couldn't stop myself.  I was telling her things like, "You need to practice writing on a separate piece of paper before you write on the board because I don't want to see misspelled words, sloppy writing, or eraser marks"  and "Make sure everything is evenly spaced".  REALLY??  Those are MY OWN OCD tendencies.  I knew what I was saying was crazy, but I couldn't stop myself and I went on and on and on and on...  And out of the corner of my eye, I could see Christian standing in the kitchen with his jaw on the floor.  When I accidentally made eye contact with him in the middle of my rant, he exaggeratedly mouthed the word, "STOP" to me.  And I STILL couldn't stop.  I wasn't yelling, and I was even fighting laughter because I KNEW I was acting like a nut, but I just felt it was extremely important for Jadyn to do it my way.  Finally Christian spoke up and said, "BABY...COME. HERE."  I took the five foot walk of shame to him and he grabbed me up in a hug and whispered in my ear, "Deni, stop.  She will do fine."  At this point I was fighting both laughter AND tears.  But I still couldn't stop.  I said goodbye to everyone and as I said goodbye to Jadyn, I felt the need to spout off some more "enlightening words of wisdom".

I couldn't stop thinking about it all night.  I had just put an incredibly amount of pressure on my ten year old daughter, to be perfect.  I wasn't cruel in my tone, or even in the words I was using.  But what the heck was I THINKING?!?  I was thinking, "I want my child to do her best, to live up to her potential, to have pride in her work."  But what I'm sure was coming across was, "I want my child to be perfect, and if she is not, I will not be proud of her".  In that moment of reflection I realized that although the interaction I had with Jadyn was much different than the interaction between my dad and I, the motives BEHIND those interactions were the same...and pure.  Parenting is hard.  There is no handbook.  I can't say I won't react like that again.  In fact I can say that I probably WILL.  I am a perfectionist but I am not perfect.  All I can do is admit to my children that I have weaknesses too.  And that even though I may seem like I expect the world out of them, I am proud of all of them just the way they are.

I AM just like my dad, in the sense that we both want the best for our children, that we love our children unconditionally, and that we are proud of our kids for their own individual accomplishments.  I have become my dad, and I am proud of that.

A lesson in life from Teegan.

Teegan.  Teegan.  Teegan.  What an incredible blessing this child has been in our lives.  The past five years of our lives have been a crazy roller coaster with him.  I received an email today from Teegan's physical therapist that put a huge smile on my face, and had me choking back tears of happiness.  But, before I get to that, I should share the back story of Teegan, for those of you who may not know it.

Teegan has been a medical handful since the day he was born.  He was born a week early, with the cord wrapped around his neck so tight that they had to cut it off, he had trouble regulating his body temperature, and wasn't getting enough oxygen on his own.  So, he was relegated to the special care nursery for the first 16 hours of his life.  When I say, "16 hours" right now, it seems like such a minimal amount of time.  But I assure you, as a mom, that 16 hours seemed like an eternity.  It was awful seeing him hooked up to all of those tubes, which were in turn hooked up to scary looking machines.  Thankfully, he was returned to us the morning after he was born. 

It didn't take me long to notice that Teegan wasn't like a typical newborn.  Within the first few months, we (along with other family members) observed abnormal staring patterns.  Teegan would just stare off into the distance and nothing could interrupt him.  We could have placed a juggling bear dressed as a clown in front of him, and he wouldn't even notice.  We were later told that this was indicative of absence seizures, which is a slightly frightening term, but we have been told that they aren't NECESSARILY dangerous.  Teegan also started running fevers of 104 every 6weeks ON THE DOT.  These fevers left him fully incapacitated and lethargic.  It got to the point where Christian and I could predict when they would start and could see the signs that it was beginning before it hit him.  By 18 months, Teegan wasn't walking or talking, and at this point Christian and I were BOTH really concerned and we were receiving a mixed bag of support from family.  Some were right on board with us with our level of concern and others were making statements like, "Oh he is fine...he's just moving at his own pace".  The latter was hard to hear because, while we HOPED that was the case, we just had that instinct that it was not.  And we were right.  

We arrived at Teegan's 18mos check-up ready for answers.  We didn't voice our concerns outright, because we wanted to see if the doctor had concerns on his own.  He absolutely did.  Teegan's growth chart looked more like a down hill slide than the normal upward arch that children should grow along.  He had only gained a few ounces in the previous six months and found himself in the 3rd percentile.  For those of you who think that sounds like gibberish, here is a quick explanation.  When Teegan was born his weight was about 20th percentile...which means he weighed less than 80% of other newborn boys.  His height was in the 95th percentile...which means he was only shorter than 5% of other newborn boys.  So he was skinny and long.  Growing babies should pretty much continue growing along those arcs with a little fluctuation.  His 3rd percentile mark was an average of the two...weight and height.  Needless to say...a GLARING problem with growth.  Then when the doctor started looking at Teegan's  milestones (i.e. number of words, walking, eating, sleeping etc) compared to other children his age, he referred us to Doernbecher Children's hospital.  Our suspicions were confirmed.

A little over a month later we found ourselves in the waiting room at Doernbecher waiting to see our first several specialists.  Over the next few months we saw a Neurologist, Physical Therapist, Audiologist, Occupational Therapist, Nutritionist, Speech Pathologist, and one or two others I can't remember the titles for. During this time we were given some tools to help Teegan catch up and received a few minor diagnoses (one being a sensory sensitivity) and the observation from our Neurologist that he was a "quirky" child, but nothing that explained everything that was going on.   

Christian and I, and the friends and family who were a big part of our lives, worked hard with Teegan over the next few months.  On Christmas day Teegan gave me the best gift I have ever received.  He walked to me, on his own, with no coaxing.  I felt him staring at me while I was in conversation with my mom.  I looked over at him, and he just walked to me.  It was only five, maybe six steps...but he walked.  And soon after he started speaking.  The only way I can explain it is, it was like a  light came on.  Teegan was trapped inside his own head for a while, and then one day he was let go.  And he started walking and talking and catching up to where he needed to be.

 

Teegan at Christmas with Uncle Tyler

We went back to the specialists for a 2year checkup, and they were shocked.  They told us that they rarely see his level of improvement.  He had gained about 6more ounces (which still is below average but they were happy that he was continuing to grow), he was walking, talking, and was doing better with his sensory stuff.  The neurologist released us.  He said Teegan would need continued speech therapy and to come back if we didn't continue to see improvement.  Then we started the process to move and lost insurance.

Fast forward to the present...  

I have been fighting hard for the last SEVEN months to acquire health insurance for our kids...primarily to get Teegan back in to see the doctor's he needs to see.  Neither of our jobs offer insurance, and private insurance is WAY too expensive for us.  So, we decided to apply to the Washington state insurance offered to all Washington children who are uninsured.  It took seven months but we were finally approved last week.  So, now we begin our search to find a pediatrician and get back to the specialists he needs to see.

In December I began the process of trying to get Teegan into a pre-school offered at Jadyn's school, that is federally funded and is specifically for children with delays.  After a few months of evaluations and meetings, we were able to get Teegan in!!  They let him start this year to finish out the year, and then he will go back for the next school year.  (Christian and I had already made the decision to keep Teegan out of Kindergarten for an extra year to give him some extra time to catch up and maybe make the kindergarten and subsequent school process a little more normal for him.)  We love his teachers and he thoroughly enjoys attending (and riding the bus).  

Teegan is CLEARLY behind other kiddo's his own age.  He is quite possibly the sweetest most loving and affectionate child in existence.  But, he is just not where he needs to be.  He has had continued medical issues and continued delays.  Christian and I are both guilty of automatically assuming that Teegan "will never......" or "won't be able to...."  It really bothers me that we do this.  And I try really hard not to.  But it is really hard.  So today when I got this email (Yes...I am FINALLY  back to the email) from Teegan's physical therapist (through his preschool) I was incredibly humbled. The pictures were attached to the email.  

Hi there,

I just wanted to share what Teegan did in therapy today.  I am using pictures of a variety of activities for Teegan to choose from.  It helps keep both he and I on track and gives him the ability to make the choices and the order in which we do them.

You were right, he certainly is a sweet boy and I am enjoying working with him.

Miss Stacey

TEEGAN ON ROLLER SKATES?!?!  I would have NEVER even TRIED this at this point.  =(  I'm generally very optimistic in my thought process, but for some reason I always lean toward the negative when it comes to what Teegs will be able to do.  If I don't believe that he is capable of something, who will???  I am so very proud of my little man.  He works so hard at life and he is such a little ball of sunshine.  I am incredibly blessed that I get to be his mommy. 

Grandpa's "Faith" Story...written BY Grandpa

I just finished retyping the testimony my Grandpa wrote when he and my Grandma moved away from their hometown to give to the pastor who will be doing his memorial service. It's an amazing story and I thought I'd repost it to share with any who are interested. I did change the age to 93 (he was 83 when he wrote this) and updated the number of great grandchildren he had when he passed. Everything else is his work.

The Faith Story of Paul Yeend

My story begins 93 years ago when I was born in a town where the founders loved the city so much that they decided to name it twice.  That city is Walla-Walla, Washington.  Being the ninth child in a family of ten children I’m sure my mother must have endured a tearful pregnancy, but never the less she welcomed me with love and affection when I did arrive.  Large families are not very common any more, but I’m not going to knock the large family concept since I would not be here otherwise.  
My father was a wheat farmer just outside Walla-Walla but by the time I was born he had turned the management of the farm over to my oldest brother and had moved into town.  Facetiously speaking, I guess you could say I grew up as an “urban farmer”, since during my teen years I lived in town during the school year but on the farm during the summers.
My parents were wonderful Christians who were active in the Nazarene Church in Walla-Walla.  In Church our large family always sat on the second pew from the front and completely occupied the whole row.  My father passed away when I was senior in high-school.  He had just given a fare-well speech for Dr. D.I. Vanderpool who was leaving the pastorate in Walla-Walla to become the district superintendent.  After the speech, he sat down on a chair, had a heart attack and died.  It did more than break-up the service--it broke my heart as well.
I had a lot of confidence in and respect for my parents and the Christian lives they exemplified.  Very early I developed a conscience regarding my spiritual life and necessity of making a personal commitment to God.  However, I struggled and resisted.  Being under conviction I still recall suffering through many an altar call.
The years of 1938 through 1941 found me at Northwest Nazarene College where I was active in varsity basketball and various musical organizations.  In the summer of ‘40 and ‘41 I traveled with two different college quartets.  The spiritual atmosphere at NNC provided an environment that I really needed at that point in my life.  Although I was not a Christian, I respected other committed students who were living holy lives.  Finally, with the tug of God at my heart strings along with the urging of most of the guys on the basketball team, I surrendered my life to God in the college chapel during a revival service.  The decision I made that day still stand and undoubtedly was the wisest decision of my life.  
Lois and I first met when the NNC quartet in which I was singing was being entertained at the parents of Lois in Olympia, Washington prior to and evening concert.  When she enrolled at NNC that fall we dated exclusively that year.  Since I had the unwanted distinction of being the first NNC student to be drafted into the military service, plans were shattered for completing the summer quartet travel, for returning to NNC to graduate in 1942, and for marriage.  My induction into the US Army on July 8, 1941 was probably one of the lowest moments in my life.
Fourteen months later on September 22, 1942 after graduating from Officers Candidate School in Fort Benning, Georgia, we were married in Olympia by Lois’s father, who was a Nazarene pastor.
World War II was a horrible experience but I felt I was in God’s care and He acted as my protector.  “Be not afraid for I am with you” was a scripture that I claimed.  Early in the Battle of Saipan I suffered a bad case of dysentery and was sent to a field hospital for several days.  I was very weak and ate no food for three days.  When released to return to the front line, I waited all day for a vehicle to deliver me to my outfit at the battle front, but it never arrived.  As it turned out, the very day I was to be returned to the front was the ONLY day the truck did NOT make that trip.  It was also the very day of the infamous Japanese Sake or Bonsai Raid on July 7, 1944.  The remaining Japanese soldiers on Saipan realized they were losing the battle and were literally being shoved off the end of the island.  They decided to make one final all-out attack on the American troops.  It was a suicidal mission designed to take as many Americans with them as possible.  After consuming Sake and working themselves up into a frenzy, they attacked at the crack of dawn.  The thrust of their attack was down the beach where our unit was located.
By one day, God spared me from that attack.  When I did arrive at the location the next day, I was in for a shock.  My mind will never forget what my eyes witnessed.  Over five thousand wounded and dead bodies were scattered and lying on the ground almost as far as the eye could see.  Most of them were Japanese but our troops suffered heavily also.  I then realized if I had been there the prior day, as was intended, I very likely would have been one of those casualties.  God in His grace had spared me from that attack.
In that scene it was difficult to differentiate between the dead and the living.  What I thought was a dead Japanese soldier turned out to be very much alive for he jumped up and threw a hand grenade at me.  The grenade landed on the ground squarely between my legs.  The reason I am here today is because the grenade failed to explode.  That scripture reappeared in my mind, “Fear not for I am with you.”  You might ask, “Were you afraid?”  Strange as it may seem-I was not afraid.  A few minutes later while four soldiers and I were attempting to rescue two wounded American soldiers, I straddled a narrow trench only to discover a Japanese soldier was in the trench at my feet.  Again the Lord, along with a soldier at my side, protected me.
A few days later while on patrol with a dozen other men, we suddenly heard a tell-tale POP.  We knew immediately that a hand grenade had been detonated.  We also knew it was close and that it would be exploding in five seconds.  We immediately hit the ground, but this time I wasn’t so lucky.  A piece of shrapnel imbedded itself in my leg.  However, it could have been worse.  I thanked God once more for His protecting hand and for His abiding presence in my life.
My Army experience ended after fighting in the Battle of Okinawa and then on to Japan as part of the occupation forces.
God has been good to me and for me.  He allowed Lois and I to enjoy three beautiful daughters, three great sons in law, eight wonderful grandkids, and twelve great grand children.  God in his graciousness allowed Lois and I to serve the majority of our adult lives in the Longview church of the Nazarene.  Serving on the church board for forty years and as the Minister of Music for thirty-three years were blessed experiences.  Lois was also blessed in being able to serve God in various ministries.  Her special interest in missions was expressed by serving as Missionary President for thirteen years. Earlier she served as Sunday School Superintendent and children’s director.

We would like to thank the pastor, friends and members of this church for the many ways in which you have enriched our lives.  Your fellowship, friendship and stewardship are treasured memories.  We love you all but most of all we love God with all our hears.  It’s a privilege to serve Him.  Truly- GOD IS SO GOOD!

How do you say goodbye

I was waist deep in laundry tonight (trying to figure out which clothing to pack for our trip to Portland and which clothing to put away and mostly just trying to keep myself occupied) responding to supportive text messages and facebook comments, and sobbing.  My grandpa is dying.  He might have a couple of days, he might have a week.  Either way, I found myself trying to figure out HOW I could possibly say goodbye to him.  How can I find the right words to let him know how much I love him, how much he has meant to me throughout every stage in my life?  How do I convey to him the powerful presence his life has had in every decision I make in my own life?  Grandpa is and always has been my hero.  I think about all of the lessons that he has taught me, lessons that I hope to pass on to my children and to my grandchildren.

Grandpa loved unconditionally and with everything he had.  He loved everyone.  EVERYONE.  I watched him love my Grandma until the day Alzheimer's took her from him.  My grandma was a very hard working, creative, and thoughtful woman.  But she was VERY strong-willed and a bit snippy at times.  I never saw the slightest bit of frustration out of him...EVER.  I watched my grandpa shower my grandma with patience, adoration, and love.  After she was diagnosed with Alzheimers, I watched my grandpa create a routine that let life go on as normal for her (she didn't remember that she had Alzheimers).   When she forgot how to walk, he got her in and out of her wheelchair.  He picked out her clothing every single morning.  He did her hair.  He changed her diapers.  When she forgot how to eat, he fed her.  He did all of this with a smile on his face, and never once complained.  NEVER ONCE!!

Grandpa was a cheerleader.  No...he didn't ACTUALLY join a cheerleading squad.  He was actually a basketball stud.  He scored something like 32 points against the Harlem Globetrotters in his younger days.  But, my grandpa WOULD have made an exceptional cheerleader had basketball not been his thing.  I can say that with certainty because along with my parents, he was one of my biggest cheerleaders in life.  I can't count how many sporting events/music concerts he attended for my sisters and I.  He lived an hour away and still managed to make it down to cheer us on.  He made taking an active part in his grandchildren's lives a priority. And I know for a fact that he did this with his own kids too.

Grandpa was a teacher/counselor...both literally and figuratively.  He taught me how to shoot a hook shot (since we shorties had to have at least one way to score under the net).  He taught me how to yodel (although I can't REALLY yodel...but I had fun trying).  He taught me how to use a tuning pipe (which I definitely thought was a harmonica at the time).  I remember a conversation that I had with my grandpa in my adult life regarding disciplining children and I try to hold tight to his words of wisdom regarding this area of my life.  He advised us ( I don't remember who exactly was there at the time...maybe Christian...maybe some cousins) to NEVER discipline while angry because the punishment always ends up being handed out as "revenge" versus as a "teaching tool".  He talked to us about how he had moments as a parent when he had to send his daughters to their room and take a few minutes (or sometimes longer) before talking to them and handing down a punishment.  I strive to be the parent to my own children that my grandpa was to his girls.  I fall short...but I will never stop trying.

Grandpa loves to make people laugh.  One of the things I ALWAYS look forward to with him are his jokes.  I'm laughing thinking back to my childhood when my grandma would try to tell one of grandpa's jokes and mess it all up.  Grandpa would stand patiently behind her with a little grin on his face ready to step in and help when she couldn't remember the punch line.  We could always count on him for a new joke.  The laughs didn't stop with the jokes.  When he would walk into church and make his way to his seat, he would pass by people already seated and reach around behind them and tap their far shoulder.  This always resulted in those people turning around and greeting the people who were sitting directly behind them.  This was definitely one of grandpa's signature moves.  One of my fondest memories as a child was grandpa getting up early in the morning to make his grandchildren mickey mouse shaped, blueberry or banana cakepans (pancakes).  And he always knew exactly the right moment to break out his stash of mellowmarshes (marshmellows) to put smiles on our faces.

Grandpa loves God and is the greatest example to anyone as to what being a Christian is all about.  He truly lives a moral life.  He is accepting and supportive.  He is patient and kind.  I have never heard him raise his voice (unless he was singing...he had a beautiful singing voice and sang for a number of his grandkids' weddings).  This would be the lesson that he was most proud of.  The fact that no member of his family and no one who knows him would ever deny that he lived a life that would be pleasing to God....and not out of guilt.  He lived this way by choice because he truly loves the Lord and truly believes.  He is such an amazing example.

As I head down to Portland in a few hours, these are the lessons I will take with me.  These are the things that I hope to get out before my tears swallow my words.  Grandpa you are my hero.  You have led a life of which you should be proud.  I thank you for being so present in my life and allowing me to be human, yet loving me just the same.  I love you more than I could ever express.  May angels lead you home...