They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but some pictures raise a thousand questions.
This is hardly unusual when my son Joshua, and his crafty cousin Rebecca, are involved.
Let’s just say that there was a prank involved, and Grandma was the victim. Or was she?
On the last hot day of Summer, I decided to take my family to the shore. Although our part of Washington abounds with lakes, and we live just a few miles from the Puget Sound, there’s just something about the Ocean that demands special attention.
Earlier in the week, I rallied the kids: “We’ll go to church on Saturday evening, and then leave just after Sunday School. We’ll be on the beach, playing in the waves, by 1 pm!”
Of course, we didn’t leave right after Sunday School. We came home, made a lunch, lolly-gagged around, and eventually got on the road about an hour after I had planned. Still, we reached the edge of Ocean Shores just before 2 pm.
Blazing, hot sunshine had persisted throughout our journey, with temperatures in the upper 80′s. Passing through Aberdeen, one bank boasted 89 degrees on their electronic marquee.
“What a great day to spend at the beach,” I chortled.
Kathy was the first to notice that something was wrong. As we approached the beach, there was a sudden cessation of sunlight.
“Hey! Where’d the sun go?” Kathy worried aloud, outraged. Living in western Washington, Kathy has learned to really cherish the sunshine we do receive.
Kathy was underwhelmed with this ‘last hot day of Summer’.
As we drove onto the beach, a thick mist surrounded the car, blotting out the last of the Summer’s heat, transforming the sun into a pale yellow ball with the wattage of a dim streetlight.
“It’ll let up any minute,” I pronounced, sagely. (I’m famous for my weather predictions, and coined that phrase during a very rainy visit to the zoo, many years ago.)
For some reason, no one seemed visibly heartened by my prediction. Numbly, we watched our van’s temperature gauge drop briskly through the 80′s, 70′s and 60′s, settling at a frigid 58. Reluctantly, the kids and I got out of the car, bracing against the chill wind.
Kathy stayed in her seat. “I’m not going out there,” she said firmly.
Rachel: “C’mon, Mom, get out of the car.” Kathy: “Nope. Not budging.”
My children seem to lack even a rudimentary sense of self-preservation, and ran to play in the waves. I scanned the water for ice floes, and gingerly dipped my toes in the water, shuddering with cold.
Swimmers in the Mist
They ran even faster, to get out of the waves.
The kids created an elaborate sand-kingdom, originally Narnia, but which was eventually transformed into Mordor. “The skies are more like Mordor,” Joshua insisted.
Not the actual Lord of Mordor
After an hour of building sand castles, the girls staged a rebellion, master-minded by Kathy, who still hadn’t stepped out of the car.
“We need a bathroom. And sunshine,” they pleaded.
Eventually, even I had to admit that the fog wasn’t burning off, and we set off in search of sunshine. Just a mile or two inland, the sun shone brightly. We followed the coast north, hoping to find a place where the sun and the shore could live together in amity. I was determined to see a Pacific Sunset, and squandered the rest of the afternoon speeding along route 101, trying to outrace the fog.
We did find time to pose for the obligatory family portrait. “Everyone smile, or you’ll wish you had,” I threatened.
At the limit of everyone’s patience, I found a place where the road met the shore, and the sun still shone. Even here, the fog hovered just offshore, casting a shadow in the sky, if not directly on our faces. The wind blew fiercely, and the temperature held stubbornly at 63.
Daniel poses heroically, just because he can.
Daniel and Sarah amused themselves by constructing a fort of driftwood. Joshua ran up and down the beach, while Rachel took pictures of her feet and the footprints she made. David planted a tree with more optimism than horticultural skill.
I’m thinking, driftwood is unlikely to sprout.
We stayed until the sun was obscured by the ever-present bank of fog, calling that a ‘sunset’, before heading for home. It had been a very different day than I had expected — spent mostly huddling in sweatshirts rather than sweltering in t-shirts.
Sometimes, you just have to call it a day.
It made me think about life — how so often, it turns out differently than we expect. Still, we had a pretty good time, because we were together as a family, and were determined to be cheerful. Stopping for milkshakes on the way home was perhaps my most inspired idea of the day.
On the last day of February, our family had the sad privilege of attending the memorial service for my father-in-law, Reverend William C. Moore.
Struck down suddenly by an aggressive form of lymphoma, Grandad’s illness lasted less than 8 weeks before he died at the Mayo Clinic on February 22. We are still in shock at how quickly he moved from robust health to kidney, liver, lung and heart failure as a result of this deadly cancer. He had visited us at Christmas time, and still seemed to be himself, although unusually tired. We are struggling to make sense of this unexpected and seemingly-premature death of a beloved brother, husband, father, grandfather, pastor and friend.
More than eleven hundred people attended the memorial service, most of whom knew Bill Moore as their pastor. I was privileged to know Bill as a man, as a husband to Cindy, a father to my wife and her brothers, and as the grandfather of my children. I saw him as he repaired a screen door, when he worked outside in the garden, when he had to get up in the night to plunge a toilet, and when he fell asleep while reading a story to my kids.
Bill Moore was 67 years old when he died. He seemed healthy; jogging often, careful about what he ate, full of energy. We thought he would live for many more years, serving as a pastor, traveling and living quietly with Cindy. We expected him to spend many of his latter years reading companionably with his wife, puttering in his garden, and reveling in his grandchildren. Now he is with the Lord; the hole that he has left in our hearts and lives, aches for its emptiness.
None of us feels his loss quite like Cindy, though.
How can I describe this man, who was so full of life and energy and joy? How can I do justice to his faithfulness and deep passion for Jesus? What words can I write, to tell the story of his self-discipline and compassion for others? How can I paint a picture of his zest for learning, and his kindness, enthusiasm and generosity?
When my older children were quite small, Bill and Cindy moved into a house in Canton, Michigan, featuring a large backyard with a stream running through it. A few years later, we moved away, and were unable to visit more than once or twice a year, at the most. Bill began to plan for our summer visits, and constructed a huge sandbox around the base of one of the trees in his yard. Then he built a tree-house in that same tree, installed a swing set, and dredged the creek so that the water would flow properly. In the days before we arrived, he would tune up his tractor (to give rides to his grand-children) and pull down all the old bikes from the attic. He must have spent at least a hundred hours working to prepare for our comparatively short visit, so that our kids could enjoy some fun activities when they came.
Many times, my father-in-law would visit our house, and would spend much of the time that he was there, working on household repair and improvement projects (because I have always been such a poor handyman). He and Cindy would insist on taking us out to dinner, and routinely arrived with their luggage bursting with gifts for each of us.
For some reason, Grandad especially loved to wear hats, and it must be a genetic trait.
Whenever there was a book sale at the public library, Bill was there. He loved to buy books ‘by the bag’ — he could never pass up a good bargain. Even now, there are more than five thousand books in his home, many of which he has read (or at least skimmed). His mind was voracious — he loved to explore new ideas and learn about other fields, from hydro-electric power to an obscure type of beetle. One reason he was such an effective pastor and evangelist, is that he took an active interest in other people and what they knew or cared about. Even in casual contact with strangers, he would often ask a probing question that would result in an outpouring of knowledge or ideas. Among Christians, Bill was always eager to encourage and provoke spiritual growth. “What has God been teaching you, lately?” was one of his favorite questions.
Once not long ago we vacationed with Bill and Cindy, visiting the town of Saugatuck, Michigan. There we found (and rode) what is purported to be the last functional chain ferry in the United States. Immediately after embarking, Bill was exploring how the ferry worked, and soon he had persuaded the operator to let him try the mechanism that propelled the ferry across the river. Others caught the enthusiasm, and eventually most of us took a turn at the crank. That was the sort of man he was — he brought a colorful zest for life and a vibrant spirit of exploration into everything he did, and we were all richer in experience because of it.
Grandad was rarely ‘cranky’, but this was one time when he really was.
As patriarch of our little clan, he knew all about validating special events with his presence, and he wasn’t content to simply sit by, but would invest himself with power and enthusiasm. If Grandad wanted to watch Bonanza, suddenly everyone wanted to watch it. If he played Rat-a-Tat-Cat with the younger kids, even the older ones would drift over to the table to participate. If Bill proposed a golf-cart ride, we’d have to break out the second cart and make a caravan, because his cart would be over-full.
Usually, they let him ride in the front.
Many times, when we would visit Michigan, he would get up early to work at church, and come home at lunch time, vacationing for the rest of the day. The rest of us would sleep in, and slowly the house would awaken, with Cindy patiently serving breakfast to each one as they woke, in turn. At noon, Bill would walk in the front door, shouting: “Where are my Grandchildren?” Then, as it was often said, the ‘fun would begin’.
Each of my children loved their Grandad in their own way, but my son Daniel wore his heart for Grandad on his sleeve. I remember when we moved away from Michigan, Daniel was only two, and would ask us, plaintively, “Where’s Grandad?” The first time Bill came to visit us in Washington, some months later, Daniel took one look at him, reached out his arms to be held, and burst into tears with his head on Grandad’s shoulder, only then perhaps able to process his toddler grief in missing his beloved Grandad. Over the years, they have forged a special bond, and as a result, Daniel has really struggled to come to grips with his grief over the past several months. A few weeks ago, Daniel wrote a school paper about his remembrances of Fort Clark, Texas. It is his ‘favorite place’, where we used to vacation with Kathy’s parents:
“Everywhere I look in the Spanish stone ranch house, memories of Grandad surround me. Grandad loved to build and refinish furniture. The tall book shelves he made climb the walls and hold hundreds of books. As much as possible I would stand close to Grandad and try somehow to help, somehow. He let me hold the tools: screws, hammers and drill.”
My wife is the firstborn among her siblings and the only girl. Perhaps that is why she has such a sweet relationship with her Papa, and maybe that is why he always treated me so kindly. From the time I first swooped into their lives in my dilapidated Buick, a barefoot, arrogant and immature vagabond, Bill and Cindy treated me with honor and courtesy. Over the years, I have learned much from Bill Moore, and part of who I am is because of his godly heritage.
Those who knew him, came to love Bill’s courteous ways and gentle smile.
If I had to choose a passage that best described Bill Moore, I might choose Phillipians 2:3-4:
Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.
I think those verses describe my father-in-law deeply — he was a man who consistently ‘looked to the interests of others’. As a pastor, as a boss, as a friend and as a father, he put others first. With several advanced degrees and a lifetime of credible service as a pastor and spiritual leader, Bill had plenty of reason to consider himself more valuable than others. By the grace of the Holy Spirit, he was consistently able to set himself aside, and to prefer others above himself.
From the moment he gave his heart to Jesus as a freshman in college, Bill began to immerse himself in the pursuit of being a disciple of Jesus Christ. Bill loved to teach from the Bible, and his mind was full of deep insight on the nature of God and the meaning of scripture. He was an effective preacher and an unusually good listener. He was a peaceable man, able to disagree on major issues without breaking relationships. His wisdom and quiet confidence opened many doors of conversation, yet he had the maturity to give others a chance to be heard, even when their ideas were foolish in comparison to his.
Most people don’t know how often Bill and Cindy visited sick folks the hospital, although many at the memorial service had been touched by that aspect of their ministry. Because we live far away, much of our contact with Kathy’s family is via the phone; Bill would often call us when he was on the way home from a hospital visit. I can remember dozens (perhaps hundreds) of such calls, over the years — it was not unusual for Bill to make two or three such pastoral visits in an average week.
We lived in Michigan near Kathy’s family for five years; during that time we attended Trinity Presbyterian Church, where Kathy’s Dad served as founding pastor. I remember how Bill would make dozens of calls each month, encouraging visitors to return, and persuading young families to attend Sunday School. His diligence and faithful example have and continue to be an inspiration to me as I seek to please God with the offering of my life.
Grandad leaves behind a huge legacy of family and faith.
Looking back, Bill lived his life as one who knew his time on earth is limited. He worked hard, seeking to ‘make the most of every opportunity’, as Paul encouraged the Ephesians. He played with enthusiasm and joy, pouring himself out for his children and grandchildren. He was intentional about rest, and took great satisfaction in leading a life with a healthy balance of refreshment.
My father-in-law was not a perfect man. He worried about finances, and was occasionally angry with his wife and children. He could be brusque and even short-tempered when a repair project wasn’t going well. In some sense, these defects make his example even more compelling; as a fallen man myself, I cannot dismiss him as a ‘super Christian’ whose footsteps are impossible to emulate. In spite of his faults, he was steadfast in his efforts to glorify Jesus Christ, and was a man ‘after God’s own heart’ in the deepest parts of his character.
In recent years, my daughter Rachel has come to especially enjoy Grandad, sharing a love for (or at least a commitment to) jogging. Whether in the stifling heat of Texas, or along the beach at Lake Michigan, they would often jog together. She also wrote a descriptive essay about her love for summers in Michigan, visiting Mamie and Grandad:
“Bright and early my Grandad would appear, his tall form silhouetted by the dawn’s light, which streamed in from a window. My door would open creakily as he tried not to wake my slumbering cousin. “Ready?” Grandad whispers, and together we would tip-toe downstairs to stretch before our morning run. I love not only my grandparents’ home in Michigan, but also the area. The roads, forever covered in dust, remind me of the old westerns my Grandad always liked to watch. Trees edge both sides of the lane, but somehow the sun still shines through, embracing our skin with warmth. My Grandad and I run a three mile loop almost every morning.
Grandad and I ran twenty miles in twenty-one days in the balmy summer of 2010, while we vacationed in Michigan. Often I would take off my thick socks and uncomfortable shoes, and run with my bare feet. I adore running barefoot; it makes me feel liberated, and toughens my feet as it frees my heart. Now, although I run alone, I know Grandad is running along the beautifully paved golden streets of Heaven; old age and sickness is unable to touch him. Perhaps at this moment, he is cheering me on as I continue to run the race of life.”
Grandad didn’t seem particularly upset about being outrun by a girl …
In the last days of his life, Bill was unconscious. His body was losing the fight against the lymphoma, and he struggled with the respirator so that they had to keep him mostly sedated. One of the last things he was able to say to Cindy was the statement, “I’m so sorry.” Perhaps he already understood that he was soon to be leaving her as a widow on the earth. I think that, if he had been able, he might have echoed the final words of the apostle, Paul:
For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
William Carlton Moore, 1944-2011, thank you for being a godly example and father-in-law to me. I love you, and I know we all look forward to being re-united with you on the Glorious Day of our Lord’s return, or if He tarries, as we are each, in turn, called to our eternal home.
Pastor William C. Moore’s Obituary
Article about Pastor Moore (abstract)
Full Article about Pastor Moore (link broken, apparently archived)
P.S. Mamie, I’m sorry if this makes you cry. Writing it made me cry, but I still think it was better to write this, and to remember your beloved Bill.
Today has been a difficult day for me. I am not a person who is very much at home with outward displays of emotion, yet nearly everyone I’ve met today has hugged me and told me, “We’re praying for your family.” In spite of the awkwardness, I am so thankful for the way that God is surrounding us with His saints, who are so determined to show us love in a variety of ways.
Kathy is in Minnesota, helping to care for her Dad, at the Mayo Clinic. Bill continues in very poor health — the doctors still do not have a firm diagnosis for him. Hopefully tomorrow the batteries of scheduled tests will shed some light on the situation. Here in Washington, we watch and pray, checking text messages and Facebook for updates, dreading news yet thirsting for any certainty.
Kathy referenced Psalm 91 in one of her texts, which begins this way:
Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.â€
We are continually reminded that we rest in the shadow of the Almighty. Whatever happens in Kathy’s Dad’s body, God will be glorified. And so we watch and pray some more.
In the midst of all this, life continues. We went to church, and I taught most of a Sunday School class. My parents came over after church, and we celebrated my Dad’s 74th birthday. It was very pleasant to connect with my parents again, and to watch my Dad guess each of his gifts before he unwrapped them. He also makes a big deal of saving the wrapping paper, presumably a holdover from his childhood on the heels of the Great Depression. We enjoyed an ice cream pie together and had a sweet time of prayer together for Kathy’s Dad.
We made him blow out the candles twice, as is our custom.
It is hard not to feel guilty or shallow when the normal things of life interpose themselves in front of our concern for Granddad. And yet, I don’t think God wants us to wallow in fear or worry. Where is the balance? How much time do we focus on prayer for the healing of our beloved one, and how much do we go on with life? If we are able to trust easily, does it mean we don’t care about Granddad? If sorrow and tears predominate, does it mean we don’t trust God?
Last night, Daniel pulled out one of his last baby teeth, after much wiggling, in the Albertson’s parking lot. Back at home, he asked me:
“What should I do with it?”
“Put it in a little ziploc bag,” I suggested, not sure where this was going.
Later, as he was heading to bed, he asked me where he should put it.
“Why, do you still believe in the Tooth Fairy?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
I thought it would be funny to see how he answered that question. As an almost-14-year-old, he certainly couldn’t claim a belief in the Tooth Fairy, especially since Kathy and I are not particularly careful to perpetuate such childhood myths. Yet he clearly wanted to be paid for the tooth — I was eager to see his angle.
“No, but I believe in … Money!” Daniel gave me a big, cheesy grin, dangling the ziploc bag suggestively.
The Tooth Fairy is a bit notorious in our household. It is not unusual for kids to place hopeful teeth under their pillows for days at a time before attracting her notice.
“Times are hard,” I tell them, when they complain about their tooth being overlooked. “She is probably working the East coast this week — I hear there was a hockey tournament last weekend, and the poor Tooth Fairy is just swamped. Hang in there, maybe tonight will be your lucky night.”
When I checked on David and Daniel before I went to bed, I was amused to see that Daniel left nothing to chance. On his desk just beside the door, he placed his tooth (in its sanitary little bag), and left a note with an arrow, pointing at the tooth: “Right here, Tooth Fairy!! X marks the spot!” Around the tooth, he bent a glowstick into a circle, literally highlighting the tooth for even the most nearsighted of fairies.
Apparently Daniel has no high regard for the intelligence of the Tooth Fairy.
Naturally, the Tooth Fairy made no visit that night. I want my children to learn to be persistent, and to persevere. As Paul told the Romans:
Let us also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us. — Romans 5:3-5
It warmed my heart to watch Daniel’s silliness, and to have something to laugh about.
… and a piece of ice cream pie with Reese’s cup pieces and an Oreo crust never goes amiss.
Can you identify the difference (besides surrounding – location doesn’t count) between these pictures of Joshua?
Here is the Before:
And here is the After:
This is definitely not a fashion makeover. And the difference is not in the fact that he’s wearing a hat outside. Hint, look closely at the collar.
Yep, you guessed it (or, if you didn’t I’m going to tell you anyway because it’s my blog and that’s sort of the point), Joshua was PROMOTED at Navy Jr ROTC today!!!
Before – a c/Petty Officer 2nd Class (E5).
After – a c/Lieutenant (O3).
The “c/” stands for Cadet. Joshua was highly honored in his promotion. He skipped E6-9 and O1-2, a total of 6 ranks. He will be the Executive Officer (second in command) of Viking Company in the NJROTC program of 120 cadets. There were 12 students promoted today: 1 Lieutenant Commander, 1 Lieutenant, 8 Ensigns, 1 Master Chief Petty Officer, and 1 Senior Chief Petty Officer.
We are so proud of you, Joshua!! You will be an excellent leader. It is a joy to see you grow in your maturity, integrity and honor. We love you!!
Kathy
