Dad

Dad, I’ll remember you…

Standing in your garage, rising from your workbench -arms open, welcome warm

the garage doors opening like gates to your Kingly Court where you said you were piddling, but really you were presiding over eternal work: making crosses by hand to send to homes all over the world, scraping bugs off our windshields, making luminaries, organizing and planning fish fries, and hosting your own “garage lunches” to ensure your disabled neighbor and friend had an ongoing opportunity to be in community.

I’ll remember you traveling…

Red hair, tall frame, unmissable smile and open arms making a warm welcome of every crowded arrivals gate.

4 a.m. wake-up calls to get on the road early, beat the traffic, and make it to Cracker Barrel for Uncle Herschel’s breakfast without waiting.

Awestruck by the mystery of Jerusalem’s streets, childlike joy floating together in the Dead Sea, wonder atop the Mendenhall Glacier.

Yet somehow, you never really left your birthplace behind, as you connected all the ways Destin was like the Mediterranean, New York Harbor, or the Gulf of Alaska.

For you, travel was another opportunity to marvel at the mystery of our Creator and the endless expressions of His majesty and love.

For you, travel was a way to meet and love even more people. My phone is full of candid snapshots of you with gate agents, Uber drivers, servers, tour guides, and fellow passengers, the joy from your warmth and humor shining on their faces. You knew how to turn even the most ordinary moments into memories for strangers and friends alike. 

You were as comfortable in an artist’s gallery as you were in a soup kitchen, as comfortable excavating ancient ruins as snorkeling. 

But no matter how far you traveled, you were always at home with yourself. 

I’ll remember you entertaining…

Standing over the sink, blue crabs dangling from your capable hands

Leaning over the fish fryer, dropping hush puppies into the oil, encouraging people to eat with a disarming welcome of “whatever you don’t eat, you’ll have to wear home.”

Birthday parties on the porch, your detailed creativity infusing every moment.

Regular sleepovers turned into epic adventures as you used old Marler-style pranks, like throwing huge fake bugs into the bedroom where we slept, creating unforgettable and delicious chaos.

Off-roading through the old swampy parts of Titusville, loaded up in the back of your old blue Ford truck, holding on tight for the ride of our lives.

You were as comfortable acting out Mrs. Doubtfire as you were preaching, “Watch their dogs,” posing as the Managing Director of Sitmore, Dolittle, and Livewell as you were the “Sheriff of Alan Drive” and hosting countless guests that arrived as strangers but left as lifelong friends.

I’ll remember you serving, giving, leading, and praying.

You learned how to operate whatever equipment was necessary to ensure mobility for family and friends alike—lifts, ramps, walkers—you made it happen. I’ll remember you loading wheelchairs, walking at whatever pace was needed by the “OTHER,” your arms out lifting those whose joints and bodies had failed them even as you struggled with your own.

You were as faithful, loyal, and down to earth as they come. You were as comfortable cutting nails in the nursing home for someone in your care as you were meeting with the directors to address concerns and areas for improvement.  

Through all these years and in countless ways, you never missed the chance to see people with open eyes. You used humor, warmth, and willingness to be silly to lessen the distance between souls.  People might have thought you were having fun, but you did it for them. To make them feel at home with you, with themselves, and most importantly with Jesus, so they could join you in saying it is well with my soul…

I’ll remember you singing… 

Sharing the piano bench with you as you led us all through sing-alongs using hymnals and the infamous Reader’s Digest songbooks

Oh, come all ye Faithful in Latin every Christmas, yodeling old obscure country songs, crooning My Wild Irish Rose, but most of all, I’ll remember you singing Til We Meet Again to the love of your life- just like you did on your 25th Anniversary.

DAD on the occasion of your 89th Birthday

You Keep Life MOVING…

We started our journey on the Cul-de-Sac off of Alan Drive; tricycles soon became bicycles 

Rides in the old blue Ford became driver education practice around town.

Local road trips became highway journeys spanning the flatlands of your home and the mountains of mom’s.

Arm floaters in the pool became whitewater rafts, and my playhouse became a borrowed camper (with a repair time almost as long as the fun memories it gave us)…

And you kept life moving…

I-4 Tampa Traffic became the Holland Tunnel and the insufferable, infamous, black-top labyrinth of New York City

Road trips became international flights

The Gulf of Mexico became the Mediterranean

International flights became helicopter tours

The trek through Destin’s snow-white sands became slow and steady steps onto the piercing blue glaciers of Mendenhall

And you kept life moving…

The hours of yard work and neighborly chats in the garage became long walks in the Parrish Pool

The entertainer of countless acts and the Sheriff of Alan Drive became the Elder Sage

Leading groups became listening to others lead

Frying fish for dozens became eating fish fried by those you taught

And you kept life moving…

Singing around the piano became listening to others sing

Being the life of the party became observing parties take place around you…

Phone calls became FaceTime waves and smiles

And You KEEP life moving…

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of living long lives, as we have all been blessed to, is getting to witness the ways you have kept life moving through every season—and how you continue to do so even now as you near your 9th decade earthside.

I used to wish I could have seen how you kept life moving in your youth.

In the waters of the Choctawhatchee Bay, barefoot skiing behind a boat, doing stunts on the water- or running the football up and down the field as one of Okaloosa’s best

You kept life moving from the very beginning….

But now I see, especially since becoming a parent myself, that the real blessing has been to see you keep life moving through the seasons that aren’t as fun or as easy as the ones we move through in our youth- the ones that require us to move through the pain, hardship, perpetual skin cancer removal, blessings, celebrations, arthritic knees, and everything in between is truly one of the greatest lessons- and to trust that ALL the ways we can keep life moving are still of value and worth no matter how many different forms our movement may take over the years. 

Thank you for teaching me those lessons, moving with me, and continuing to move life in the ways you do even now. I know it must be hard for your body, and how you now spend your days is so different from how you spent most of your life, but it is a gift to still be moving with you for almost 50 of your 89 blessed years on this earth. May you keep moving with blessings. I love you!