I want to begin with something I shared at Mom's service:
"we picked the best parents".
My earliest memory is from the Presbyterian Church in
Manhattan, Kansas. Dad was the pastor of the congregation. One of his
parishioners asked if I was going to be a minister like my dad when I grew up?
Without hesitation, I answered no. I guess the pressure of being a PK was felt
even at the tender age of three. Ironically, I later become a convinced Friend
and discover that among Quakers we didn’t get rid of the clergy… we eliminated
the laity. We’re all ministers. In some ways, that felt like coming full
circle, I did grow up to be like my dad. As children we might not have
understood how true that was. But as the years went by — and especially as I
became a parent myself — I came to appreciate just how extraordinarily blessed
we were.
Dad transitioned from church ministry to campus ministry. I
remember the college students singing Peter, Paul & Mary or Pete Seeger
("If I had a hammer") and debating and asking big questions. Justice
and faith were not abstractions in our home — they were lived commitments. Dad
and Mom dedicated much of their lives to understanding and standing with people
across divides. Dad taught us justice. He taught us peace. He taught us
commitment. And he taught us what people like to call the Protestant work ethic
— though in our house it was less a slogan and more a way of being. If you
started something, you finished it. And not just finished it — you put the
tools away. “If I Had a Hammer” and didn't put it away, oh-boy would I hear
about it!
Another way I walked in Dad’s footsteps was the Boy Scouts.
With his help and guidance, I also achieved Eagle Scout and Brotherhood member
in the Order of the Arrow. I remember fondly his stories around the campfire.
When I was working on the bicycling merit badge, it required a 100 mile bike
ride. Dad joined me on a ride to Point Lobo. It felt epic at the time. I have a
memory of Dad spread eagle with exhaustion in middle of Monterey city park. But
we made it to Point Lobos to be rescued by Grandma & Grandpa Yeaney.
These weren’t extravagant adventures. They were something
better: intentional time together.
As I became a father, I gained a new respect for him. I used to hear the story about my concussion from falling off a swing set in Emporia as just that — a story, untethered from reality. Then years later, when my own son fell from a hammock in Puerto Rico and suffered a similar injury, the fear became real. In that moment, I understood something about what Dad must have felt. Parenthood deepened my gratitude for his steady presence.
In 2009, I had the privilege of joining Mom & Dad on one
of their many trips to the Holy Land. It was a hopeful time — just after the
election of Barack Obama and his Cairo speech. There was a sense that something
new might be possible. I felt honored to share that journey with them — meeting
Palestinians and Israelis, Christians, Muslims, and Jews. We learned so much
and made connections with people that endure today. It was part of a lifelong
commitment they carried. One of the Palestinian American women I recruited
commented, "I can't keep up with your parents and I'm half their
age!!" Their energy and purpose were unremitting.
Dad was always driven. We all inherited that, for better or
worse. Helping me building a shed in the backyard in his 80s; or hiking uphill
in the Santa Cruz mountains until he was exhausted in his 90s. Once he set his
mind to something, it was going to get done.
His intellectual curiosity also never wavered. I had the joy
of being invited to join his book club, and he in mine — well into his 90s.
Ideas mattered. Learning mattered. Conversation mattered.
His compassion never ceased. His dedication to justice
endured throughout his life. And so did his devotion to Mom — caring for her
tenderly to her dying breath. That kind of commitment teaches more than any
sermon ever could.
In his final days in the hospital in Amsterdam, our focus
was simple: get him “fit to fly” home to Virginia, to recover and meet his
three great-grandchildren for the first time.
That didn’t happen.
But what did happen was this: he lived fully. He loved
deeply. He worked for justice. He kept learning. He finished the job — and he
put the tools away.
We really did pick the best parents.
Dad, thank you.
I can't give up the podium without mentioning a couple of
people.
First, my son David — thank you for being his cruise
roommate and companion in adventure. You cared for him professionally and as a
grandson in his final days. I can't tell you how much he appreciated that. I
hope it was more than a chore and provided you rewards and blessings as well.
Monica — your wonderful caregiving meant more than we can
say. We are so blessed to have found you and made you a part of our family.
Jenny — there are not enough words. Daily nurse, driver,
banker, grocery shopper, event planner, guide, medical consultant — and
daughter. You did it all and then some, for years and years for both Dad and
Mom. We are in awe and so, so grateful. I could only dream of having such a
phenomenal caregiver in my final days. I hope there were enough rewards in that
long journey of love.
And to the friends and family; students and colleagues; nurses
and staff (many of whom Dad invited on that Rhine cruise!), the Trinity and
broader community: Thank you for surrounding Dad with love and care.
