The Smile

Today I went to a funeral.  Not an uncommon event for me since I’ve officiated somewhere close to 75 over the past decade and a half.  But today was different because I went to the funeral of a…  Of a what?  Teacher, Mentor, Guide… Friend?  None of these words seem to be the right words when I think of this man, which is ironic because one of the things he imparted to me was a love of words.  And now I find myself at a loss for words.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was at the funeral of Glen Kirch today and I was mad.  But I wasn’t mad in the way some funeral mourners are mad, I wasn’t mad at God.  I was mad at myself.  A few weeks ago I heard from an old classmate that Glen was in the hospital although he didn’t know which hospital.  So I spent the afternoon calling around to see if anyone could tell me where.  After a few hours I gave up thinking that I’d see some old teaching colleagues of Glen’s the next day and they’d be able to tell me where he was.  And I was right.  I ran into a number of people who knew where he was.  But what none of us knew was that almost at that very moment Glen had left his earthly home for his heavenly one.  I was too late to see him, too late to tell him what an amazing gift he had been, too late to introduce him to my family.  Too late.

At the funeral we were asked to think of one word to describe Glen, which was kind of ridiculous because no one word could personify who he was.  Still, as a wordsmith I think Glen would have liked that little assignment.  And every single word that people mentioned were good words.  But the word that came into my mind was a word that described what I saw in my mind whenever I thought of Glen.  That word was “smile.” 

I have to search long and hard in my mind to come up with a memory of Glen Kirch that does not include his smile.  He smiled the day that I convinced our English class to turn all of the desks around to face the back of the room after he had stepped out.  One day a classmate was gone from school, he had gone on a family vacation to Hawaii.  As Mr. Kirch took role call he asked about the missing student and I said, “He’s getting leied in Hawaii.”  Mr. Kirch just smiled (although I believe that was one of the few occasions he was at a loss for words.)  I think it is safe to say that all of my memories of him include his smile.

So I sat at Glen’s funeral mad at myself for waiting too long yet surrounded by pictures of him with his smile.  And thinking about him with his smile, thinking about what kind of man was behind that smile suddenly made me smile.  Which is what I needed at the moment.  I needed to smile and I needed to think of Glen’s smile.  Because there was a part of me that reacted to his death by thinking that the world was literally a worse place without him in it.  With his passing, something that was truly special, truly great, truly beautiful was gone. 

One of the very first things I learned from Mr. Kirch was a love of words.  And not just a love of words but a love of true words.  I learned from Glen to read everything, from the newspaper to a great novel, always searching for the words that were true.  Because as much as Glen loved words he loved THE Word even more.  And taught me, even though I hardly realized it at the time, that all truth is God’s truth, that all true words are reflections of the true Word.  And that has literally changed my life. 

All of that made me realize that the world was not a worse place now with Glen gone.  Far from it, in fact just the opposite.  The world was a far better place because of him.  All you needed to do was look around the church and see the countless people he had touched over the years.  And I suddenly thought of some of the true Word of which Glen was so fond. “Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” (I Corinthians 13:8-12)

There is something very “right” to me when I picture Glen in heaven, Glen seeing the truth completely, no longer dimly as in a mirror.  There is something true about the picture I see of Glen, known as he is fully known, and smiling.  But even more there is something real about God’s unconditional love that re-made Glen into the person he was.

So today I left the funeral of a friend thinking of his smile but even more, thinking of the love that was behind that smile.  It was a love that I know was not perfect but it was a profound love nonetheless.  It was a love for Jesus and all He created, it was a love for all of God’s children no matter how smart or pretty or cool they were.  It was a love that I believe everyone who ever met him experienced.  It was a love that was never perfect… until now.

And while I regret not introducing Glen to my family I left today trying to imitate his smile.  Tomorrow I’ll try imitating the love behind it.

(Note – Any writing errors in the above, whether grammatical or stylistic, is solely the fault of the student and not the teacher)

Glen Kirch – 11/10/33 – 6/18/09 - ∞

Failure

I’ve been thinking about failure a lot lately. I’m not thinking about trying to fail, instead I’m trying to decide if I have already failed. To be honest it isn’t something I like thinking about, probably most people don’t. But I may be more predisposed to dislike failure than some of you.
• First, I am a guy.
• Second, I am a first-born guy in my family - if you put any stock in the birth order thing.
• Finally, I’ve been professionally trained in the “find success in any failure” technique and have many years of practice.

So to begin with I ask myself if I feel like a failure? The answer to that is yes. There are plenty of moments in the day when I feel like a failure. I fail to be the husband I want to be all the time. As a father I have countless moments each day where I flash to the future and see one of my daughters on a therapist's couch saying things like, “Well, when I would spill my juice at the dinner table my dad’s head would explode…” I very deliberately do not have a “Jesus” fish or cross on my car since at least once a day I comment on the relative driving skills of a fellow driver. Usually a comment on their mental capacity (“moron”) or an anatomical comment ("drive like you’ve got a pair") is the mode of my failure.

I fail to take care of myself as I should. I fail to take care of my family; I forgot my sister’s birthday this year, again. I fail to follow and sometimes I fail to lead. I almost always fail to see the point. I fail to communicate….”which is the way he wants it, well he gets it.”

But I also realize failure is a perspective from a specific point in time. Abraham Lincoln failed 47 times (or whatever it was) until he “succeeded”. So yes I know that what seems like failure at the time can just mean you’re not finished yet. But I also know that plenty of people, probably most people, actually fail. We run into them everyday, people who have clearly failed but they don’t even know it. So what is the difference between “not finished yet” and “failed but don’t know it”?

Lot’s of times my daughters will bring me something they are coloring or drawing. “Daddy look at my picture, what do you think?” “It’s very nice, I like it. That giraffe sure has short legs though” I’ll respond. “Daddy, that’s not a giraffe. It’s ants carrying a picnic basket with a giant corn dog in it.” “Sorry, I thought those spots on the corn dog made it look like a giraffe.” “Well I’m not finished with it yet!”

If I made a list of where I should be, of what I should be, nothing is where I’d like it. In every area I am either “not finished yet” or I “failed and don’t know it.” Realistically there is very little difference. And in many instances it doesn’t really matter.

In the Bible there is the well-known “Love” chapter, Paul’s 1st letter to the Corinthians, where he says a lot of very cool things about love. One of the best is “love never fails.” (I. Cor. 13:8a) For years I’ve thought about that statement and been faced with the harsh truth that my love does fail, a lot. Too often if I’m honest.

Even though I know that chapter is about God’s love it is hard for me not think about how my love fails. Skipping over the usual platitudes I’m learning what it is like to fail - professionally, personally, emotionally and even physically. I’m not who I was and I am not who I’m supposed to be. I’ve failed at every single thing I’ve tried. And if some of those failures are “not yet finished” that’s fine. If some of those are “failed but doesn’t know it” then I’m probably better of not knowing it.

If I think about it in terms of God’s love it is very awesome, even comforting. His never fails. It doesn’t say “His love isn’t finished yet” but His “love never fails”. His love never fails even though I do, even though my love fails. I don’t know what it is like to love with an unfailing love but I do know what it is like to be loved with an unfailing love.

The love that never fails is the love that I receive and not the love that I give, I’m convinced of that. The love that never fails is in my wife’s smile, my girl’s kisses and the dog’s wet nose when I come home. That unfailing love is in all the little things around me because they are all part of that never failing love my Father has for me. They are all small ways in which God reminds me “you are not finished yet.”

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” (Philippians 3:12)

Want to go deeper? Check out Philippians Chapter 3.