Death of an "ordinary" man

Death of an  “ordinary” man

I went to a memorial service last night.
It was a reminder that we often learn to know one too late.

And that’s a great sadness.

Reinder Prins came from Friesland to this country when he was 19.
There had been limited chance for an education.

But he took with him a curious intellect and a fine capacity for learning.

And a great love for his Fryslân and its ancient language.

He went to work in his new country, got drafted, sent to Korea, and reached the rank of corporal.  He was a good soldier; love for his adopted country grew.

And also for his sweetheart.
They married, after military service, and for 55 years shared life together.

Until death did them part.

Reinder and a brother, in time, built a business together.

The brick and stone-laying company did well, for their work was first-rate.

But life was not all business.

A growing family generated its own priority busy-ness.

And so did church, for the Lord’s work had first place in Reinder’s heart.

But his heart was large.

There was room for the deep roots of a Gardener’s passion.

He knew when to plant, how to grow, until the garden’s abundance could feed the family and be shared with friends.

But the flower garden became his specialty and love.
Ever hungry for greater expertise, he earned the title of Advanced Master Gardener through the Michigan State University extension program.

Eager to share his knowledge and his skills, he reached out to local gardening groups.

His prize-winning dahlias led him to help establish a Dahlia Society.

His love for neighbor led him to the ministry of Horticultural Therapy for released prisoners.

His reward?  Their growing sense of confidence and dignity; and their love and respect.

Much of this I had not known.

I knew Reinder only from our “Frisian lunch group.”

Though he was man of few words, I discovered that he was an avid reader.

He was a thoughtful man, calm and deliberate in speech and manner.

I learned that his emigrating family and mine had sailed on the same ship, the Veendam, in 1948, though we did not meet then.

What impressed me most were the facile use of his native tongue, and the rich store of knowledge he had accumulated about his beloved Friesland.

But there had been so much more to know.

Not long ago, this large strong man who had never been sick was laid low.

Attacked by an aggressive lymphoma, he declined rapidly.

But though his voice was nearly silenced near the end, his mind never faltered.

He knew and could bless his family as they gathered around his bed.

He could whisper of his love for them and his love for Jesus.

He was at peace, ready to meet his Savior.

Last night, in the church he had been a part of for so many years, now packed to capacity, I watched and listened as his friends and family testified.

.

I began to see a man I had not known.

A man who had fed on the writings of theologians and historians.

A man whose integrity and gentle spirit had blessed many.

A man who had been a leader in his church, active in nearly every aspect of its ministry.

A man whose delightful writing had often entertained his readers.

A man respected for his wisdom.

But especially a man whose faith, devotion, and love for the Lord had deeply touched those closest to him.

The gratitude for the life of this man and deep love shone on the faces of his children and others who spoke of him.

It was profoundly affecting.

In his death, Reinder blessed me, as I should have been in his life.

An “ordinary” man?

Is anyone “ordinary”?

It’s a great sadness when we think so.