Today was the funeral and memorial. My God, how loved my brother was! There were hundreds of people at the memorial. It was absolutely amazing to see how many people he had touched. I was given the opportunity to say a few things. Here is my Tribute to my Spiritual Mentor and Big Brother.
I loved him so much.
I want to start out with a couple of thank yous. I want to thank Faith Community Church for the support that it gave Paul and his family. You are what a church should be. You are the embodiment of what I believe Christ expected from us – charity, kindness, nobility, grace, humility, compassion and community. There is nothing more comforting than knowing that during your family’s most critical time, there is literally an entire congregation caring for the needs. It was a luxury not many have and my family is eternally grateful.
I want to thank Sam. Sam is the consummate Christian woman. Never did I hear her take credit for all that she did during Paul’s illness. She always gave the credit to God. Without God, she told me once; I never would be able to do any of this. You were the light in my brother’s life and you completed him. I look to you as an example of who I can become. You are a hero to my entire family and you will forever be loved more than you can ever fathom.
Many people come and say “I am sorry for your loss”. At a time like this, no one really knows what to say, no one can find the magic words that make this kind of pain ease, even temporarily. And although, I too am sorry for the loss of a man whom I was blessed enough to call my brother, I am awash by a wave of absolute awe and gratitude that God saw fit to not only bless me with but to relate me to a man so humble, so touched with grace and intelligence and wit. I always felt a little small being Paul’s sister. I was never as witty. Never as bright. Never as quick. Never as incredible as my big brother.
He was my big brother.
I found out on my first mission trip to the DR (dominican republic), that while at the Houston’s lake house immediately after the diagnosis, Janeu declared to John, Paul and Sam that she was going to start praying for the rapture. Paul said – no. please don’t do that. My mother and sister don’t know the Lord. My big brother who at a time of tremendous shock and horror at his projected life following the ALS diagnosis, decided to take his sister’s hand and say “come with me. Come with me on this journey and I promise you that it will change your life.” And he was right. He brought us both, my mother and me, to Jesus.
There is no way to express the soul ripping that one experiences seeing a loved one endure the ravages of ALS. I still can close my eyes and remember Paul patiently teaching me to drive a stick shift on Voss Road in Memorial. With sweat running down my spine, and cars lined up behind, literally laying on their horn, he said “don’t worry about them. You can do this. Ease off the clutch and give it some gas….” I don’t think the gears on his Celica were ever the same. I remember my heart breaking when he had to leave to go back to school in England, and fantasizing about his wonderful adventurous life. I remember dad lowering him into the water face first, holding him by the ankles to try to figure out what was under the sailboat in the crystal clear water of the Florida Keys. Initially calm and cool he turned frantic, literally bending at the waist and holding onto the railing before my dad had time to react – “a shark. Definitely a shark.” I remember scuba diving with him and his expression of fascination and joy and sharing this unbelievable moment of being in another beautiful pristine world where we weren’t supposed to be breathing but we were! We were breathing underwater! And I remember him taking my hand and squeezing it and I looked at him and I could tell by his eyes that he was so filled with joy and love and wonder – just as I was.
Because as most of us have witnessed during this time, Paul was able to express so much with his eyes.
Today, I express my sadness at the loss to this world of my brother. But in my heart, I know with absolute certainty that he has fallen to his knees in the presence of Jesus who in turn has lifted him up, with a brilliant smile and asked him to walk and talk with him for a while. Well-done, good and faithful servant, he has said to Paul, you have served me well. And Paul is filled with love and joy and freedom, as he should be. He is finally home. He is talking, laughing, and at supreme peace.So when others come with sympathetic hearts and express their sorrow, I wish instead that they would say how blessed I am. How deeply, deeply grateful I am to have been given the honor of knowing a man, of having a brother who cared so much for his little sister that he walked her and sometimes carried her only to lay her in the lap of Jesus and say “here she is Lord. I love her this much.” Thank you, Paul, for loving me so much. I will miss you every day that I am here, but I find peace in the knowledge that with a twinkle in your eye and that endearing smile you will be at the door waiting for me, when it is my time to come home.
I loved him so much.
I want to start out with a couple of thank yous. I want to thank Faith Community Church for the support that it gave Paul and his family. You are what a church should be. You are the embodiment of what I believe Christ expected from us – charity, kindness, nobility, grace, humility, compassion and community. There is nothing more comforting than knowing that during your family’s most critical time, there is literally an entire congregation caring for the needs. It was a luxury not many have and my family is eternally grateful.
I want to thank Sam. Sam is the consummate Christian woman. Never did I hear her take credit for all that she did during Paul’s illness. She always gave the credit to God. Without God, she told me once; I never would be able to do any of this. You were the light in my brother’s life and you completed him. I look to you as an example of who I can become. You are a hero to my entire family and you will forever be loved more than you can ever fathom.
Many people come and say “I am sorry for your loss”. At a time like this, no one really knows what to say, no one can find the magic words that make this kind of pain ease, even temporarily. And although, I too am sorry for the loss of a man whom I was blessed enough to call my brother, I am awash by a wave of absolute awe and gratitude that God saw fit to not only bless me with but to relate me to a man so humble, so touched with grace and intelligence and wit. I always felt a little small being Paul’s sister. I was never as witty. Never as bright. Never as quick. Never as incredible as my big brother.
He was my big brother.
I found out on my first mission trip to the DR (dominican republic), that while at the Houston’s lake house immediately after the diagnosis, Janeu declared to John, Paul and Sam that she was going to start praying for the rapture. Paul said – no. please don’t do that. My mother and sister don’t know the Lord. My big brother who at a time of tremendous shock and horror at his projected life following the ALS diagnosis, decided to take his sister’s hand and say “come with me. Come with me on this journey and I promise you that it will change your life.” And he was right. He brought us both, my mother and me, to Jesus.
There is no way to express the soul ripping that one experiences seeing a loved one endure the ravages of ALS. I still can close my eyes and remember Paul patiently teaching me to drive a stick shift on Voss Road in Memorial. With sweat running down my spine, and cars lined up behind, literally laying on their horn, he said “don’t worry about them. You can do this. Ease off the clutch and give it some gas….” I don’t think the gears on his Celica were ever the same. I remember my heart breaking when he had to leave to go back to school in England, and fantasizing about his wonderful adventurous life. I remember dad lowering him into the water face first, holding him by the ankles to try to figure out what was under the sailboat in the crystal clear water of the Florida Keys. Initially calm and cool he turned frantic, literally bending at the waist and holding onto the railing before my dad had time to react – “a shark. Definitely a shark.” I remember scuba diving with him and his expression of fascination and joy and sharing this unbelievable moment of being in another beautiful pristine world where we weren’t supposed to be breathing but we were! We were breathing underwater! And I remember him taking my hand and squeezing it and I looked at him and I could tell by his eyes that he was so filled with joy and love and wonder – just as I was.
Because as most of us have witnessed during this time, Paul was able to express so much with his eyes.
Today, I express my sadness at the loss to this world of my brother. But in my heart, I know with absolute certainty that he has fallen to his knees in the presence of Jesus who in turn has lifted him up, with a brilliant smile and asked him to walk and talk with him for a while. Well-done, good and faithful servant, he has said to Paul, you have served me well. And Paul is filled with love and joy and freedom, as he should be. He is finally home. He is talking, laughing, and at supreme peace.So when others come with sympathetic hearts and express their sorrow, I wish instead that they would say how blessed I am. How deeply, deeply grateful I am to have been given the honor of knowing a man, of having a brother who cared so much for his little sister that he walked her and sometimes carried her only to lay her in the lap of Jesus and say “here she is Lord. I love her this much.” Thank you, Paul, for loving me so much. I will miss you every day that I am here, but I find peace in the knowledge that with a twinkle in your eye and that endearing smile you will be at the door waiting for me, when it is my time to come home.
Comments