Front Row Christian

I’ve heard it said, “If everyone is a hero, no one is.”  In the spirit of heroes, we hear that word used often to describe people.  Soldiers, police, first responders, and firemen come to mind.  We even apply the word “hero” to our fathers.  I’ve come close to saying that out loud recently, but decided against it.  If everyone is a hero, no one is.

My parents’ wedding day, was a day filled with both love and mischief. There’s the story of Aunt Linda’s borrowed Mercury Cougar, adorned with honey, paint, and shaving cream. And let’s not forget Uncle Danny’s infamous “Here they are” announcement, which set the stage for the ensuing chaos.

It’s a humorous memory, one that paints a vivid picture of my parents’ youth. It’s a testament to the joy and camaraderie that surrounded them, even in the midst of playful pranks.

I recall a “Show and Tell” offering run amok and the day my sister, Amy, faced her first spanking. I spectated with equal parts dread and fascination. Shortly after, Paul and I were tasked with a seemingly impossible mission: retrieve Mom’s lost ring from the school playground. The search ensued.  However, no bounty was realized.  As the sun dipped below the horizon, we were armed with flashlights and sent back to the playground. Hours later, we returned empty-handed. It was a lesson in the harsh realities of childhood, a reminder that sometimes, even the most determined efforts fall short.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, and without my input, the Amy to Michael spank ratio, which appears to have been calibrated at 1 to 100, was formally adopted.

While I may have wished we’d found Mom’s ring, I can’t help but chuckle at the memory. It’s proof of the unique challenges and unexpected adventures of growing up.

I remember the stories: the overzealous Kirby salesman, the near-arrest of the half-pint from the Iowa Department of Revenue, and the high-centered hurdle incident that led to “Agile Wire” scribed across spools of copper in his shop. Some I witnessed firsthand and others were passed down through generations.

I recall simpler times—brown bag potato chips shared on his chest, family listening to Paul Harvey and reciting together, “Good morning Americans, it’s Friday,” at the breakfast table, and road trips filled with music and laughter. I remember the look of concern in his eyes when I asked him to quit smoking, a request he honored.

One particular memory stands out: our trip to Pioneer Village. He spent a small fortune in nickels for a steam carousel ride, indulging our childish pleas. In that moment, I saw the depth of his love and his willingness to create lasting memories.

These are but a few of the moments that truly matter. They are the threads that weave together the tapestry of my life.

Dad once gave Mom a bracelet that simply read, ‘Best Friend.’ At the time, I thought it was a bit cliché. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand the profound truth behind that simple gesture and reveled in the very same with my marriage.

Dad’s heart overflowed with love for his grandchildren. Life has a way of surprising us. One day, he wasn’t a grandparent, and the next, he was. Adoption and marriage brought new family members into our lives, and my parents welcomed them with open arms.  They’re like the pros of “instant grandparent-hood.”

In recent days, as we’ve prepared to say goodbye, a flood of memories has washed over me. I’ve relived countless moments—sights, sounds, and feelings—that I thought had faded with time. It’s been a bittersweet experience, filled with minute sadness and maximum gratitude.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to revisit these cherished memories. They remind me of the love, laughter, and lessons that shaped me. And they reinforce the enduring bond between my parents, a bond that continues to inspire me.

Rather than viewing my father as a hero, I believe the term ‘servant’ is more fitting. While he held many titles and roles, his true calling was to serve others. From his time in the Peace Corps and Army to his countless community roles, he consistently dedicated himself to the betterment of his fellow humans.

As a child, I witnessed firsthand his commitment to service. He would often take me along to meetings and events, exposing me to the world of public service. It was during these formative years that I began to understand the true meaning of selfless giving.

Foolishly, I thought I had a full comprehension of my Dad’s many roles and a firm handle on his brand of altruism.  Yet, I’ve been contacted by countless strangers and regaled with tales of help, humor, and harmony.

Dad possessed a deep-seated desire to help others.  Generosity in humanitarian ways was something he naturally gravitated towards.  Dad was often called when situations with people didn’t fall into presuppositional categories.  “What do we do with this homeless traveler?  Better call Mick…”  Dad would drive the traveler in the direction he or she was headed, stop and share a meal, and maybe put them up in a hotel for a hot shower, a warm bed, and the comfort of conditioned air.  

When his friends and neighbors battled a raging fire all night only to find occupants that didn’t make it out or couldn’t be saved, Dad would offer them counsel and get them headed in the direction of help. 

Or when something horrible took place and the aftermath was too much for a family to bear, my Dad could be counted on to take care of the things nobody speaks of…

For most of my life, I believed my Dad’s actions were solely motivated by his faith and a sense of duty. However, as I reflect on his life, I realize there is more to it.

My Dad’s empathy was forged and honed through the trials and tribulations of his life.  His life was a testament to selfless service.  He welcomed strangers, comforted the bereaved, and supported those in need. His empathy, born from his own struggles, fueled his desire to help others.  Rather than a hero, I prefer to think of Dad as the quintessential servant. He lived his faith by serving, drawing on his own experiences to offer comfort and support. He didn’t seek recognition; he simply did what was right as defined by the Lord.

While it’s tempting to label many as heroes, I believe a more fitting term is ‘servant.’ If we were to overuse the word ‘hero,’ it would lose its impact. However, the word ‘servant’ holds a unique power. Imagine a world where everyone strives to serve others. Wouldn’t that be truly remarkable?

The ultimate goal is to hear the words, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ Let us strive to be worthy of such praise.

I love my Dad and I know Who he sought to serve.  Who will you seek to serve?

(My eulogy for my Dad’s funeral – Michael “Mick” Ware – 17Jan1945 – 01Nov2024)

Philippians 1:21 – For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.