there once was a man

There once was a man...
he stood out in a crowd -
head and shoulders above -
with an unforgettable beard
and fire in his blue eyes.
He filled space
whether or not it needed to be filled.
Altho a little rough around the edges,
his heart was big...
big for his family
big for his friends
big for his God.
He loved people.
He lived through people.
He gave his life to people -
both familiar or stranger.
No matter what the hour,
no matter what the task
he was available -
ready for whatever need
needed to be met.
He was a servant.
A constant resource of the odd and end.
A man who could do almost everything.
He dreamed big
and constantly.
He had the hug of a bear
and the occasional growl of one.
He was far from perfect,
but was no stranger to grace,
and the journey through trial and pain.
He loved to sing.

There once was a man...
I never told him enough
how much I appreciated him.
How much he meant to me.
How much I loved him.
How much I'll miss him.


Why do we wait until death to write a tribute?
To celebrate a life?
To appreciate what we hold in our hands?
To tell our loved ones
they are loved?
The ones who fill our lives with good things
that they are appreciated?

This morning I awoke to the feeling of space...that gnawing emptiness that remains when you experience the loss of someone who has left big fingerprints all throughout your life. God is good at crossing your paths with some pretty incredible people who end up filling nooks and crannies you didn't know were there, or the gaping holes you feel everyday. Mr Wassink was one of those people...

He always knew what buttons to push, and would often push them...
but he also always saw a need, and was quick to meet it.
He was restless.
Passionate.
He loved to share...to be a part of anything and everything going on.
He never really fit in...which is why I appreciated him since I never did...

Whenever I returned home from my world travels, I would anticipate him hunting me down for a hug,
more often then not - the long and awkward kind,
and he would ask me about life,
tell me of his latest and greatest idea,
and show me the newest thing to be parked at his house...
(this year it was a motorcycle!)

He has looked after my family, especially my mom, for as far back as I can remember that the lines between family and friend have long since blurred into one.
Whatever we needed - he could find.
Whenever we needed...he was there.
Constant.
Faithful.
Unconditional.

This week he got what only heaven could offer
and none of us could give,
and as I stand in the wake of the space he left behind
I feel the loss of someone who had always given so much...
whom I had received so much from.
I will miss his pesty pokes...
his constant teasing that reminded me how much he cared.
And the twinkle he would get in his eye
when he was up to something, or wanted to be.
His constant questions, pressing and challenging.
His passion for singing, and his inability to pick just one song.
His unrelenting love.

And I pay tribute with only one regret...
that I didn't tell him more
how much I appreciated him.
How all those little things
made such a big difference in my life.
How much he was loved.

My dearest Wassink family....thank you for sharing your dad.
He was a diamond in the rough,
now polished in the crown of heaven.

When I was a growing up I had two spinster aunts who lived together. They always had an open door, and I remember many family gatherings filling their home on Aldershot. Quirky, yet feisty, they inspired me at a young age to want to be as cool as they were if I ever got to be an aunt!

Today I had the honour of being at the bedside of my Tante Annie. Full of cancer, it was difficult to watch her fight for each breath. In those moments of observing life translate into eternity, I saw the legacy of her years on this planet in the lives of her nieces and nephews. Having had no children of her own, she was surrounded by the thoughts, prayers and presence of those who saw her as a second mother. I am grateful she is no longer in pain...but I am more grateful for the legacy she left behind. May we endeavour to love with open doors and open hearts...


From when I was a little girl
with scraped up knees and baby curl
I recall with love, fond memory,
A song a spinster sang to me...

This song would filter, fiercely sweet
and gather children round her feet.
And with an open heart and home
she sung as if they were her own...
It spun a smile, and calmed a fear
It held a hand, it dried a tear.
Note for note, it's tune would rest
In sacrifice for life's request,
as strength with determined spirit met;
Yet tenderly, it oft' had wept.

This song has threaded through the years
From generation to generation's ear,
And when her voice would crack with time,
Still she remembered every line,
and tho with laboured breath, was bound,
it gathered all the children 'round.
With longing heart and tired strands,
her legacy sat to hold her hand,
and with a breath, so frailly hung,
the spinster's final song was sung.