Blessed Assurance

I can still remember what his truck smelled like. I can still see him standing next to me, holding that red hymnal, singing in his unmistakable voice, the chorus of "Blessed Assurance." I can still remember exactly how his laugh sounded, what his tennis shoes looked like, and how he always wore those short sleeved button-ups. Some days, I feel like I can remember everything about him. I miss him so much.

I often think about writing a blog about my uncle Steve, but so far, none of them have scratched the surface of who he was to me, and before I publish it, I delete it out of fear that I haven't adequately described him. I'll be surprised if this one is any different, but I figured today - the day that he would have celebrated his 60th birthday - I could give it a shot.

He was always up for a game of Capture-the-Flag. He took those games pretty seriously - wearing black, marking the boundaries, dividing up teams. He always played his heart out, and even at 50, he could outrun the majority of us. He made us play fair, taught us to be kind, and reminded us that it was just a game. That didn't mean that he didn't hate to lose, though!

He was a total gamer. He loved any video game that involved racing, and I can remember spending hours, competing with those controllers, and loving it when he finally changed the goal (due to my lack of ability and control) from trying to cross the finish line first, to seeing how many virtual trees I could knock down in the process, which is what I was doing anyway! He didn't care that I was horrible at the game. It was just time together, and I loved it.

In a lot of ways, he did things that dads do - he came to our soccer games, told us to obey our mom, took us on bike rides, and taught us that there is nothing more important than a relationship with God. He was a teacher, friend and mentor. He was one of the - if not THE - wisest men I've ever known. He was part of the foundation of my childhood - one of those people who played a part in the person I'd eventually become, but it makes me so sad that he didn't get to see where I've ended up. Not because I'm proud of who I am, but because I still need his words of wisdom a lot of days, and I really, really wish he could know my babies. They would adore him. I did. I still do.

As much as I wish he was here to celebrate his birthday, I know he is in a place where birthdays are trumped by worship, time is trivial, and June 21 might as well be any other day of the year. I know that he is experiencing that "glory divine" that Frances Crosby wrote about, and I know he is where he is supposed to be. I am so thankful that I have the "blessed assurance" that I'll get to see him again one day, and his body will be whole and healed. I can't wait to see that.