Running with Dick

What I think about, continued.

I attended a funeral for a friend this weekend. Dick used to sit behind me in choir. He was ornery and sweet. He threw spitballs and pulled ponytails. He was a 10-year old in a 70-year old's body. He was diagnosed with Parkinson's a while back and had to quit choir five years ago. He cried when we carolled at his nursing home.

It wasn't until his funeral that I truly understood Dick. His son talked about his father's quiet generosity; an example to be followed. Turns out Dick and his wife opened their home and ministered to many; they cared for the newborn of the neighboring widower; they housed and sheltered a battered woman; they housed more than one troubled teen; they housed and cared for their own ailing parents. There were other examples, too many to remember.

The hardest miles are the first and the last. I dedicate my first and last today to Dick.

(5 miles)