Missing my Dad...

Nineteen years ago I lost my Dad.  I have spent these years slowly knowing how much he means, how much he loved me, how much I loved him.  If you still have your Dad, appreciate him, love him, spend time with him, tell him how grateful you are.  If you know someone who doesn't have their Dad, see how you may be a blessing to them.

Today I listened to this song by the inimitable Michael Kelly Blanchard and the tears came.  As Michael has it, "I miss you, Pops."  I miss my Dad.  And things are never the same.  Others I can look up to, and do -- but none can take his place, or should.  Others give guidance and wisdom and example, but none like my Dad.  Others give inspiration, but his life and memory give insight and help when I am at a loss.

"Springtime flowers", as the song says, will indeed bloom and renew, but there are times the heart aches and Spring is too far away.  But as Dad would tell me and the song says so well, "You're gonna make it through."  Yes, I will, but I still miss you, Dad.  Thank you for all you gave to me, easily overlooked at the time, but deeply treasured today.  There are no words, except, "I love you."

Contra-Human...

So in the absence of adequate time or catchy titles I am going to toss out a few thoughts on the recent fracas over the Georgetown University gal and her concern about insured contraceptive pills.

Of course this is not about access -- access is everywhere. And it is not about a solid philosophical discussion of the matter -- that is virtually impossible. Speaking of, I heard a 'debate' on Hannity in which the dissenting voice, an M.D., was startlingly shrill and irrational. Beyond the pale.

There are many elephants in this room. G. K. Chesterton reveals the elephant in his splendid essay, A Piece of Chalk, in which the grandest truths are the ones we are built upon. In his essay, that truth is the grandeur of sexual purity.

Far truer to call this the 'dinosaur' in the room, for it is neglected as if irrelevant, passe'. But it is the beautiful alternative to what Ms. Fluke protests. No access to contraception?! No options? What of chastity -- a beautiful, old-fashioned way of life in which one saves sexual activity for marriage and then exclusively for one's spouse?

Happily, I was chaste when married and know many who, by the grace of God, supportive family/peer groups, and a this-is-possible-and-to-be-expected attitude, did the same. When a relative told her Dr. that she was a virgin he was stunned. "How does that happen?" Premarital intercourse is assumed.

Chesterton puts it thus: "Virtue is not the absence of vices or the avoidance of moral dangers; virtue is a vivid and separate thing.... Chastity does not mean abstention from sexual wrong; it means something flaming, like Joan of Arc. In a word, God paints in many colors; but he never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white."

The recent national discussion began by ignoring this vast possibility: that unmarried people would save the beauty of sex for marriage. Can we go there and talk about this as the most truly human alternative?

Marriage is the home for sex -- save it. Marriage is the home for children -- save it. Marriage is the home for families -- save it. Families are the foundation of society -- save them. The incredible allure of sex without boundaries will drag us down further and further until prophets like GKC and you and I insist that so-called 'free sex' is a misnomer that damns us. Virtue and sexual chastity are the grand choices that preserve beauty and truth and in the end, make wholesome families possible.

A Memory of a Great Man

Kenneth Bryant

From a distance I knew him, far enough away in age and miles that I lay awake tonight wondering if I could/should say anything at all. How did I know this man? I didn't, not really. And yet I did in what is, to me, sacred memory. And I knew him in knowing some of his children. And that is how I remember him first. So many children that I'm afraid to name them, fearing I will miss one. There was Becky, the eldest and her he-man husband, Ron, both of whom loved me early as a young man, setting a good example of a godly life. Then there was Mark, the cowboy – well all the guys were cowboys in a way. Mark and Steve were the older brothers. Then came Liz and Mary, Nathan and Sarah, and that little guy running around under foot, Micah. I might have missed one but I think that is it.

As I say, I'm just a distant observer but on this day of remembering the man, the father of this clan, I keep seeing a lot in my memory. I remember his eyes. Kenneth Bryant had this ever-present way in his expression, nearly impossible to describe. It was not a twinkle though it had merriness to it. It is like he knew this secret and it gave constant energy and joy to his life. It was nothing he lorded over others. In fact it seems like it was the secret that kept him going in service to everyone else. A pleasant truth, reflecting a well never running dry, a life really lived in ways and from sources the rest of us puzzled over before going our lesser ways.

My most fixed memory of Kenneth Bryant, his wonderful wife and fun family, is seeing them arrive at church camp grounds in Wichita, Kansas. The grounds were always hot and dusty and when the Bryant clan arrived there was an old car kicking up a plume of dust, pulling a trailer, and a pickup with a topper following, I guess. I only remember that they weren't driving anything fancy! But it had to be more than one vehicle to handle all of those kids. And they set up camp in and outside their cabin over there in the SW corner of the grounds. Nothing too romantic on those dusty grounds, mind you, but if there was time to tell it all you would know why I consider those memories sacred.

Around the Bryant cabin I was introduced to a lasso, messing around after and between services to learn something about lassoing someone's little brother or related mischief. There was some real coyboyin' goin' on in that family as I knew for sure when I went with Steve in '82 to visit Mark on the backside of nowhere in Arizona. Having grown up in western Kansas I knew big spaces, but NE Arizona redefined it for me. Steve and I drove for a long time – maybe an hour or more – no markings, no stores, nothing but....nothing. And then in the middle of all that we found Mark with a trailer and truck and horse, doing his job in service to a rancher who, honest, had cattle out there somewhere. We took Mark's truck and left him with a car as I recall so we could return to Kansas where church camp was getting started again in one of those hot, dusty, happy Augusts.

And so when we met the Bryants, starting in 1978 in that happy place in Wichita, it was always with all those kids and somewhere around was Mrs. Bryant -- always smiling in my memory -- and Mr. Bryant. Of course they loved God and you knew it, and they loved Him with service and love and just being in a way that made you almost forget they were there. As Micah told me, “Dad wasn't on any big councils or big important stuff like that, but he lived Jesus in a way like no one else I ever knew.”

As I grew older I didn't see them as much. One of the last times was in Miltonvale in 1989 or so. Whatever year it was, they had lost Steven in the past year. One of the pastors motioned toward Mr. Bryant and said, “There is a man of God, just buried a son, carrying on in faithfulness and truth and love.” I looked across at Mr. Bryant and knew, in my youthful unknowing, that there was a mysterious truth to this and a sustaining enabling in his life.

As I say, I knew him from a distance, but I could not shake his memory as I lay awake tonight. He died sometime on Monday, leaving eight children and their families, a heritage that is really priceless. I confess I remember him as being very poor – seemed like they had so little. But as the saying goes, the most important things in life are not things, and the Bryants had that in abundance. A real, simple, living faith in a God who was good, faithful, loving, steady, honest, always there. That was Kenneth Bryant, I think, living faithfully so that we saw in him the Jesus he loved and trusted. And so now that he is gone from us his example helps us to believe that we, too, can walk that life of faith, if faint by comparison, and someday rejoin him in heaven. I think that makes sense; I think that is real. And I believe it all the more because of the life and love of this good man I knew from a distance, Kenneth Bryant.

Happy Birthday, Jane!

Jane is...Happy Years! She is known as Janie by High School friends. Her mother named her Lana Jane. I am blessed to know her as my wife.

For the fun of it on this happy day I am sharing a picture or two of this great gal, lady, mother, friend, profound blessing to so many, not least, happily, ME!

Larry L. Huff

My Dad would be 70 Today

(Nov. 7, 2009)


Today my Dad would be 70. He died in 1993, having just turned 54.

I miss my Dad – so hard to believe he has been gone so long. Today as I hurt for our friend, Tom McCall, who just lost his own Dad, I feel the deep inner pain, the sense of loss that just will not go away. Death is so final, and efforts to write about it always seem futile.

I remember my Dad as one who worked hard and gave his best along the years of life. He and my Mom had seven children, losing their first at the age of 3 months. Dad was a woodsman all of his life, proving the adage that you ‘can take the man out of the woods but you can’t take the woods out of the man’. Even when we lived on the plains of southwest Kansas he did a little bit of tree work. Later, in North Central Kansas, he found a happy niche as a local tree surgeon, felling trees around town on his days off, hauling the firewood home to heat our big house on the edge of town.

Of course Dad’s real job was as a Highway Patrolman and he served Kansans in this capacity for 23 years. I always enjoyed seeing him in uniform and hearing him check in on the radio: “334 Garden City” or “334 Salina” as the case may be. I’ll never forget his early morning return from a tragic wreck in which three had perished. I was up at about 5:00 AM or so and as he came by my room he just held up three fingers, sober and dutiful.

He was 43 at the time, younger than me as I write today. As I pass these years I often wonder, “What were those years like for my Dad? Did he have the same feelings I have now? Who was he really? Can I understand him now that I am passing through life as he did?” Maybe I can. I know this. For years now I’ve found myself asking, “How did Dad handle this?” And I try to answer so I can get a good idea for how I should handle whatever it is. Always I remember a man who loved me and showed it by steady faithfulness. After I moved out and started my own home he really worked to keep channels open. He loved my wife, Jane, and by word and example supported our marriage.

This summer we visited my Dad’s boyhood home in Emily, Minnesota, and spent most of a week with his seven wonderful siblings and their families. Wow! Once again I was reminded of one of my Dad’s best qualities, exhibited so well in the Huff clan of the North. He knew how to love – love in a way that was real; no airs, no ‘delusions of grandeur’ as he liked to say, no mean spiritedness about people. I didn’t always understand this kind of love, being a more emotional type, and in my teenage years I was annoying enough (and beyond “annoying”) to make for some real difficulty. But in it all he was steady and true, living a life of trust and dependence on God. His life and guidance, along with my Mom, of course, took me on a path in which I often encountered the living God. And much to my Dad’s joy, one day I surrendered my life to Jesus and He has made all the difference.

Those are my thoughts today on my Dad’s 70th birthday. I so wish he were still with us. How I would love to talk about life with him, making amends, listening, listening, listening. For now I just want to be more like him, which will be less than he wanted, but as much as I can hope for. And I say that with a happy smile. Larry Huff was a good man and today I gladly honor him as my Dad.

Jane's Mother: A Tribute

Yesterday, a time of memories and reminders….

Memories of a little mother not more than 5′3”, one not well known at all or of great accomplishments in the world’s eyes. She was not one to try to impress with words or deeds. Her life was one of hardships, struggles and pain but her living was one of grit, endurance and great love: Love for her Lord, love for others. Just simple, quiet, unassuming love.

So many things flood my mind as I think of her: a Bible full of verses underlined with dates penciled in, her sweet voice singing throughout the house, hearing her praying long into the night, a guitar that lies cold where once she could play up a storm, her cooking which was enjoyed by so many – all that and so much more.

This dear little mother gave me something far more than material wealth. She helped me to see the deep joy in the small things of life, in the simple everyday giving, loving and serving. She went on to be with Jesus this time last year. How I miss her but I am reminded of how blessed I am to have her as my mother and what an even more wonderful blessing is that I have the joy and privilege of being a mother to two precious boys! What wonderful gifts!

I hope I can be the mother to them that my mom was to me.

Where the Roses Never Fade

Jane’s mother passed away this morning at about 9:00.
She slipped away peacefully, beautifully, as Jane sang to her about roses that never fade.

Mom was a rose — beautiful, enduring, inspiring, fragrant, growing. She made life better for all who knew her.

She knew little more than to serve and to pray and to seek the Lord and His way of truth and wholeness.

Because of that, she was a flower – a rose – that brightened and colored our lives.

The centerpiece on the family table.

That she was and so much more.

And now she is in that land we all long for – a land where roses, and all things, never fade again.

Heaven is sweeter for her passing.

We would so appreciate your prayers for Jane and all of her family during these days.

Mom reading to our son Lawrence.

Where the Roses Never Fade

I am going to a city,
Where the streets with gold are laid;
Where the tree of life is blooming,
And the roses never fade.

Here they bloom but for a season,
Soon their beauty is decayed;
I am going to a city,
Where the roses never fade.

Loved ones gone to be with Jesus,
In their robes of white arrayed;
Now are waiting for my coming,
Where the roses never fade.

Here they bloom but for a season,
Soon their beauty is decayed;
I am going to a city,
Where the roses never fade.

Here they bloom but for a season,
Soon their beauty is decayed;
I am going to a city,
Where the roses never fade.

1. Mary Ellen Huff Says:
   May 12th, 2008 at 12:51 pm e

   I think that’s the first time I’ve seen an older picture of her - Jane looks sooo much like her! What a lovely looking lady.

   I am so sorry for your loss as a family, and especially for Jane. Please give her a big hug for us. I know her Mom was incredibly proud of the wife and Mother Jane is, and the kind of person she is in every way. I am doubly sorry her Mom passed away on Mother’s Day. Even though she knows her Mom is in heaven I’m sure that from now on Mother’s Day will be bitter sweet.

   When is the funeral?

2. Randy Says:
   May 12th, 2008 at 1:08 pm e

   Thank you so much, Mary.
   The funeral is Thursday, May 15.

3. Anita Says:
   May 12th, 2008 at 2:27 pm e

   Please pass on my condolences to Jane and family. I’ve been through this recently and will keep her in my prayers.

4. Steve, Rebecca & Family Says:
   May 17th, 2008 at 1:31 am e

   We are so very sorry for your loss!! We will be remembering you all, Leisa, and the rest of the family to our loving Father!

5. Jane Says:
   May 21st, 2008 at 2:17 pm e

   Dear Family and Friends,
   Thank you so very much for all the cards, flowers, calls and prayers during this time. I am so glad that I got to stay with mother in the hospice section of the hospital - technically it isn’t called that but it is much like one. There are no words to describe our days together…I was given a precious gift of time, service and in some sense, too, releasing mother to Jesus as she took her last breath, knowing that her next breath was in a land beyond our understanding. Heaven will surely be worth it all!
   Love to all,
   Jane