“He’s basically the family hero.” I overheard Kate, my 15 year old daughter say to her friend. She was referring to my Uncle Wayne. She’s not wrong. He certainly was a hero in my book and apparently I’ve done quite the job convincing my kids of that as well. Uncle Wayne was a law man. I say that because he wore lots of different hats throughout his career from motorcycle cop to undercover detective to Chief Deputy. These roles weren’t the only reason Kate referred to Uncle Wayne as hero. No, the reasons are much different than your typical “family cop” ones. Sure, Uncle Wayne was always out to get the bad guy, always out to protect and serve, just not always in the way we typically think.
My grandfather died when my dad was 13. Uncle Wayne was who drove my grandmother to the hospital to see him for the last time when he was 16. Uncle Wayne is the one who quit school before graduating to provide for my dad and their younger sister. He stepped in to the role of father when he didn’t have to. He protected them and served them. He became who my grandmother leaned on in that very trying and uncertain time right after her husband’s early death.
There are a 1,000 stories I’ve heard over the years that could tell you of the ways Uncle Wayne was “the family hero”. However, the one that stuck most is one of selfless love. The remaining kids in my grandmother’s house moved to Florida after my grandfather died. Uncle Wayne soon took a job to provide and when it became too much to work and go to school, he chose work. While my uncle was working to put groceries on the table, my dad was able to go to school and play football. By play football, I mean became the All-State, recruited to the University of Florida on a full scholarship type of play football and according to Uncle Wayne, headed to the NFL.
One evening, my dad was required to attend a formal event. I’m not sure if you’ve ever bought size 12 EEE shoes, but they’re not easy to come by nor are they particularly cheap. My grandmother and Uncle Wayne had gotten enough together to make sure my dad had clothes to wear but his school shoes wouldn’t do. Before my dad went to put on the only shoes he had to wear, Uncle Wayne bent down and took his shoes off and gave them to my dad to wear that night.
Being a man of few words, Uncle Wayne often spoke most with actions. Just like the night he gave my dad the shoes, his life spoke of actions of love. I’m sure his wife, children and my other cousins could all tell you of Uncle Wayne’s actions of love. He was a doer, not necessarily a speaker.
In conversation the other day, my dad was talking of the last few months of my Granny’s life. He said, “do you know the conversation she had with your Uncle Wayne just a couple of weeks before she died?” I’m sure I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t recall it, so he told it.
Granny called Uncle Wayne to her bedside and posed this question, “son, do you love me?” What kind of question is that from the woman who knew he loved her? This is the same boy who quit school and took a job to provide. The same one who’d moved her into an apartment he’d built so her kids could come and go as she lived out her final days. The same one who’d done countless unseen things for her and showed his love in so many ways. How could she ask such a question?
His response, “Mama, you know I love you.”
To which she said, “well, it wouldn’t hurt you to say it every once in a while.”
After I gained my composure over this exchange between two people I dearly loved, the thought hit me. I wonder if Jesus feels that way about me? He sees all the “things” I do that say I love him. He sees the people I try to minister to, the right and good things I do, all the ways I “show” my love. Have I said it enough?
Maybe you feel this way. You do all these things to show him your love, but do you say it? Do you think, surely, Jesus knows I love him.
Of course Jesus knows we love him, but it wouldn’t hurt to say it every once in a while.
