A Proper Ending

I stood in disbelief as a cold wind lashed across my face. I can’t believe he’s gone, I thought. I couldn’t imagine a world without Jim in it. Yet, here I stood at an open grave on this gloomy winter day. I looked around at those gathered with me. They appeared to be as shocked as I felt. Jim had meant so much to all of us.

As Jim’s daughter Kristen read the eulogy, the familiar words comforted me, and I could almost sense his presence.

“Jim Carpenter was a loving teacher and example of simple truths, whose leadership helped him and others awaken to the presence of God in their lives. He was a caring child of God, a son, brother, spouse, father, grandfather, father-in-law, brother-in-law, godfather, uncle, cousin, friend, and business colleague, who strove to find a balance between success and significance. He was able to say no in a loving manner to people and projects that got him off purpose. He was a person of high energy who was able to see the positive in any event or situation. No matter what happened, he could find a ‘learning’ or a message in it. Jim valued integrity; his actions were consistent with his words; and he was a mean, lean, 185-pound, flexible golfing machine. He will be missed because wherever he went, he made the world a better place by his having been there.”

A loving teacher and example of simple truths. I reflected how eloquently those words described the way Jim had lived his life. This was the essence of who he was. I smiled to myself as I thought about how the words even captured Jim’s humor. He certainly loved golf, even though he had never become a “mean, lean golfing machine.”

As we walked away from the cemetery, I caught up with Kristen.

“That was a lovely eulogy,” I told her as I put my arm around her.

Kristen sighed and said, “Thanks, Ellie. But I didn’t write it. I think Dad did. I was sitting at his desk in his study, trying to compose a eulogy, when I found this one lying in the top drawer. I thought it described him better than anything I could have written.”

She paused a moment and continued, “But I don’t know why he would have written it.”

“I know why,” I replied softly. “I was with him when he wrote it. He didn’t write it for his funeral. It was his vision for his life. It guided him.”

Continuing on my own as I headed toward my car, I reflected on Jim’s vision. I considered how he had used the power of vision to transform the small insurance agency his father had started into a thriving, nationally recognized company. I chuckled to myself as I remembered how he had struggled at first, knowing he needed a vision but unsure how to create one. He wasn’t one of the lucky people who woke up one morning with a clear vision. Yet by understanding the key elements of a vision and what was important about the process of creating, communicating, and living it, he’d been able to create a shared vision that unified and mobilized the people in his agency. Equally important, he had created a vision for his life. And I thought about how I had used those same lessons to create a vision for my life.

Then my thoughts raced back to the beginning of the journey—a journey that had transformed not only the agency but also both of us, so many years ago. It had been a different time, a different life, a different me—yet it felt as though it were only yesterday.