This Is What Heroes Are Made Of

My transition back into America has been a tough one and I have been trying to find words to say to write a blog about it. I hiked the Grand Canyon from one side to the other and have been trying to find the words to write about that. I saw a total solar eclipse and have been trying to find words to write about that. My words have fallen short with all of those things.

Today, I got news from my mom that my Great Uncle Doodle died in the middle of the night. Here I am trying to find the words to say to write about this and I think they just might flow this time. My Uncle Doodle was about to turn 94 years old. I wrote a blog about him the last time I was able to see him right before I left on my World Race. You can read that HERE.

If you ask me who my hero is, it will always be my Uncle Doodle. He lived in Florida so I wasn’t able to see him often but when I did I remember a lot of things about him. I specifically remember his kindness and his bravery. I remember when I went to celebrate his 90th birthday everyone that came talked about the light that he carried in his life. About how he was such a joy to have around. I remember hearing stories of how he was one of the first to storm the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. He saved a man while also surviving the beach himself. He was a humble man who would never bring this up unless he was asked about it. He was a man who encouraged my world traveling because he had done the same in his life.

This day has me in a weird limbo. One where the verse “there is a time for weeping and a time for dancing” seems to be happening at the same time, not different ones. I know that we can never be certain if people were actually saved when they pass away. We aren’t their judge and we just have to hold on to the hope that they knew Jesus. With my Uncle Doodle, the fruit of his life showed his relationship with the Lord. I believe that his kindness and servanthood is a true reflection of him knowing Jesus as his personal savior. With that, comes the dancing and the rejoicing. I am in awe that this morning my Uncle Doodle got to stand in front of the Lord while He said “well done, my good and faithful servant.” I can’t imagine all of the catching up that they are doing with each other. I can’t imagine the conversations that they are having. I can’t imagine the laughter and the joy that is filling their time together. I can’t imagine the rest that my Uncle Doodle gets to partake in after 93 years of a life well lived and well served. He lived a life worthy of his calling. He left a legacy and not just because he survived that dreaded day on a foreign beach.

Because of him living a life of impact, one of incredible fruit, comes the sorrow and the sadness, the time of weeping. When people are actually living in a way that affects the world, it feels as though something huge is missing when they are gone. It feels as though it grew a little bit darker today. A little less kind and a little less brave. But, the joy and the celebration far outweigh the momentary sadness that my family and I feel.

If I learned anything from my Uncle it’s that I want to live a life of influence. Not one where people talk about me when I leave this earth but one where people talk about the Lord and the impact He had in this world. I want to live a life that makes this world a little brighter, a little more kind and a little more brave. I want to shine a light on the poor and the rich. I want to shine a light on the good and the bad. Here’s to living a life that shows the fruit of my relationship with Jesus.