How To Be Missed
His wife drove the car to the car wash. It was not a self-serve car wash. Rather it was one that involved going inside to pay and wait while the car goes through the line. It was an arrangement that involved interaction with employees, or at least an opportunity for that. Or not.
The man at the counter commented, “So Forrey has you bringing in the car today. That’s a surprise. How is he?”
“Forrey died last week. A massive heart attack.” She started to weep.
The car wash employee joined in. He too wept. “Forrey was always so nice to me.”
Forrey was my uncle. He was a man who quietly made people enjoy contact with him. He was generous and kind. He had a good sense of humor without trying to be the center of attention. He was cool and humble at the same time.
I don’t know, but I guess that the guy at the car wash got to know Forrey (Forrest) because he came in a lot. He always had nice cars. (The week before I left for college, Uncle Forrey brought over his Mercury convertible and had me drive him home so I could keep it that week. That was cool. That was fun for me and my friends.) The car wash guy recognized the car. Forrey probably gave remarkably big tips. Forrey probably learned the man’s name, called him by name, and asked about him. He probably learned about his family. He might have said, “How is your son’s little league team doing? Did your mother get back from her trip?” The man felt that Forrey not only noticed him, and appreciated the work of keeping cars nice, but cared about him. The car wash guy wept because he lost a friend.
You never know who will miss you.
Not only me, but everyone who knew Forrey misses him still.
What would Jesus do? Forrey knew. I doubt he ever thought of himself as Christ-like. He just was.