The following is the Eulogy that I wrote for my grandfather’s funeral service in December….

Daddy Troy’s Service

If I were preaching and Daddy Troy was in the room there was a routine that would be played out. He would pull me aside at some point before the service and bend my ear, like he’s going to tell me a secret or give me a great speaking tip, he would then hold up his watch to my eye level, so that I wouldn’t miss it, and he would say “Boy, when you see me hold up my watch like this in the service it means you need to sit down.”

He recently reminded me that Jesus valued brevity and secrecy. It’s better to say what you need to say and sit down, and if you pray, it’s better to pray in the secret place than in public. He seemed to think that this was what Jesus had to say about it. I looked on the table at his open Bible, smiled, and assured him that he was correct. And I knew that this was a philosophy that he lived his life by. Daddy Troy was profound and simple and authentic. He worked hard, and he enjoyed laughing with and at his family. He was consistent, always there if you needed him, always who you needed him to be. And, he loved us, deeply.

And we loved him too. We loved him until the end. We valued every moment with him. But I have to say that if you only remember Troy Griffin as he was in his final years, you will have misjudged the memory of a great man.

I am so thankful for my brother Blake’s words. Troy Griffin was indeed many things to many people. He was son, brother, cousin, friend, worker, business owner, father, and husband. But it is difficult for me to remember him as anything other than Daddy Troy. He was my grandfather, and I can only speak of him as his second grandson.

Earlier this week my cousin Jennifer wrote in an email that no one could have asked for a more perfect grandfather. This is true, especially if you are a young man. You see, guys like to have something to brag about. We need to know who’s daddy can beat up who’s daddy. It’s part of the way that we’re made, and one of the greatest things about having Troy Griffin as a grandfather is that there was no contest. Your grandfather may have more money and her grandfather may have a sports car but my grandfather has a barn full of Milky Ways. He was a Candy Man! Beat that!

Remember his face? It was tanned by the sun. His hands were worn by the soil, the cows, the tractor and the fish hooks. He was a man who worked hard from sunrise to sunset; always looking for something to do. When Christy and I moved to Thailand a few months ago to work with farmers, I could only think of him. I called him twice to catch up and to let him know how things were and to say goodbye. He just wanted to know the “Time Difference.” What time is it there? “There’s a 12 hour difference, so when it’s night there it’s morning here. “Well, I’ll say,” he would reply. He would only ask me three more times in each conversation. Partly fascinated, partly trying to remember. I would laugh, and then I would make sure that he knew I was working on a farm. He always wondered when I was going to do some real work, because preachers; he liked to joke, only worked a little on Sundays.

I saw him in the face of almost every hill tribe farmer in Thailand, and I hoped that he was proud of me.

I know that he was. He was a man who loved deeply and quietly. The last time I saw him he kept asking when I was going to be home again. I think we both knew that I was there to say goodbye. I hugged him and told him that I loved him. He said “Uh huh.” That’s Troy Griffin for “I love you too. Very much.”

Some might mistake his quiet demeanor and his straight face for a lack of love. This would be a great mistake, for it was his usual quietness that accentuated his great love.

When he laughed, and he loved to laugh, you knew that he truly thought something was funny, because he couldn’t hold it in. He laughed hard and he laughed deep.

He worked hard, and he expected you to work hard too. He never seemed to stop unless, that is, there were grandkids or great grand kids in the house. Then he would stop and sit and take us all in, watching quietly and smiling. There’s a picture on display at Hanner’s that captures this perfectly. His arms stretched gently around young Karen and Jennifer; a knowing smile upon his face.

And when we sat on his knee there was no doubt that he loved us, because this man who usually held his words and his expressions, would smile, with his mouth full of those false teeth, he would begin to bounce his knee and he would sing, LOUD, Johnson had an old grey mule, his name was simon slick and every where that Johnson went the mule was sure to kick….and he also sang about not spitting on the floor and using the caspidorya. It took me years to figure out what the heck a caspidorya was.

He loved a good prank. I’ve heard stories of him hiding dead fish in the backs of his friends cars, so I know that he has always loved a good prank, but I think that when his grandchildren came along he decided to focus his mischief upon us.

Nothing brought him more happiness than to torture us. You remember those Easter egg hunts. They got a little more ridiculous every year. He got to where he would go out and just throw eggs onto other people’s property, across barbwire fences. He knew we would look for them because we knew there was money in them. If he was going to pay for the hunt, he was going to get as much mileage out of it as possible.

One year, and we have this on video, we had all found our eggs except for Jana and Charles Jr. They begged him to end the hunt and show them the eggs. He wouldn’t budge. Our parents begged him. He wouldn’t budge. It began to ran, hard. My grandmother begged him. He would not budge. The hunt went on for hours. Jana finally found her egg in the middle of a haystack. Charles Jr. looked on. Finally, hours later, he revealed the location of the egg. He had buried it.

He loved his God. Deeply and quietly. He never wanted to be on stage or to have a title in the church, but he did love to mow the grass outside when he could. And when you think about it, this was one of the holiest things he could have done.

He never missed a Sunday, if he could help it. He loved this place and he loved his friends here. I still have a clear memory of him, standing outside those doors on a Sunday morning, talking with 3 or four men, smoking. And in that memory of a man, laughing with his brothers in Christ, waiting for worship, smoking a cigarette, I learned something about what it means to be authentic and real. He was never anything other than who he was.

He and my grandmother had a morning ritual. He woke up at about 5 am or earlier, he got dressed and she cooked breakfast. He smoked somewhere in there, to be sure, and then they opened the Bible. My dad remembers that they took turns reading to each other. He did this every morning. He still did it after she died. That, my friends, is a quiet devotion and an abiding love for God that I do not know, but I someday hope to realize.

He loved his kids. I’ve heard too many stories about the exploits of Judy, Jan and Jo. And yet, no matter what, he was always there for them, loving him in his way. He was stearn, but he was unwavering in his commitment to being the man he needed to be in their lives.

He loved his wife with a love that I pray to God for. I don’t think I realized this until she died. To me, they were not really married. They weren’t husband and wife. They were my grandparents. But then, in the hospital when she died I looked into his eyes, I listened to his voice, and I knew that he had just lost his great love. And when she died a great piece of him died with her, I believe, every day that she was gone. This may seem tragic, but it wasn’t, it was beautiful. How many men do you know that have opened themselves to loving a woman this deeply?

Troy Griffin lived his dream. From the outside one might look at this simple life, lived mostly close to home, where every place was “too far outside of Cass County for him,” and doubt this. But he did it all. Troy Griffin lived his dream and was satisfied.

In fact, I think Daddy Troy is best remembered in “our gathering here together.” I don’t know if he would like us standing on stage here talking about him. I’ve certainly talked too long by his estimation. But he would have been pleased with our gathering.

How many times did we gather at his table, pulling out those table extensions to enlarge the table, unfolding tables for the living room, fitting around the bar in his kitchen to enjoy his wife’s, grandmommy’s cooking? I believe that in our gathering with him to share a meal, to be loud, especially the Flint’s, and to laugh together, he experienced the deep satisfaction of realizing that he was living out his ultimate dream.

He loved us and he was loved by us, and in the gift of God bringing us all together we made memories with him that shaped us all and that will last forever.

Today as we gather here in this church and beyond it to remember my grandfather, let us be grateful for one another, let us enjoy being together, let us laugh, let us be loud, and let us linger. For in that, we are honoring the life of Troy Griffin by living out his dream for us. We are enjoying his gift to us, God’s gift to us, which is our Life together.

Most people never realize their life dreams, and even when they do, they always want more, they are never truly satisfied. Troy’s Griffin’s ambition was to be rich in family and for his family to be together. He realized his dream and he was truly satisfied.

His legacy is not in his land or in his money, but it lives on in us, his friends and his family.

He was a man who loved and who was loved and he will be missed, and in the end, in this life and beyond it, THAT is really what matters.