Nothing, really, to add...

We held the memorial service for my father-in-law this weekend. It had been nearly two weeks since Grandpa had died, and I didn't expect to feel weepy. But, come on! Taps. A flag-draped coffin. A soldier holding that folded flag to his heart as he lovingly perfected the three corners. Then the soldier knelt in front of my husband's chair and said, "On behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation, I respectfully present this flag to you with gratitude for your father's service to our country." If you don't tear up after that, pack your bags and get yourself back to Russia. The youngest of Grandpa's three sons, Mark, wrote a touching eulogy, and asked me to read it at the service. Here's how Mark remembers his father.

Eulogy for Gilbert Joyce Johnson (by Mark Johnson)

Our grandfather, Peter Magnus Johnson, was just a boy when his father moved the family from Sweden to America. They settled on farming land near Big Rapids, Michigan, where many Swedes had moved prior to 1900. Eventually Peter Johnson also became a farmer, and raised his 5 children, including our Dad, on the land. His years growing up on that farm shaped the rest of Dad’s life.

I can’t say that Dad was a man of God, but I can confidently say he was used of God. And he was born at a point in time perfectly suited for the gifts God gave him. On the farm, they worked with their hands, used heavy tools to repair whatever was broken, and hunted the game that would sustain a large family through the Depression. Dad’s father taught him, by example, how to sacrifice and do whatever was needed to support a family, whether it was spreading gravel on the roads alongside WPA workers, or spending long winters making furniture crates in Grand Rapids to earn a few dollars. In the summer, the men in Dad’s family worked as migrant farm workers, camping in tents and picking cherries near Traverse City. I’m proud to say none of these experiences was demeaning for my Father. He did what was needed, used of God, to support his family.

Although he would later earn his GED, Dad finished his formal education at eighth grade after attending country school. Then he joined his father on the farm. Like many boys, he developed a lifelong love for new technology. But it wasn’t the computer that fascinated him, it was the combustion engine automobile, starting with the Model “A” and then the Model “T” Ford.

Dad was drafted into the Army during World War II, and all the skills he had acquired along the way were put to use for his country. He butchered meat as he had on the farm, for our soldiers fighting to secure freedom, both here and abroad. He reenlisted in the Air Force and used his strong hands not to repair farm equipment or automobiles, but the airplanes used in defense of our Allies. He served through the Korean War, a full 20 years in the military, to preserve democracy. He did what was needed, used of God, to support his country.

Dad’s father gave him a pair of barber shears when he left the farm to join the Army. He cut hair in the barracks to earn extra money to support his new bride and later his three sons. Dad gave me (Mark) a pair of barber shears when I left home for college. It seemed like a curious blessing at the time, but I cut hair in the dorms and earned extra money for college. Because of his example, it never felt demeaning.

Dad’s love of the automobile never wavered. He especially loved Dodge Darts and Plymouth Valiants. Whenever one of my friends bought either a Valiant or Dart from his collection, Dad was always there checking things under the hood when they stopped by the house, or helping them change the oil on a Saturday morning. He was generous with his time and talent for fixing things.

Dad taught me and my brothers, by example, to do what was needed, to be used of God, to support ourselves, our friends and our families. He was at one time a butcher, a barber, and when he worked at Marie Callender’s, even a baker…he was never a candlestick maker. He was a simple man, a man born for his time in history, a man born as each of us is, to be used by God, for His glory. We love Dad and we’ll miss him.