We shall carry on.
He was Big Papa.
A craftsman.
A man who built up those around him.
My husband bears his name. My son bears his name. His
Irish-Scottish-Canadian-American blood runs through the veins of my daughters
who have his slim build and long legs.
How do you go on when the wheels of the family wagon don’t
just break, but disappear?
The first memory I have of Wayne is unremarkable – an
afternoon of swimming in Wayne and Dawn’s pool as a teenager (since I was
friends with their grandson). I’m sure I was introduced to these grandparents
of a friend, and never thought twice about how these grandparents would become
as dear to me as my own over the following 17 years. The last time I talked to
Wayne, he looked at my husband and said it wasn’t hard for him to go because he
knew that the people he left behind were successful.
“Carry on,” he told us.
Keep that wagon moving.
Three Christmases ago, my girls received a red Radio Flyer
wagon from Wayne and Dawn. The evening was spent with wagon parts strewn across
G.G.’s floor and four generations of Bernards constructing the wagon together.
You don’t really realize that you need a wagon until you really need a wagon.
That wagon has since been pulled through muddy tulip fields, been used in my
annual cherry blossom photo of the kids, and even hauled pavers for our recent
patio project. It has bolts that have been replaced and wheels that squeak
because my kids weigh too much now, but that wagon keeps going. Wagons of old were built to provide support and protection –
a way to get the work done and protect those doing it.
Wayne was a wagon maker.
Listening to his funeral service one month ago today, I
heard his co-workers and church family tell story after story of a man who
crafted support systems for God’s work to get done. He worked tirelessly to
protect those he loved and believed in.
On Wayne’s 47th birthday, his first grandchild,
Bryan Wayne Bernard, was born.
When we were blessed with a healthy son on June 29, 2016,
there was no question about what his middle name would be.
Judah Wayne Bernard
joins four others named after B. Wayne Bernard – one of his sons, two of his
grandsons, and two of his great-grandsons. These five bear his name, but we all
shoulder Wayne’s challenge to “carry on” his legacy of loving others before
ourselves.
I remember the first time I noticed that he always did the
dishes after the family meals, and how his son (my father-in-law) always
helped. He always initiated arms-crossed conversations with Bryan about his
work in Corvallis with OSU students. He always thought before he spoke and I
never heard him raise his voice. At his funeral service, I learned that Wayne
knew plenty about revitalizing churches (since that’s what he helped do at
Salem First Baptist), but I never got that impression from him as he would
offer bits of encouragement to Bryan when he set out to revitalize our church
in Corvallis. Wayne never flaunted his knowledge, but quietly would offer it up
for you to take or leave.
My husband is a dreamer – a visionary – a wagon driver. Wayne was always there as one of those people
who would help construct the wagon which Bryan drove. When Bryan dreamed of a
ministry house on campus, Wayne and Dawn donated money every month to see that
it happened. They donated their couches so college students could be
comfortable in the house. The house became a hub for the growing college
ministry at OSU.
The decisions Wayne made in life were calculated. He was not
an impulsive man, not one to jump into things without weighing the pros and
cons. I think that’s why his sudden cancer diagnosis and death come at such a
shock to us. Wayne’s death seemed to shock everyone but him. He was ready.
Standing to sing “It is Well,” at his service, I tried not
to let my mind wander through the origins of the song because I was trying to
hold it together.
Of course, I couldn’t keep at bay the “sorrows like sea
billows roll” of Heratio Spafford, writing about the loss of his four children
in a shipwreck. My eyes rested on my hands clinging to the chair in front of
me. On my right hand, rings bearing the names of my children sang out to me and
I thought about the two rings that commemorate the babies we’ve lost to
miscarriage. Immediately, I knew that those babies were in Wayne’s arms at that
moment because his hands were never empty if there was a great grandchild to
hold.
My children are blessed to have many grandparents, but only
one they named Big Papa. The name fit him – he was tall and had a big hug and a
big smile and a big heart. He loved us so well because he loved his Lord so
well. We follow in Big Papa’s footsteps because they were always running after
Jesus.
The Lord’s work doesn’t stop with him.
The wagon wheels may have disappeared, but it’s up to us to
pick up the load and carry on.
SeaKrest will never be the same without his Big Papa
greetings.
Corban basketball games will always be missing him in his
blue chair.
We will make it.
Because we are a family.
We protect.
We support.
We build wagons together.
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