There are certain thresholds in a person’s life that once crossed, you become sure that you will never be the same. For me, that time is now.
March 5th of this year my father and hero Doyle Tucker crossed the ultimate threshold. Undoubtedly, heaven received him with open arms. I’m comforted with the realization that he wouldn’t come back if he could.
So now, I am left to search and gather the treasures that were hidden for me. I have found myself referring to the wealth of love and wisdom that he left behind. But, the question of how to put it all together still lingers.
Ultimately, I understand that this is a lifelong process that cannot responsibly be answered in a single blog series. My venture is not to fully answer the question so much as to fully ask the question.
This blog series will be a collection of truths, principals and life lessons I learned from the life of my father, Doyle Tucker.
Altough the journey is a personal one, I truly hope it will encourage, enlighten and inspire someone else along the way.
My father was the most intelligent human being I have personally known. He was brilliant. There were times when I wondered how far the rabbit hole went. “Does he know something about everything?”
Well, of course he didn’t, but he certainly knew more than me. And the moment I realized just that, I became a little wiser. And over time, I became much wiser; with a lifetime of growth still yet to come.
We were close. But, not the kind of close that’s defined by frequent conversations, emails or inboxes through social media. I guess a better word might be kindred. We understood one another. We spoke the same language. We were, more or less, connected in a cerebral sense. Don’t get me wrong, we talked… well mostly he talked, I listened. But, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?
My father lived to love and loved to give. He never accumulated the kind of extra money to be anywhere near a noted philanthropist. But, whatever he had he was was more than willing to give away.
He taught me that life pretty much comes down to how you love and what you give. He loved hard and he gave continuously.
My father was a humble man. Although he stood 6 1/2 feet tall, he never wanted to be the center of attention. He never craved the spotlight. However, it usually seemed to find him.
He preferred to defer. He truly mastered the art of humility. I always supposed it was his natural inclination, but the older I get the more I suspect it was a practiced intention of his heart and mind.
Humility hurts. Especially at first. In the same way as lifting weights, or running a few miles might hurt initially to the point you think you might die. That’s what humility feels like when it is unexercised and undeveloped. Humility is a muscle…a beautiful muscle. Once developed, it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. My father proved that to me.
I can hear him say… “God resists the proud, but gives grace (empowerment) to the humble.”
I’ve come to realize in business and relational exchanges that humility is a rare commodity. That’s one reason he was so special. He took the time to develop something most people never consider.
That’s one of the many reasons I call him My Champion. He showed me something I may not see many other places. He did one of the hardest things a man can do. He established and cultivated a lifestyle of humility.
I recently realized that I can celebrate my father’s life through a living a life of consistent humility. I know that would make him proud.
I may not do as good as you, Daddy, but at least I’ve got something to shoot for.
Grow With Me 