Friday a week ago marked the sunset of a life lived for God, family, and missions.
Dave Weaver had been head of the Construction Department of Mission Helps for about 17 years. We first met him when he led Mission Helps teams to Ukraine while we were working there about 17 years ago.
Since then, after we came home from Ukraine, Jonathan has taken almost 30 Mission Helps trips with him, becoming Dave's right hand man.
It was with regret that Jonathan accepted the call to replace Dave's position as Director of Construction Services for Mission Helps earlier this year when Dave stepped down.
Dave had become a dear friend to Jonathan as well as supervisor and coworker.
It was obvious to us, when we arrived at the Beach City Bible Methodist Church Wednesday morning almost an hour before the funeral,
that he was loved by hundreds of others as well.
The above picture was taken long before the funeral service began, and already the parking lot had overflowed, with cars parking along the sides of the drive.
Inside, we greeted Bro. Craig Dahler, now professional counselor with Mission Helps, and his wife, along with Wilber and Darlene Byler, president of Mission Helps. John and Jan Dykes had driven all the way from Florida. Mark and Cathy Davis from Colorado now had gotten flights and were there, as their daughter Dawn is Dave's son Scott's wife. Colette Burch, missionary in Mexico and Spanish ministries, was there with her mother, Sis. Warden, former missionary to Honduras, (with whom I worked one school year before going to Ukraine.) Others we knew such as Esther Hershey, Lloyd Hershey, my brother Elon's family, Tim Cressman, many Amish and Mennonite folk who knew Dave from his restaurant days, or his cabinet business.
I wanted to take pictures to share his funeral on my blog, but it hardly seemed appropriate. Another lady must have been asked to photograph it, and I am sure there are photos all over Facebook.
Plus Dave's son Neal asked Jonathan and me to be seated on the corner of the platform with other missionaries and Mission Helps personnel with whom Dave had worked. There was an overflow crowd of perhaps between two and three hundred people, with every seat full. I did manage to snap this picture of the Weaver clan singing "I Will Meet You in the Morning." Dave's wife Sharon is behind the flowers with son Scott in front of the window to the right. Son Neal and his wife Bev are in the center, and son Nathan is on the far left, with twelve grandchildren stretching around in a semi-circle around the casket at the end of the service.
Our hearts broke as the hearse passed our rented car, with Dave's wife Sharon and son Scott driving directly behind. I asked Jonathan, "How would it feel to follow a hearse with your spouse inside?"
Sharon was so brave and handled herself with much grace though it all.
Scott was a terrific support as her oldest son, I thought, as well as all the family.
The service lasted from 11:00 to about 1:15, with different folk sharing memories in the middle.
Just before service, Dave's son Neal asked Jonathan to share remarks and memories during that time. Jonathan wished he'd have more time to think, but if he had known sooner, he might have been so nervous, he would not have been able to sleep the night before!
I couldn't help Jonathan much on the spur of the moment because I hadn't known Dave much like Jonathan had.
Nathan's oldest son, (perhaps around 12 or 14?) played an outstanding rendition of "How Great Thou Art" at the beginning of the service.
Grandchildren and others shared memories of Dave's silliness and jokes, love for family and God.
What stood out was his love for people. Everyone admitted they didn't always understand his sometimes silly ways and jokes, but they knew he loved them.
His teasing endeared him to all.
The cemetery was just a couple miles down the road, Welty Cemetery.
The sons and grandsons carried the casket to its final resting place.
Quite a crowd braved the cold wind to pay our last respects.
Jonathan is the last man on the right, next to tall John Dykes. I shivered and shook like crazy, but I wasn't about to miss out. I tried to find shelter at the corner of the tent.
The family had chosen to have the casket lowered while we watched and sang.
Jonathan cried as we sang and as they lowered to his final resting place the man who had been a friend and coworker for years.
The man who had kept taking these Mission Helps trips even though he could hardly make it at times,
fighting for oxygen on the trip to Haiti in a small airplane.
The man who knew what knee work was:
measuring for cabinets for a missionary home, praying in team devotions,
and humbling himself when he failed.
The man who worked to bring light in darkness, and help to missionaries who couldn't do the work themselves.
The man who didn't expect others to do more than he would do himself.
The man whose work was always quality.
The man who kept the teams lively with banter, teasing and laughter.
The man who left behind not just brand new, quality cupboards for a missionary family,
but a real love for all the people around.
The man whose tired body finally gave out.
The family had decided on a tradition that is common in Belize and Mexico, where Dave and Sharon had ministered in the past.
The men shoveled the dirt by hand into the grave after the casket had been lowered.
The three sons and a Belisean friend were the first four to take the shovels and begin the job--
a sacred kind of closure that is new to us Americans.
We had experienced this kind of burial in Ukraine when our coworker, Sis. Pelfrey, died, and the Ukrainians filled the grave by hand. As we understand it, each man is supposed to throw in at least one shovelful.
It's the tradition.
Here Jonathan is heading over for his turn.
It was not easy, Jonathan admitted, but at the same time, it was a kind of closure that was a unique experience,
all the men working together, taking turns, quietly getting the job done while those of us standing by started one song after another.
"Amazing Grace," "Shall We Gather at the River," "It's All Because of God's Amazing Grace," and "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" were some we sang.
Here Jonathan and Neal Weaver are shoveling.
Bro. John Dykes takes his turn with the shovel, with Nathan Weaver and Jonathan.
Now Bro. Byler takes his turn, with other men.
When the grave was completely filled and mounded over neatly, the three sons and their mother carried the casket bouquet to the head of the grave.
There they reverently placed it--all together, and paused to say goodbye.
Then Scott and his mother bravely turned and went to their truck.
Sharon was so brave.
Sharon was so brave.
Others of the family gathered around the grave,
with its lone bouquet of red flowers and evergreens and twigs and a buck and a doe.
They hugged each other and cried and hugged some more.
Jonathan slipped up near the grave and couldn't stop crying.
All I could do was put my arm around him as he grieved the loss of perhaps his closest friend.
All I could do was put my arm around him as he grieved the loss of perhaps his closest friend.
As my fellow blogger Ann Voskamp says,
"Tears are never a sign of weakness. Tears are always the sign of an open heart. "
And so I watched my husband cry.
He had cried at the casket, touching Dave's lifeless hand and telling him,
"I'll meet you in the morning. Goodbye."
And he had cried at the gravesite, pulling his hankie out over and over again.
How is he ever supposed to fill the shoes of a man who knew so much--
Spanish and construction and business and hunting and how to make people feel at home with you
and so much more?
Did the same angels that slipped into that plot of Christmas trees to carry Dave away,
"Tears are never a sign of weakness. Tears are always the sign of an open heart. "
And so I watched my husband cry.
He had cried at the casket, touching Dave's lifeless hand and telling him,
"I'll meet you in the morning. Goodbye."
And he had cried at the gravesite, pulling his hankie out over and over again.
How is he ever supposed to fill the shoes of a man who knew so much--
Spanish and construction and business and hunting and how to make people feel at home with you
and so much more?
Did the same angels that slipped into that plot of Christmas trees to carry Dave away,
did they come near those left behind grieving?
Did they come near in the form of sons and daughters and sisters-in-law and wives and friends
who slipped up beside the grieving to throw their arms around them and comfort them--
to just be there for them?
to just be there for them?
Did they come near in the form of those who gathered up all the flowers from the funeral to decorate the fellowship hall's tables?
Did they come near in the form of all the hard-working ladies and men who cooked a generous and delicious meal for those weary with tears,
starving after a long, tearful morning and afternoon,
for a 4:00 meal?
We knew Dave would not have wanted us to cry forever.
He would have wanted us to laugh and visit and joke and be happy and get to work again.
Because that is the way Dave was.
So we talked and visited and wondered how we could take ourselves a little less seriously,
and joke and tease a little bit more,
and laugh a little more like Dave did,
and tell more stories like Dave did,
and find the flowers in life like Dave did?
We sat at the fellowship table with the Bylers, Elon's family, the Dykes, and behind Jan Dykes (in this photo) was Janet Miller, who played beautiful music at the grand piano for the funeral.
Janet Miller is the mother of Nathan Weaver's wife.
And then, after it was all over, and after visiting the Wednesday evening prayer meeting at the Salem Allegheny Wesleyan Church where we got to see of my old college friends:
Andy and Shirleen Troyer, Jim and Lydia Kunselman, the Larry Brunks, Eunice Knight with her beautiful smile, Becky, Steve Gifford, Brenda [Campbell] Lynn and others,
we spent the night with Ken and Carol Lefever.
It had been a rough two days, but ones we wouldn't have missed for anything.
Hundreds had showed up to honor Dave Weaver.
The viewing the night before which was to have lasted from 5:00 to 8:00 wasn't over until 11:30, we heard. We had to stand in line nearly two hours before we got in to see the family.
It had been pleasant to visit with others we knew while standing in line--Martha Luna, Andy Cressman, Brian Spangler, Robin [Leidigh] Butler (with whom I had traveled to China about 28 years ago), Sharon Knight, and the singing Glick family.
We were very touched to have Scott Weaver, Dave's oldest son, call Jonathan the day before the viewing, to ask for permission to print on the back of the funeral bulletin this poem I wrote which I felt the Lord gave me after hearing about Dave's death at the Christmas tree lot. I had posted it in with our memories of Dave on the website created for memories. I thought how hard it must be for the family to face this shocking loss in between two holidays, and before the Christmas they had hoped to share with Dave.
I hoped that these thoughts might be comforting and take some of the sting away when they look at the Christmas tree that Dave had chosen. I will share the poem here as well.
The Tree That Dave Chose
On the day after Thanksgiving while choosing a tree
For Christmas approaching, Dave's old self was he.
Laughing and teasing while lugging the pine,
He never thought twice that he wasn't fine.
The tree he had chosen was the best on the lot,
For Dave had an eye for the best he could spot.
Laughing and teasing while lugging the pine,
He never thought twice that he wasn't fine.
The tree he had chosen was the best on the lot,
For Dave had an eye for the best he could spot.
Dave didn't know, in that chill winter air,
That the breath he was breathing was all he could spare.
That the breath he was breathing was all he could spare.
But in that brief moment, with no rhythm or rhyme,
Dave fell in a heartbeat that beat its last time.
The tree Dave had chosen lay abandoned nearby
As his son knelt beside him and watched his dad die.
As his son knelt beside him and watched his dad die.
Three breaths, and a heartbeat, and Dave said goodbye.
And in these tough moments, Dave's son and we
Are glad that Dave Weaver had chosen a tree--
Are glad that Dave Weaver had chosen a tree--
Not a pine or a fir for a Christmas Day,
But a tree on a hill that was far, far away.
The old rugged cross where Christ died for sin,
The tree that was best of the lot we were in.
Without tinsel or glitter--this tree was the best---
It symbolized where a sinner's heart found rest.
Rugged and nail-pierced, this tree won Dave's heart.
For the One hanging there knew his life from the start,
Christ had shed all His blood on that dark Calvary
So that Dave and we all from sin could be free.
Christ had shed all His blood on that dark Calvary
So that Dave and we all from sin could be free.
No sin so great but that tree will stand
Between us and God, a bridge ever grand.
And as we stand here between two holidays
To give old friend Weaver a last tearful gaze,
We give thanks for the Tree that Dave Weaver chose--
And the One for whom all Christmas lights glow.
Thank God for Dave's choice--the Tree all unfurled.
Thank God for this tree--the best in the world!
