The next day, September 19, was a Sunday, and my oldest son Jacob was baptized. I loved the timing. Tim did wonderful work in the lives of people during his life, but here, less than 24 hours after his passing, I witnessed the continuation, in the form of Jacob's baptism, of the mark Tim left on the world. I say that because, while I'm not a perfect father, anything good that happens as a result of my parenting can be credited at least partially to Tim's influence on my life. So it was an honor to kick off Phase 2 of the Tim Wright legacy by witnessing Jacob's public proclamation of faith.
Now, two years later, I still feel a sadness when I think of Tim not being a part of my life. I want to sit across a table and rejoice with him about something that's going well in my life. I often want to hear his take on something that's not going so great. I want to hear his latest extremely creative idea. I want to co-teach a class with him again. I am bummed my kids didn't really get to know him. I must have had lunch with him 100 times, but I would love to have a few more.
I don't know if records are kept of such things, but I'm pretty sure Tim and Janice's marriage was the best one ever. Many men left that memorial service half-inspired, half-intimidated by the stories we heard about the kind of husband and father he was.
Although this post is about how saddened I am on this anniversary, the pain his family has endured is surely a hundred times worse. Feel free to pray for them today.
I just went back and re-read what I wrote just after he died. Remembering certain things about his personality, his habits, or just the way he said things, brings a smile to my face, even if it's a sad smile.