A man who related to the stories of El Cordobes, Don Quixote and others.... A man who ALWAYS cheered for the underdog, the one who no one thought could...or should succeed. The fight of the individual to overcome all obstacles was very important and became part of this man.... it became part of how he viewed the eternal potential of every individual. He not only appreciated it, he counted on that philosophy really working! It was a new truth among many others he adopted and treasured throughout his life.
This man reminds me of the great Cordobes....unorthodox and special. Spain's greatest bullfighter, who brought his own particular flair. He came from poverty, but dreamed about all possibilities. He wanted to be the best and became that. The people loved him, the purists hated him. He fought against Franco's tyranny.....No wonder my Dad loved this story. His deep empathy for the story of Don Quixote was apparent throughout my life....statues, paintings, music and books were a constant in my youth as I would see and think about them around the house. It was only when I read "I'll Dress you in Mourning" that I began to understand many things about him:
"Don't cry, Angelita. Tonight I'll buy you a house, or I'll dress you in mourning."Who is this man that built his life upon the adoration of another man, his father.....familiar with dirt, grime and sweat? yes... even a modern day Don Quixote in a way... I used to wonder why this story mattered to him.... I have learned that it does not matter whether Don Quixote is a burlesque story of chivalry, or whether the hero is a madman or an actor. What matters is that he is set free in our imaginations and discovers for us a new quality about the human spirit. My father understood this and shared this soaring view of man.
No wonder this man could only see in others what they "could" become. I believe I now finally understand where 'hurting good' originated.
This man is a simple man who imaginated a vision, a vision that transformed his life from a high school Spanish teacher in a small hot desert town to a man who traveled the world bringing big ideas and new ways of thinking to inspire entire countries. And guess what.... I actually got to watch from a front row seat... it was amazing!
Who is this man... that so beautifully paints life's stories with the color of words in poetry? Words that are known to all, but somehow when he puts them together, they weave a richer tapestry than most. This man, who breathes wisdom with his words casting them out like a vast fishing net at sea yielding a harvest of so many the nets can't hold them all.
Who is this man.... that quietly, but incessantly pushes boundaries, to find that better way....always making things simpler?
Who is the man..... with a second grader's innocent and simple faith, that overcame barriers to bring truth and light, in places where there was none?
How did he know that constant stretching was the stuff life was made of, not the cushy convenience of "good enough"....?
This man who can sit and simmer, yes even soak in the absolute miracle and beauty of his posterity. Every new soul that that comes into his line adds to the awe with which he beholds and views each one.
Who is this man who sits with childlike amazement and wonder when any one of his posterity begins to show what they are capable of doing... each step they take forward seems to take his breath away.
A man who knows precisely who he is, where he came from and who he belongs to. A man with singleness of purpose that would make most men weak in the knees....his aim....laser-like, focused and precise. And the grandness of his ideas..? They are a wonder.
He will never stop cheering for all the Don Quixote's in the world... he will never believe there are limitations to free will. He is a passionate fighter of freedom.... a lover of truth.
Who is this man.... who could do almost anything he set his mind to, yet knew from 2nd grade that he could never get to his final destination without relying on Heaven to get there?
He is my Hero... He is a Savior of men, because the depth of his testament of Jesus Christ has been etched, like permanent ink, in his heart. His living will and testament is not on paper... it is written, etched and burned into the cells of his beating heart.
He cannot and will not be denied the realization of his heart's true burning desire to usher all who follow him into God's eternal embrace.
And yet at the end of the day... When all the planes stop... the traveling has ended... no more cultures, countries and customs to learn....there is one last stamp of one last visa that he dreams of:
Little Green Valley
I see a candlelight down in the little green valley
Where morning glory vines are twining 'round my door
Oh, how I wish I were there again down in the little green valley
That's where my homesick heart will trouble me no more
There's only one thing ever gives me consolation
And that's the thought that I'll be going back someday
And every night down upon my knees I pray the Lord to please take me
Back to that little old green valley far away
I hear a mockingbird down in the little green valley
He's singing out a song of welcome just for me
And someone waits by the garden gate down in the little green valley
When I get back again, how happy she will be
And by a little babbling brook, once more we'll wander
And in a shady nook, we'll dream the hours away
And I will leave all my cares behind go where I know I'll find sunshine
Back to that little old green valley far away
This man is my father... a man who makes God's heart 'hurt good.'
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