Poppy Seeds

 I can’t recall the first time I met Glen Gilmer, a man I would come to know better as Poppy. It was almost certainly in an elders, deacons, preacher meeting at the Lake City church of Christ. I don’t recall when we first met, but I remember vividly the last time I saw him. 

Just over a year and a half ago, Honey and I made a trip back to Lake City to visit with some friends. When Wednesday night rolled around we found ourselves doing what we did most every Wednesday night during our five years in Lake City. After Bible class we would head over to Zaxby’s to eat a late supper with our surrogate family: Scott and Maryanne Gilmer, Maryanne’s mother and brother, Joyce Dickey and Tom, and Scott’s parents, Betty and Glenn Gilmer. I don’t know how this tradition began, but more Wednesday nights than not ended at Zaxby’s, not because of the food, but for the company. I can’t say that I remember any particular one of those nights over the others, or any topic of conversation more than another, but I do remember laughter. No topic was off limits. We discussed religion, politics, family, history, literature, food, and work. I can’t recall a topic that he couldn’t discuss with a degree of understanding or wisdom. We shared stories and advice and just enjoyed one another’s company. There were no agenda’s or ulterior motives, it was just a group of people bonding around a table.

Somewhere in those years, sitting at a Zaxby’s table evolved into sitting around their literal dinner table, or living room, or backyard patio. If I had a greatest memory from Lake City, my memories of the countless times we were invited into the Gilmer home for holidays, family birthdays or just a cookout, would certainly be in the running. It was around this time that being so far away from my home and my family began to take a tremendous toll on my heart. I missed my people so much, but time spent with the Gilmer clan made me feel like I did when I was with my family. Somehow I always found myself sitting next to Poppy, listening to stories from his well traveled life, and soaking up wisdom from his well lived experiences. As I grew to know more and more about his story, something that always stood out to me was how he didn’t let the tragedies that befell his family define his life. Glen had suffered a great many heartaches that would understandably bring someone to their knees, and I’m sure he had his moments, but he also didn’t lose sight of the blessings he was surrounded by daily. At that time in my life I was enduring some of the greatest heartaches I had ever known, and I always made a mental note that I wanted to endure them with the same kind of grace, strength, and perspective as Poppy. 

The only time I ever really spent alone with Poppy was when something was broken at the parsonage where my family lived. One of his responsibilities as a deacon was to maintain the “church house.” As with any house, something was always breaking or becoming worn out or needing some attention. I always hated having to call him and bother him to come over and look at something, but I was not very handy with house repairs myself, so I didn’t have much choice. If it ever annoyed him or inconvenienced him he never let it show. I genuinely don’t think it did. As a retired electrician and maintenance man, I think he enjoyed having an occasional excuse to get the tools out and fix something. The thing I appreciated the most was his gentle way of inviting me into whatever he was doing, explaining, instructing and teaching me how to do it myself, without making me feel dumb or embarrassed for not knowing how already. We worked on sinks, toilets, doors, drawers, cabinets, and more. Just this past Saturday, I couldn’t help but think of Poppy when I crawled under my house and fixed a busted water line by myself. The thought crossed my mind that I wished I could call him and tell him what I’d done because I know he would have truly, sincerely, been proud of me for tackling it myself.

All of the admirable qualities Poppy possessed were only amplified by the bond and love he shared with Miss Betty. It wasn’t just the number of years they were married, which was 67 years, but the richness of their relationship. The depth and genuineness of their love for one another was a breath of fresh air and a standard to strive for. People often swoon over the level of love shown by the leading man and woman in a movie like The Notebook, but if you ever had the privilege of being in the room when Glen and Betty danced to their song like they were the only two people on the earth, it would take your breath because you were in the presence of the pure love that poets and play writes throughout time have sought to capture. Having witnessed those dances on a few occasions made the times when they would “fuss” almost comical, like the scripted sparring between Ricky Ricardo and Lucille Ball that was more performative than pejorative. Theirs was a love that had weathered so much, for so long, nothing external could do it any real harm, and neither would dream of doing anything harmful.

If he could read the words I was writing about him he would no doubt tell me to stop and that it was too much, but I’d also like to think he’d be proud to know how he was viewed by others. Glen was a renaissance man by the very definition of the word: a person with many talents or areas of knowledge. He was conversationally educated on most any subject of import and he could do just about anything. When I think about my time with him two pictures come to mind most vividly: statesman and elder. The way he was reminded me of what I imagined the statesmen of old were like. And though “village elder” isn’t really a position in our culture, that is precisely how I saw Poppy. A wise old sage whom you would do well to heed and a man who could bring people together for the common good. He struck the perfect balance between strength and grace. He could hold his own without being domineering amidst a room full of sometimes loud and hardheaded men and he could sit and play with little children. He was intelligent, well read, but not condescending or preachy. He was gentle but never weak. Confident but never cocky. Poppy was truly a good man. The kind of man you are glad to have in your life. The kind of man you wished we had more of in the world. The kind of man you want to be. During his almost ninety years walking the earth, he sowed many seeds of goodness in the hearts of family, friends, neighbors, and strangers. In time, Poppy’s seeds will sprout, grow, and bear fruit. When that happens, if your heart was one of those incubating a seed of his goodness, I hope you will share, not just the fruit of his lifetime of labor, but the story of the man from whom it came.

I don’t remember the first time I met Glen, but I clearly remember the last time. Someone was already sitting in our normal seats at Zaxby’s, so we had to sit over in the corner. Looking back it was a kind of visual reminder that time moves on and things change. Things we took for granted become relics of the past and rare privileges to be enjoyed. I hadn’t seen Poppy in a couple of years, but we picked up right where we left off. Since we last saw one another I had become a grandfather myself and was able to share stories and pictures with a man who’d shared his family with me. We talked about family and work and church and all the things old friends do and when the time for goodbyes came, we took an extra beat. No words were spoken to this regard, but both of us were old enough to know that only seeing someone every few years, especially when one of them is well into his 80’s, you need to treat it like it is the last time. So we shared an extra handshake and hug, and a few more words of how good it was to see you, how much we miss you, and how much I appreciate you, and then goodbye. That’s what these few paragraphs have been. My way of sharing the fruit born of the seeds he planted in my heart through the story of the man who planted them. A literary handshake and a hug from across the veil; a few words of how good it will be to see you, how much we will miss you, how much I appreciate you, and then, goodbye.