As I posted last week on Facebook, we've decided to name our son David - in memory of our good friend David Gentiles. For those who never knew David, I thought I'd try to introduce him to you - at least in part. And for those who were lucky enough to know him - I wanted you to know what he means to us.
I should begin by saying that if you only have the time or energy to read one thing about David Gentiles, you should close this blog and go read the eulogy that writer Donald Miller gave at David's memorial service. And if you only have time to read two pieces - then you should go here and read what his oldest daughter, Ariele, wrote several years ago about life with him. Those two incredible pieces of writing - by writers both more gifted than I, and who knew David longer and more intimately than I - really fill out who David was. But if you have time for three…
I can't remember the first time I've met a lot of people in my life. And I know the fact we were meeting David to begin planning our wedding ceremony is probably what helps me with this one. But I remember exactly where I met David Gentiles, and I remember a lot of what I was thinking at the time. Kim had talked plenty about him before. He had been her youth minister, but they'd stayed in good contact even after she graduated. I'd heard about how caring and generous he was, how funny he could be, about how great a father he had been since his wife left him to raise 3 girls by himself. And I'd not just heard stories from Kim, her mother and brother knew and loved him as well. So I expected a lot.
But as he walked into the Starbucks at 183 & Anderson Mill, I'm now very ashamed to admit that I felt...underwhelmed. In all of those talks about David Gentiles, no one had ever thought to show me a picture before. So when this stocky little guy with thinning salt and pepper hair and a mustache (gasp!) walked in, I was let down. [Once when remembering this a few years ago, I wondered for the first time whether or not David was let down by the appearance of this lanky, awkward 24 year old with thinning hair and a goatee that was now on the arm of his precious Kim Luckie. Probably not.] I guess I was just really hung up on appearances back then, before David and others taught me it was ok to wear the same simple clothes or pair of shoes (or in David's case - boots) to work every day. The truth is it didn't even bother me that long for that day. For as we began to chat and get to know each other, I fell head over heels for David the way everyone else always seemed to do.
We discussed both growing up in Louisiana, and how he'd worked at Barksdale Baptist in Bossier (where it turns out a lot of my stepmother's family knew him). He told me stories about Kim from his perspective - which usually lined up with her's. And I guess there had to be some wedding planning in there. But mainly, I remember him talking about his daughters.
I don't know if that's because he talked about them more than he did anything else or he just spoke of them with more passion than the rest of our topics. He spoke of Ariele, who would be finishing up soon at Baylor and who'd become quite a writer. He told us she was in the midst of deciding to whether or not to pursue her writing by moving to Portland and become a part of a writer's group there. Although it was clear he'd hate to have her that far off, you could tell he was excited for her. He told us of Hannah, who had become so passionate about social justice and the inner city near the end of high school that she had decided to go work in Oakland with a ministry there BEFORE she went to college. I remember thinking that might be the coolest/scariest thing I'd ever heard of an 18 year old doing. And he spoke of Calla, his youngest - who was the lone kid still at home finishing up high school - but who it was already abundantly clear was becoming an incredible woman who he was just as proud of as the older two.
I don't remember what it was she said, but Kim made a comment about one of the girls that I remember evoked the first of many "David Gentiles smiles" that I would see in the next 5 years. I don't know exactly what it was about David's face that made this possible, but when he would smile big or laugh - he would scrunch his face up in a way that would make his eyes disappear. His face became just a huge grin and a nose.
I don’t remember much about our wedding day or David's involvement in it. This is partly because most people don't remember much of their wedding day. But mainly because I was sick with a 102 degree fever and was kind of hoping I would just die after Kim and I consummated our love that evening. But I know David was there that day, I've seen the pictures.
We kept in touch after we got back from our honeymoon and as I continued to look for a church to work with. We weren't sure if Austin would be home for a long while or just a little while, since I had no leads on jobs and we were open to moving if we needed to. But we preferred the idea of staying around here, so at first we looked only for ministry opportunities in the Austin metro area. But after a few interviews and no offers, I had to take a job delivering pizzas. I “moved up” from there to working at a Dr’s office answering the phones and scheduling appointments. I loved being married to Kim and living in Austin, but with regard to work and vocation – I was miserable. I remember calling David on my lunch break one day. I was crying and asking all types of big questions “Will I ever get to do ministry? Where am I supposed to be?” etc… David listened well and was calm and encouraging. Then, he proposed something that I’ll always believe was a turning point in our lives – a prayer gathering. That very night, a small group (that was mainly my family) of people met to pray with me and for me in David’s office at Riverbend Church. The people in that room were pretty much all the support I had in Austin at that early time. David led the time by asking questions of me and focusing the prayers.
The first by-product of that night was immediate peace. I felt loved and supported and that there were at least 5-6 people who agreed with me that I was supposed to be doing something else. The second thing I believe came out of that time of brokenness and prayer was two very different ministry opportunities that soon presented themselves to us. One of those was pastoring at Mosaic, and David would be invaluable in that decision as well. He continued to pray with and for me. He continued to ask good questions. Together we talked about the differences in large and small church ministry, about rooting yourself in a community indefinitely, and about how different types of church work impacted family. It quickly became apparent that none of this was theoretical for David – he wasn’t just helping me through these questions. He was asking them of himself too as he was making the decision to leave Riverbend to go and pastor at Journey.
And once the decision had been made for me to begin working with Mosaic, David’s support and mentoring wasn’t over. He gave when he could financially to my support account. He showed up without telling me he was going to for the first time I preached at Mosaic. One of the greatest gifts he gave me the last few years had been participating with several Mosaicians in my Pastoral Care Team – a group that exists to meet with me every few months and listen to what’s going well in my ministry, what I’m dreaming or thinking about for the future, and what things are tough at the time. David’s voice and his prayers in the midst of those meetings were so comforting. I remember that it was at one of these meetings a few months after Ada was born that he got to see her for the first time. It was evening, and she was already asleep. But Kim and I walked him back to Ada’s room and all three stood there watching her curled up and asleep. It was dark, but the nightlight put off enough light to see one of those David smiles I talked about earlier. He was beaming, and when we came back out he hugged us both and said she was beautiful.
I remember those hugs so fondly. I can see him giving me one before we had breakfast tacos at Arandas Taqueria, or when we’d bump into each other in town at a concert or event (like in the balcony of a Sufjan Stevens show). I know how much he must have wanted to give us a hug when we lost our baby last Winter. That happened just a few weeks before his death, and in the last email I have from him he wrote “Kim and Sam, I am so sorry. I love you, David.” Many people wrote us in those weeks, and most wrote a lot longer emails then that. And we were grateful for every single one of them. But David’s was one we remember because it was succinct – and because we knew him, we knew he meant it. We knew he hurt for us but didn’t know anything more to say then that he was there and loved us.
I was waiting to hear back from David about us getting together and discussing the possibility of a more structured mentoring relationship when the news broke about his accident. I can’t remember if it was on Facebook or Twitter that I first read that he was in the hospital, but there weren’t many details. All anyone from Journey was saying was that there had been an “accident” and that he was in ICU. My first thought was that I had to call Kim and her family to let them know. But then I realized it’d be helpful to know a little more first. So I called Bob Carlton – Bob and I had only met once but we were connected online and I figured he would know more. It was Bob who made it clear to me that David’s condition was serious and that he’d been injured at his gym. I called Kim and told her what I knew. She began crying immediately, and I knew I needed to get home and be with her. For the next few days, we prayed and cried, cried and prayed – not ever knowing much except what we could piece together through Journey folks’ posts online. It was frustrating to feel out of the loop. We knew that it was to protect the girls and the family. It also became clear pretty quickly that although we loved David and considered ourselves close to him, it seemed the rest of the world did too. We so wanted to go and see him, to say goodbye and to hug the girls. But if everyone around the world who had felt the way we did got to go, Brackenridge Hospital couldn’t have held us all. Late one night we got the news we had figured was coming. David had died surrounded by his family and there would be a memorial of some kind after Christmas. I don’t really even remember Christmas. I know we traveled to Louisiana, but it had just been such a horrible couple of months that every day felt like we were just going through the motions.
But in a way that only David (or the people closest to him) could have orchestrated, the memorial events began to open up and heal us. David Gentiles, of course, had the largest memorial service I’ve ever been to. Over 500 people from all over the country (and I suspect, the world) gathered around a high school baseball stadium to sing songs, hear stories, look at pictures, give thanks and remember. David loved baseball, and so the location was a perfect place.
Sitting right on a wall by the backstop was a lone baseball that must have been left there after a practice. I looked at it a lot of the service, as did at least one other person who took this picture and put it on Facebook.
And when everything was over, without even thinking about it or knowing what I was doing, I walked over and put it in my pocket. It sits on our living room bookshelf now, right beside this baseball card of David they were passing out that night.
David’s been gone for a little over 6 months now. Just like everyone else seems to, we miss him dearly. But there seems to be something that happens when great people die. Their one life well-lived is like a seed. And when buried it springs up even greener and stronger than it looked before – and it grows every which way. I can’t be the only minister who’s recommitted to loving people and witnessing to the Gospel the way David Gentiles did. I can’t be the only father who’s cherished his children even more the last 6 months, and has prayed that God would make me the kind of father David Gentiles was. I can’t be the only person who is working to be a friend like David was - who listens well, asks good questions, comforts those who mourn and rejoices with those who rejoice.
I bet there are a lot of us – like enough for an army… or at least a baseball team.
And like I said last week - I’m sure we’re not the first friends or family members of David’s to name a son after him, and I know we won’t be the last. But once we found out Kim was pregnant again back in March, it’s really the only boy name we've thought about. Now that we know we’re definitely having a son, we’re all calling him David already. Sometimes I talk to Kim’s belly and tell him about our good friend David Gentiles. I tell him he’s named after one of the greatest men I’ve ever known, my hero, my mentor.
And if our little David turns out to be half the man that big David was – then we’re all going to be in for an awesome/beautiful/wild ride.
