Devotional from Pastor Dave March 20, 2024

This past weekend, my uncle Pat passed away one day shy of his 92nd birthday. He was born on St. Patrick’s Day, so even though Patrick was his middle name, Pat was the name he was known by throughout his life. He was the youngest of six and the last remaining sibling of my dad.

Pat was a remarkable man, and he lived a remarkable life. He got a scholarship to play the tuba in college. He served as an officer in the Navy. He went to law school and served for 25 years as a prosecuting attorney and then for another 18 as a judge. He was married to my aunt Jill for 70 years. He was a faithful member of the church choir which his wife often directed. He was a popular public speaker. He had a fabulous sense of humor, a smile that went from ear to ear, and he loved telling stories.

Fifty years ago, Uncle Pat survived an attempt on his life. One of the people that he had prosecuted years before for murder got out of prison on parole and planted a homemade bomb in a Pringles potato chip can on the hood of their family car. Pat assumed Jill or one of their young daughters had left it there after grocery shopping. When he picked it up, it exploded. He lost both of his arms, had burns on his face and chest, and had shrapnel in his eyes. During several months of recovery, he was fitted for prosthetic arms which had metal hooks for his hands. He learned how to write, how to drive, and how to get dressed and do most of the things he needed to do. After four months, he was back at work, and he went on to work another nearly 35 years.



A few years back, he wrote up his memoirs in a book he called Justice and Luck. In that book, he described his faith. “Faith came early,” he wrote. “During childhood, any of us had to be genuinely ill to miss a service at the Methodist Church. I’ve been a willing churchgoer since” (5-6). When he was asked how the bombing had affected his religious faith, he wrote, “the experience affirmed it. I regained sight, hearing, the ability to work. My life could go on. Jill and our daughters were unharmed. My faith was strengthened” (42). Pat has been a model for me and for many others that it is not so much the things that happen to us, but how we respond to them, that makes the difference.

One of my favorite stories about Uncle Pat is how his wedding ring that they thought they’d lost forever was recovered over thirty years after the bombing. The folks that were living in their old house discovered it when they were out raking leaves in the front yard, and they recognized the initials that were on the inscription. Pat wrote that “this seemed like a miracle to me. It was pretty emotional. Yet I believe in miracles, and have for a long time. I’ve had several in my life, and this was another one” (72).

He closed his memoir with the words, “I’m one of the luckiest people who ever lived” (76).

O for all of us to live our lives with such a profound sense of gratitude, not only for the blessings in our lives, but for the blessing of life itself, and to be able to say, even amidst the difficult days, thanks be to God.