Abraham Lincoln once said, “God must love common people; He made so many of them.” When you think about it, those are the people that shape your life. It’s not the war hero with a bronze statue on the city square or the dead president whose portrait hangs on the wall of your local library. It’s not sports figure whose name is printed on the jersey you wear or the pop singer that recorded the song stuck in your head this morning on the drive into work. No, the people that made an impact on you, the individuals that shaped you into who you are, for good or bad, were most likely everyday common people.
They were probably your mothers, fathers, grandparents, older siblings or some old couple that lived across the street. Some seasoned employee that trained you on the first job you had out of high school; the grumpy but secretly kind custodian at your elementary school. The people that influenced you were more likely to be farmers, housewives, factory workers, or store clerks, than celebrities or some great personality of renown.
While I’m fond of throwing out quotes from famous people, I’m quick to admit that I learned a lot more from old guys that I grew up around like “Uncle Demps” Briley, Vernon Buntin, Donald George, Odie Johnson or George Martin than I ever did from Winston Churchill or Albert Einstein. Chances are, you’ve never heard of these everyday folks, but they all taught me some valuable lessons, and I will remember all of them for the rest of my life.
That’s the kind of guy that Bud Wilson was. He was just an everyday guy, making a living, trying to do right by his family, his friends, his God. While he was well known in his circle of friends, he wasn’t famous. As far as I know, he never set a record, unless it was for the longest conversation in the parking lot after church, and we never called Guinness to get verification.
Was he perfect? Absolutely far from it. Some of the most valuable lessons Dad taught me involved how NOT to handle a given situation. But he showed me love, he showed me humor, grace, passion, honor, work ethic and a simple faith in God. If you have just a few of those coupled with that last one, you’ll get by pretty well in life. Dad did that for me; in fact, Dad did that for a lot of folks.
For me, he was my father. For others, he was a childhood friend that became a lifelong friend. For still others, he was the young man that helped old folks put out a garden or a crop and much later, the old man that imparted respect and wisdom into the lives of young people that needed trust and guidance. In all that, he was an ordinary man. He was a farmer and a factory worker that never finished the fourth grade and while he could look at a steer standing in a trailer and guess his weight, Dad could barely write his name. He was good at making money, but not particularly good at handling it; that was a task that fell to my mother. But he could secure a loan for a hundred acre farm with a smile and a handshake, because he had a reputation for being so solid and trustworthy.
The past twelve rules I have written about have been the culminated in this one. Because Dad lived by these rules, spoken or unspoken, he made an impact. Because he was a good friend and a good father and a man of faith, people still remember him, now ten years after he’s been gone. Because of his example, I’ve been changed; so have others.
James 4:10 says, “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up.” Because of Bud, because of Dad, I learned that you don’t have to be high and mighty to make a difference. If you’ll just be true to God and yourself, He will take you mighty high. Thanks Dad…I love you.
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