Grandpa Epps

I just pulled up this blog to draft a post about my Grandpa Epps, who passed away on Friday, and I had forgotten that my last post was also about my Grandpas.  That will make this post easier to write, since I already covered some good territory there.  Grandpa Epps' obituary also shows why his funeral yesterday was the kind where you leave and think - "Will I be remembered this way - for my faith, my integrity, and my service to others?"  It was truly a wonderful occassion, to be surrounded by family and friends who knew and loved him so well, and because of my faith I know that I'll see him again.

The funeral was really a time for his kids (my dad and his siblings) to tell stories about the good-ole days with Grandpa, but us grandkids have a few stories of our own!  The picture below is of me and Grandpa out on his boat - he loved ocean fishing.  I wasn't particularly good at it, but I liked that my Grandpa was good at it.  One time, I did actually catch 12 blues, and my brother Michael also caught 12 blues, but then Michael caught a bonus Spanish Mackeral!  Hm.  Still haven't gotten over that tie breaker.  Fishing was such an inherent part of Grandpa's life and our family's experience growing up that we didn't play "Go Fish!"  we played "GO FISH ON GRANDPA'S BOAT!"  It makes the card game a lot more fun when you shout it out like that.

Grandpa Epps' had another neat passion - running marathons.  He ran slow and steady, but finished the race.  I had the privilege of running alongside him for part of the Salt Lake City marathon when I was in college - he had been running so slow and steady that the race organizers started pulling up the cones and road blocks even though he was still running.  Poor Grandpa made a wrong turn because there were no indicators of the route, and went 2 miles uphill the wrong way.  He was just going to turn around and run back, and refused any offer of my Dad's to pop him in the car, drive him two miles further down the race route, and pop him out.  It took lots of persuasion, and reminding him that he was over 80 years old, but he finally agreed to let us get him back on track.  Then my Dad and I each took a turn running with him, to make sure traffic stopped for him and that he stayed on course.  As I was gasping for breath after a few miles, I was astounded to see him give a friendly wave each time a car stopped to let us continue on our way.  Grandpa taught me everything I know about running, and you can read more about that here.

Lastly, I want to mention his love of faith and family.  He was an LDS (Mormon) Bishop to a congregation of hundreds, nearly a thousand really, for 10 years.  Mormons have a lay clergy, which meant he ministered to his community in addition to doing his job as a public servant.  He instilled these values in his family, not in the least through their weekly "Family Home Evening" on Monday nights.  My Dad says that each week, no matter how much squabbling was going on amongst the siblings, Grandpa would have them all sing the hymn "Love at Home."  We sang this hymn at the closing of his funeral.  Here are a few of my favorite lines:

"Kindly heaven smiles above

When there's love at home;

All the world is filled with love

When there's love at home.

Sweeter sings the brooklet by;

Brighter beams the azure sky.

Oh, there's One who smiles on high

When there's love at home."