Heaven is a bit more fun today

I was really sad the other day when I heard that Harold Thomas had died. Harold was one of my father's oldest friends, and he's been at every major family event that I can remember. Harold pastored the Friendly Grove Baptist Church. My grandparents literally helped build the Coalmont Church of God where all of us were raised. Back in the day, the Church of God folks didn't think you were getting to heaven unless you spend some time on those uncushioned pews at the Church of God. Harold was always the exception to that harsh edict.

In time, my father came to believe that you could get to Heaven even if you were a Baptist. He even embraced the Catholics and the Muslims and pretty much anyone who believed for real. I'm not sure the Church of God went along with that, but I'm glad my father escaped the severity of the church that I remember while somehow holding on firmly to his faith. Harold probably helped with that.

Other people who loved Harold called him Pastor Thomas. He was always "Harold Thomas" to us, which wasn't disrespectful at all. It was just what my dad called him, and so we did, too. He was more than a family friend. He's married and buried my family since I can remember. He was there at the hospital when any of them were sick, and he celebrated anniversaries and weddings with us. He married a few of my siblings more than once, and I remember at least one of them worrying if he'd find them worthy to do it again. He always did, though I think he was secretly glad for the worry for it meant we weren't totally without shame yet and therefore still salvagable.

I have a healthy disregard for organized religion. There are just too many people involved who don't live up to the ideals they force on others. My father and Harold Thomas stand apart from that. They were true believers. And they believed that if you lived your life like you were supposed to, you'd find yourself young and whole and happy again in Heaven, reunited with all who loved you in life and God and Jesus there to explain all the things you trusted them on all those years when it wasn't easy.

At my father's funeral, Harold Thomas told us things we'd never known about our dad -- back when they were kids. And while it was a truly awful day, Harold made it better for giving us that gift.

I wondered then, as I wonder now, who could possibly eulogize this man. Small in stature, humble in demeanor but long on compassion and genuine caring for others. The Tribune Star carried his obit today, but no printed piece could do Harold justice. They're offering a chance to send a note to his family. If you knew him, I hope you'll do that for them. It seems like a small thing, but I believe it will help them through this dark time.

If my dad and Harold Thomas were right (and I hope with all my heart that for at least those two men they were right) they're sitting around a table drinking black coffee with Doc Eccles and laughing about the trick they'd just pulled or the funny thing their kid did. Or they're young again out hunting for squirrels or mushrooms in the hills or meeting their wives for the first time again. Or they're just walking around taking it all in, talking with God about all the things that didn't really make sense back then.

Whatever they're doing now, I hope they're happy and at peace. If you never knew my dad or Harold, I'm sorry: you missed something special. If you did, aren't you glad you had them for a while?