"Darrell. Darrell."

“So I went to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel.” Jeremiah 18:3 NIV

Many years ago during a Major League baseball playoff series, fans of the New York Yankees started a simple chant “Darrell. Darrell. Darrell.” They did this throughout most of a game, just to let one player from the New York Mets know they were there. Since he was a baseball fan, I have a picture of that very scene unfolding in heaven today after the passing of a legend, Darrell McGinnis. I kind of imagine God sending about 50,000 of His angels, just to let Darrell know that they were there. It would be a proper greeting.

We have all heard the saying that something is “a dime a dozen.” In other words, it is an item that can easily be found. Darrell was more like “one of one.” I have never met anyone like him and never will. He taught in the Art department at Fort Hays State University for around 40 years. His creations were unique. They were also very heavy. He was one of those people who could take any item you gave him and turn it into a unique creation that only he saw.

To be honest, his entire family is like that. They are all creative. Most of us think in straight lines, they do not. The house where my family lives had a problem with water in the basement when we first bought it. The final time my wife basically told me to fix it or she was moving. I got to work. I called Darrell and asked him for some advice. I did not just want to fix it, I wanted to create a destination. I had a goal in mind. I told him my plan and he looked me right in the eye and said “CONCRETE!?” He was mortified that I would start any plan of a relaxing back yard with a hard surface. He literally told me that he couldn’t help, it was against his principles.

His family has a cabin in Green Mountain Falls, Colorado. Sometime around the early 1960’s, he and his wife Grace had an opportunity to dream. They turned a simple cabin into a legacy. Vacations centered around it. Conversations centered around it. For every one of their kids and now every one of their grandchildren, the cabin is a destination. They did not change it much over the years. They did not have to. They did not plan excursions to places close to it or fill vacations with activities. They just went. Board games, John Denver, hiking, and conversations prevailed. The cabin is an unexplainably peaceful place. They had a goal in mind and they accomplished it. In one of the greatest lifelong gifts I have ever witnessed, counting he and Grace, he taught four generations of his family to relax.

He was known to take stands on issues. He also encouraged his family to do the same. In some cases what looked like arguing to anyone else was actually freedom to him. I was blessed one week to be at the cabin with the entire family. I saw five different conversations all happening simultaneously. He might disagree with your stance, but he believed in your right to differ. I actually told him once that I thought he was arguing too much with his son Patrick. I told him I would have given a lot to still be talking about anything with my dad. It bothered Darrell. He called me later that day and explained that he was often told what to think when he was growing up. He had purposefully decided that he would never do that. To him, the art of conversation, even if it looked like arguing, was actually a way to connect, to be free.

He would often head to some busy corner and just sit with a sign stating a view. It could be anything related to his lack of support for a certain politician or an idea, but there he sat. An oxygen tank and a pocket full of candy were all he needed. He engaged the world even if it was just him and a street corner. It did not matter if he was the only voice. In true Darrell style, on the last day of his life he staged a temporary hunger strike to draw attention to an issue. He really was one of one.

He also taught me a lot about determination (or stubbornness, you decide). He once climbed a tree with a chainsaw to trim it. I have a pole saw that can reach 15 feet and had offered to help. I should mention that he was 80 and on oxygen. We’ll go with determined on that one.

When I first started doing these devotionals, he explained to me that it would feel sort of like he did during an art show. He would throw every ounce of himself into his work and then stand there as people walked by to critique it. He told me he often felt like he was standing there naked and that I would too. That helped me. I have no natural ability to create works of art like he did, but I have words. I have been thinking all day about how to best honor him. These posts represent the only creativity I have. This one is just to honor him. I am going to miss him.

Challenge: Talk to someone. Connect with someone. Leave room for the disagreements you have with anyone to actually be an opportunity. Engage, and maybe have some candy.

Rick Claiborn