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Standing Tall for the Lord
A Tribute to David Paul
by Rev. Andy Cook
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For
those of us watching, no one stood taller.
Thirteen years ago, I helped my friend David Paul with a
True- Love-Waits weekend for his youth group.
David was a bi-vocational youth pastor, and it was
obvious that his students thought the world of him. They turned out in
large numbers all weekend long.
The really unusual element in the weekend activities was
a trip to a “ropes course.” The students took on all kinds of challenges
that day, from a simple “Trust Fall,” to some really frightening exploits
on a series of ropes that were strung high in the air. The experience was
designed to build teamwork and trust, and to help individuals overcome
their fears.
I am one of those
who dealt with the fears. It didn’t matter that safety harnesses all but
assured us that no one could get hurt. Walking along something that
resembled a tightrope was terrifying. Even so, all of us took part in each
exercise.
Until we got to the pole.
It was something like a telephone pole, with a few metal
handles placed along the way. It wasn’t all that high — maybe 20 feet — but
the object was to climb the pole and somehow stand on top of it. You need
to picture this. There was not enough room on top of that pole for even one
full shoe. Two shoes? It was out of the question. There was nothing but air
to grasp. Failure and pain seemed to be the certain reward for anyone who
dared challenge The Pole.
I bowed out. David stepped up.
It was his youth
group, and he had a lesson he needed to teach his kids. I watched with a
bit of amusement as David started climbing. He wasn’t very athletic, he
carried a quiet demeanor and wasn’t a very flashy kind of guy. He did not
pretend to not be afraid. While he was being fitted with the safety
harness, we laughed together about the predicament. Whatever else he had
anticipated, David had not counted on the challenge of a telephone pole
when he signed up to be a youth pastor!
But David would not let fear win the battle. He climbed
up the pole, with the safety harness cutting into his legs and waist in a
rather unseemly manner. Then he reached the top of the pole, and everything
got quiet. How in the world would he ever transition from climbing — which
was hard enough — to standing?
The coaches explained the process. David understood the
instructions. They were impossibly hard. In order to make the transition,
he’d have to take one huge step of faith, use every ounce of strength he
had in him, and risk falling. He might even get hurt, safety measures
notwithstanding.
The pole was swaying a bit, and his legs were shaking
from the exertion. It might have been funny, if it hadn’t been for the
admiration we felt for him. For David was the only person willing to accept
the challenge.
And in one, somewhat-graceful move, David put one foot
on top of the pole, pushed with all his might, and a second later, stood
like a pelican on top of the pole, towering over us. We cheered, he held
his arms up like the champion he was, and I locked that image of David Paul
in my mind forever.
On a Friday morning just a few weeks ago, David suffered
a stroke at age 52. Four days later, he suffered a second stroke. On a
Sunday, on his 15th anniversary as the youth pastor at
Musella
Baptist Church,
doctors finally gave up their efforts to save his life. Since he was an
organ donor, David’s last act was wonderfully symbolic. He was giving life,
even as he died. The last thing he gave away was his heart, and there are
plenty of people around these parts who would say that David had been
giving away his heart for years.
I think David’s life is an example of how to make a real
difference in the world. He stayed true to his God, he stayed faithful to
Beth, his wife, and he enjoyed being the unique individual God had made him
to be. And all along the way, he loved working with students. In time, it
turned out to be quite the life, even if it ended far too soon.
David will be greatly missed by his family, his
students, and by a host of close friends. I was one of those friends, and I
shall never forget the man who stood so tall that weekend, or the way he
stood so tall for Christ all the years of his life.
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