Glen drove 80% of the nails and screws that hold this farm together.
I don't like to let go... of stuff, of good times, and especially of people. But today I needed to say goodbye to a dear friend. My friend Glen will be in heaven soon - so suddenly that none of us have wrapped our minds around it. Gall bladder surgery turned up a cancer that has eaten him alive in just a matter of weeks.
His handwriting is literally on everything you see around the farm. You can still see his left-handed scrawl where he measured twice to cut once.
Glen built most of this farm. He and a motley series of helpers labored on the house for months until his steady working partner, Dan, joined him. He plumbed it, built the cabinets, laid the floor, hung the sheet rock, and more. He built the Little Red Barn. He built the animal barn. He and I ran hundreds of feet of livestock fence. Everywhere I look, I see what Glen built. To put it bluntly, JRF wouldn't be here without Glen. He worked every day for over a year, driving 30 miles each way, to get our house livable. He never failed to show up, almost always brought his own tools, kept the helpers on task, and made me laugh every day. Glen could talk the paint off a barn wall. I never met a man with so much to say.
Today at the VA hospital, I saw a mere shadow of the impish little guy he used to be--barely a frame. It won't be long. But I had the privilege to tell him how much I cared about him, and how thankful I am for all he has literally built into my life. I got to hug him and let him know that he's safe in the arms of Jesus--loved and treasured. We cried together. His family surrounds him.
Today, it was a precious gift to say goodbye.
One of the only pictures I have of Glen, working with Dan on the Little Red Barn in February of 2006.