Meditation for Don Houston

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Written by Pastor Alice, for Don's Memorial Service

Some time ago, I stumbled upon a reference to the language from Matthew, and the suggestion that the Christian faith can be expressed as the light of the world and as the salt of the earth. The material pointed out that there are things that people of faith do that are like lampposts, lighthouses, beacons, floodlights. Behaviors and actions that others look at and say: now, there’s a Christian. There are other things that Christians do that don’t shine so distinctly or clearly, but rather than blend in, more like salt. Salt flavors things and melts things. Salt is the sort of substance that is hardly noticed or appreciated until it isn’t there. It makes a difference, but doesn’t stand out on its own or call attention to itself. Jesus encouraged his followers to be either one, the light of the world, the salt of the earth, to use their gifts in discipleship and service, acts of faith and gestures of outreach.

In his own unique way, I have to say that I don't think Don knew how to choose which one to be – he was both the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Probably in most ways, he was more salt than light, as he went about doing what he believed to be right, making his own quiet difference, serving and giving and loving and welcoming and working. He certainly didn't preach his faith or draw attention to himself on purpose. And yet in the midst of all that down to earth just doing what he needed to do to be the person he had to be, there was a light about him that drew others to him, that shone in a distinctive way and made a tremendous difference in the world and in our lives and that brings us here today.

When I met with Elaine and David, they gave me two pages of notes that Don had written for this occasion, a summary of the highlights and details of his life. I have to chuckle at the very top line that reports that he was a Derry native, and yet he went back later and added, well, since 1916 – he was born in West Newbury, Massachusetts. Don was one of the folks who would know that that made a difference. Yes, his parents brought him to this town sometime during his first year of life, but because of that, he couldn't simply tell us that he was a Derry native; the details had to be accurate.

Don was one of 7 children who grew up in a poor family, so at the age of 14, he dropped out of school and went to work – boarding on a farm on Hampstead Road. And he spent the rest of his life working in one form or another: at the grain store, at Chases Mills, at Knapp Shoe Company. At some point, when his grandson got a summer job and told Don that he was earning $7 an hour, Don told him that that was what he was earning at his last job. And in the midst of all of that, there was an assumed frugality that was woven into his life, and with which he worked creatively, pulling together enough resources later in life to be able to buy a new car, and then within the first month of owning it, put 12,000 miles on it as he and Marion toured Canada and then back across the northern US, visiting national parks and seeing as much as could possibly be seen.

Don and Marion were married here in 1937, and lived for a time in a camp on family land. Their first child, David, had meningitis that left him severely handicapped and in tremendous need of care. Don and Marion gave David everything he needed, but he died around his first birthday. During that time, Don began to cut wood for the house he wanted to build for his family; and then the war came along and he knew he needed to serve. He'd been in the New Hampshire State Guard, and then went to enlist in the Navy, but the recruiter wasn't there. The Marine recruiter called him over and Don signed up. When he got home, Marion asked, so is it going to be the Army or the Navy, and Don answered Marines. And so at the old age of 27, Don went off to the South Pacific where he served as an amphibious tank commander and as a member of the first battalion to use land and water tanks in battle. While he was there, his daughter Elaine was born and was in fact 2 years old before Don saw her. When Don got home from the war, he asked about where the wood for his house had gone, and learned that his brother had taken it for construction of their parents' house, at which point, Don quietly went back out and cut some more.

He built the house he and Marion raised their daughters in. He dug out the basement by hand. In fact, there's still a rock that sits in the middle of that basement. Don dug and dug and dug to get that thing out, assuming he'd eventually reach the edges and bottom of it. By the time he had a 4 foot by 3 foot piece of rock exposed, he gave up and poured the concrete around it. When that was done, he built a 10 foot swing set for his daughters, one that held two swings and a pair of rings, the kind of treasure that all their friends would head for. And then he built a see saw, proudly building it to hang in the center, so that there was nothing in place to pinch unsuspecting fingers.

The rest of Don’s life flows from the quality and character of those sorts of traits. He worked hard all his life – to provide for his family and to give to his community. Year after year, he planted gardens, both vegetable and flower. He had one garden devoted to just potatoes, and he grew enough potatoes and squash to see the family through the winter, to provide for the church’s Harvest Supper, and to share with the Soup Kitchen. He laid paths in this flower garden, covering them with mulch, so he could give tours and share the beauty with others. He gave roots of daylilies and irises to any who would plant them. And every summer Sunday for years he brought arrangements for the altar and our worship. He sold raspberries - until two years when the short season was overcome by mold. Not being able to stand the waste, they cut the plants down and focused their energies elsewhere, like on blueberries. Don cut back on his gardening, reluctantly, when his body forced him to; but he never gave up and he never quit completely. In fact, he’d already ordered some seeds for this summer and for another garden. Because that’s who Don was and what Don did.

Don served the community generously and continually, as a special police officer in the midst of civil defense efforts in the 50’s and 60’s, as director of the Marion Gerrish Community Center for many years, as President of the Derry Historical Society, as a long time and active member of every level of the Grange. Don was a natural leader and an active officer, and when Marion was around, he could even be pulled onto the stage. She served for a time as Grange Lecturer, and the programs she planned drew a reluctant Don into Irish Minstrel Shows, riding Elaine’s tricycle onto the stage, or even singing duets with Marion. It wasn’t his first love, but for Marion, he did just about anything.

And then there were Don’s years of service to this church. Our longest member, he joined on April 21, 1946 – and served generously and faithfully, with good humor and strong leadership. Moderator for over 25 years, Superintendent of the Church School for 7 years, on the Board of Ministries and Search Committees, the Board of Deacons, Parliamentarian at Annual Meetings, and Auditor of Books. Don chaired Harvest Supper for over 25 years, compiled and printed a booklet on FPC’s stained glass windows, and joined others in costume for the church’s 275th Anniversary Celebration. I was often amazed and impressed with the tidbits of information he would offer on this way out of church on a Sunday morning, everything from when the Board of Deacons and the Board of Deaconesses became one board, when we began the Maundy Thursday services, and just what the details were of that awful church fight about the UCC in the 60’s. Don was there for it all, and he remembered the details like no one else. And when we finally got the individual hearing aids, he plugged one in and said he could hear what was going on in a way he hadn’t for years.

The salt of the earth, the light of the world. He touched us deeply, he gave of himself freely, he reflected the love and grace and presence of God in the simple and profound ways he lived his life. We heard Psalm 121 earlier because that was Don’s favorite; it was his mantra in World War II and it was a touchstone for him throughout the rest of his life. He looked to God, and he helped us look to God. He trusted in God, he relied on God.

There’s a huge hole left in our hearts and in our lives now that Don has left our midst, and yet how could we wish him any less than rest and peace, and a joyful reunion with those he loved so dearly? I fully believe that God has welcomed him home, and drawn him into an eternal embrace of love and grace. His warm and gracious spirit lives on and will live forever in the presence of God, and in the lives and hearts of those of us who knew him and whose lives were changed by him. His love and life will ripple outward for years, as those who knew him and loved him shared with others the gifts he so graciously and generously shared with us.

Blessing and honor, glory and power be unto God, who gave us Don Houston to know and love in this life, and who has now welcomed him into his eternal home. Amen.

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