Possibly not a more fitting way to honor my Grandpa Rathert on this Memorial Day. The only thing missing is a John Deere, a few acres of grass, and a shotgun to kill those damn moles. His words, not mine.

Grandpa was a selfless man that lived to work and worked to live. His blue collar meant he had a green wallet. He bought what he needed and saved the rest. A Great Depression will do that to a man.

He was charitable, compassionate, and rooted in the Word. He didn’t brag about it. Why would he? Or even should he?

He believed in a kind of quiet giving that was based on his means to give and his assessment of one’s need to receive. It need not be asked for, or forcibly taken, to be received. His kind and honest judgment was enough for him to share the welfare of his hard labor without pomp and circumstance required.

Most generous was the time he gave his country serving in the Army during WWII. Being a farmland mapmaker at home translated nicely into a profession as a topographer in the war. He saw some terrible things in his service. He also met my grandmother in Australia while serving in the same building as General MacArthur. God blessed him in his service.

He’s been gone ten years now. I remember him most days, but especially today. Although my children will never remember him, they can remember what kind of man he was.

A quiet giver. A proud fighter. And a lover of his family and his country.

There is no greater hero than that.