I want to begin today by reading part of a poem called: “How
to Live With Your Dash”. I think it is
appropriate for this service as we come to remember Bill Portman.
“I read of a man who stood up to speak
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end.
He noted that first came the date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears.
But said what mattered most of all
Was the dash in between those years?
For that dash represents all the time
That she had spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her know
what that little
line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own,
The cars, the house, the cash—
What matters most is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash. (Author Unknown)
Bill was born in Lexington, Kentucky July 23, 1931. He died at the Sumner Regional Medical Center February 22, 2014. But we have come to talk about today is
what happened between that birthday back in Lexington and that sad day when he
died.
For you see his life was filled with many, many things. That
dash was chuck-full of so much and you have come because you were part of what
happened during these years at one time or another.
First there is Helen, his wife of 55 years. Loren Eiseley
was a great writer from Pennsylvania. And when his wife died he spoke at the
grave service. And he looked down at that casket and that carved out piece of
earth—and he spoke to his wife. And he said, “You have been with me all the
way.” Helen Portman has been with Bill all the way. He didn’t want her to leave
his sight those last hard days. And she stayed. And she crawled up in the bed
with him and held him. What a gift—what a gift.
Marriage is an up and down affair. There are good days and
there are hard days. Bill has been seriously sick for two years. And dear Helen
has cared and loved and helped and did the dirty work when nobody else was
around. I don’t know a wife anywhere who has done a better job. I think we
ought to give Helen Portman a standing ovation. Would you join me? Helen, I
know you will protest—but this is richly deserved. And anybody who knows your
story—knows what I am talking about.
Bill grew up in Louisville in a house with a
Mama and a Papa and a brother, Bobby. He went to Male High School and first
played trumpet at University of Louisville. But he transferred after a year to
Georgetown College. He felt God calling him to be a preacher and he went to
Seminary. He served one church outside Charleston, South Carolina. One of my
favorite stories is about that little country church where one of the members
was notorious for her lack of sanitation. And she kept asking Bro. Bill to come
eat with her some Sunday after church. And he kept putting her off. Bill was
squeamish and he didn’t want to eat with her. But one Sunday she cornered him
and he went to her house. Little house, no screens on the windows. Lots of
flies. And it was about as he had expected. Maybe worse. And he didn’t want to
eat anything. But he had to do something. So—as she waddled off into the
kitchen to get something else—Bill would throw the food on his plate out the
window. She never knew.
But God’s calls are not confined to preachers. And Bill knew
that. And he probably knew he could not suffer some old deacons telling him
what to do. He did have his strong opinions.
And so it was a good idea he went into Y work. I don’t know anybody
better suited for a job. The old Y motto was body, mind and spirit. Bill was a
committed Christian and he never forgot that spirit was part of the YMCA. And out of that commitment he
influenced hundreds of young men and women. And lives scattered all over are
different because of Bill Portman.
I met him first in Louisville. He and Helen had recently
married in 1959. And we had recently married two years later and we struck up a
friendship that lasts to this day. In Seminary I worked at the Louisville Y—and
Bill was my boss. I followed his work in Louisville and then Danville, Virginia
and then Marietta, Georgia and finally here in Nashville. Along the way he knew
country music stars and business people—and kids and people of all ages.
But if you really want to know the character of the
person—you have to look at those closest to him. And so we watched him and his
attentiveness to tiny Pamela. I have a picture of Helen pregnant with Jody in
Danville. Walking out of the house—big, very big, wearing flip-flops and
laughing. So we knew Jodi. And he talked about them endlessly. Until, that
is—the grandchildren came along and I heard all these stories of you and your
accomplishments. You all called him Pup. And Pamela has three daughters: Sarah
and Kelli and Laura. And Jodi has two boys and a girl. Reid, Ashlyn and Parker.
What a gift to give one’s family—for them to know they are loved and cherished
above all else.
There was a brother, Bobby—there was his cousin, Cherrie Ann—and then that was that larger family. The hundreds he coached. All those he
took time with. The programs he arranged. All the people he was mentor to. They
wanted to be like Bill Portman. He left
his fingerprints all over the place.
We drove from Memphis to Nashville when he retired. And he
and Helen returned the favor when I retired in Birmingham. He spoke that night
and told everybody about what a lousy driver I was and about that trip we made
from Louisville to Rome in my Volkswagen and how terrified he was. I told him I
would get him back if I ever had his funeral. But you know, Bill--I can’t do
that.
He was always one of my favorite people and I hated to see
his last years when his body began to break down. This active vital man. This
terrific athlete. It was just too much for him. Still that great heart kept
beating long after the Doctors thought it would stop. He wanted to stay for he
loved life.
The Apostle Paul wrote to some of his favorite friends in
Philippi: “Finally, bretheren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable,
whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious,
if there is anything excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think
about these things.”
For in between that day of his birth and this last week when
he left us—Bill Portman’s life was crammed full of many good things that are
worthy of praise.
But there is another word I want to say today to all of us.
We have a dash, too. Something is going on between the day of our birth and
that time when it will all end. And what are we going to do with this time we
have left? I want to say to Helen and
Pamela and Jodi and these fine grandchildren and Bobby and Cherrie Ann. When
Jesus stood up as a young man in the Synagogue—they asked him to read from the
Scriptures. And he unrolled the Isaiah 61 scroll. And Jesus told them what he
had come to do. And one of the things he said: “I have come to heal the brokenhearted.” We know that healing takes a long, long time. Jesus also said in one
of the Beatitudes: “Blessed are those that mourn for they shall be comforted.”
So I claim this promise for Helen and for all this family.
One of my favorite quotes comes from a Catholic nun named
Jessica Powers. And this is what she said: “I came upon earth’s most amazing
knowledge—someone is hidden in this dark with me.” Jesus told his disciples as he was to leave them: “Let not your
heart be troubled... neither be afraid...for I will send the comforter, the
Holy Spirit to be with you forever.” And they did not understand that—but in
those days and years to come when slowly their grief was not so hard—they would
remember what he had told them. And they wrote it down and they left it for us,
too. “Let not your hearts be troubled.” they remembered he said,” neither be
afraid.”
The tom-tom beat all the way through the Bible is one simple
promise. On good days and bad. When they rejoiced and when they didn’t think
they could stand it—the old promise would come back again and again. “I will be
with you...I will be with you.” It works its way out in different ways for all
of us—because we are all different. But we can all hang on to those words
because they are true. “I will be with you.” Someone really is in this dark
with us one and all.
Bill, we thank you for sharing the years between the day of
your birth and the day you left—with us. We are better people because we knew
you. You made us smile and laugh and sometimes want to strangle you—but you
made a difference and we thank you for that. And we thank God for sending Bill
Portman our way.
I want to close with a prayer that comes from the Roman
Catholic Prayer for the Dead. “Into paradise may the angels lead
dear Bill; at his coming may the martyrs take him up into eternal rest, and may
the chorus of angels lead him to that holy city, and the place of perpetual
light.” Amen.
This is beautiful. Thank you for making my Daddy's service so personal and special. You were a very dear friend to him.
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