Excerpt
“Hello, my name is Dan Hays. Ben Hays was my father.” I noticed in a detached sort of way that my voice was strong, calm and warm. “On behalf of my family and myself, I’d like to welcome you all here today. We are deeply touched that you join us here today to celebrate the life of Ben Hays.” I looked out and could see sympathetic eyes wherever I looked, all focused on me. A few tears were beginning to well up in the audience.

“The large number of people here today is a testimony to the number of lives my father touched. A number of people this week have told me how much my Dad had an influence on their lives. By this I know he carried the message.” I could feel my throat clutch up. “My Dad and I had a great deal of healing over the last several years of his life. By this I know he practiced the principles. If you ever saw my Dad out at his land, grafting pecan trees, or just sitting and enjoying the breeze,” a number of smiles at this, “you would know he had had a spiritual awakening. And if you’ve ever seen those checked tennis shoes he wore,” big smiles now, and a lot of laughter—the shoes were hideously ugly, “you know that he had learned not to take himself too seriously. My Dad had a lot of courage—at one point he lost it all, job, family, home, but he persevered and put it all back together. The songs we selected today were appropriate to my Dad, because he did do things his own special way. I’m very proud of my father,” my throat almost closed—edge of tears— almost lost it. “Peace be with you, Ben.” I sat down, not able to look at my family, instead staring at a spot above the crowd at the back of the church. The minister stepped up, made a few closing remarks, and dismissed the gathering to muted organ music.