and another one..

I actually think I've heard him sing it "another one bites the dust.."
I loved that man.. and at one point called him a variation of daddy... "diddy"
Many, many people loved him.. I love him.

there's this piece of me, the young boy, the "young preacher"
small, teachable
looking, searching, seeking for this kind of elder, this kind of guidance, this kind of genuine
"a way with words" doesnt scratch the surface of what its like to hear this man speak
I suddenly wish I had recorded him
Instead of selfishly gazing into his words, on the edge of my seat, ears begging to devour more of the splendor that was the Word but mostly because of how he choose them and strung them together in a way that would leave you in awe.. waiting for the next turn as he dropped you through time, space, and text..
an eloquent teacher, an amazingly strong man
I suppose he had staved off death his appropriate number of times
His work will go on, in and around us
His style will pervade my mind
and every time I prepare I am sure he will be there
watching my words, timing my cadence
sitting straight up in one of the center aisle middle seats
legs crossed, hands folded neatly on his lap
and my "good job" will be if he simply stays in the room until the end