J.B. Satterthwaite Eulogy

Joseph B. Satterthwaite
A Eulogy from the kids

Sat – er – wait. Sat – ers – wait. Sa – thers – white. You’ve heard ’em all, Dad. Even Sat-earth-wait! No wonder they called you “J.B.” down in Belhaven, North Carolina. So, now that you’re with the Lord you’ll be getting a new name, that secret one written on a little white rock. It’s gotta be shorter than Satterthwaite.

We know it was just a hobby, but have you checked out your mid-trib theory with Abraham? Of course, the main thing is to see your Savior, and now you have: face-to-face. You’ve been serving him for a long while now… talking him up at the prison along with your buddies Dick, Edgar, Art, Ray… preaching at Crestview with Mom on piano singing alto… visiting the shut-ins with Dave… you got a little old there yourself – did you take time to notice? You sought His face, you taught of Him, you preached Him and now your work is finished. Your final words “I’m done” sounded a lot like what your own Lord said with His final breath.

We so appreciate your steadiness. You kept the course! You didn’t look back! Good thing! All those prisoners who prayed with you week after week these last years were a sweet incentive as you approached the finish line.

How you loved us! We lacked for nothing. You listened. Listened and prayed. What more could we ask of a father? We were not your only love, and that is OK. You loved Mom. She well knew how “lucky” she was to have you. You loved God. You loved the Word. You loved His Church. We didn’t mind sharing you a little, and it didn’t feel like that. There was plenty of you to go around. A big man in a little body.

We loved your southern ways. You know you gave away your subtle jokes with that upturned lip, your eyes twinkling. That’s how we knew. We’re sure glad that New York City gal convinced a North Carolina boy to step over the Mason-Dixon line. Delaware is almost South.

Don’t know why you liked fishing so much. You didn’t do it that often, and you hardly ever caught anything. Spent an awful lot of time untangling tackle or baiting our hooks. Now, as a fisher of men, we know why you liked that.

Mom says you two didn’t know you could have adopted some of the foster babies we had. Maybe that was God’s way of keeping our family under 17. You were a “softie”. Mom says you couldn’t eat when you had to give them back.

So… who gets the corner cabinet? That’s two years of walnut shavings, glue and starting over. Somehow it’s you: understated, solid, a refuge for delicate things, carefully crafted. Kathy, you say??? Kathy!!?? OK. OK. The hutch goes to your “pumpkin”. The tools and glue and leftover walnut to Rick?? Well, you did teach him everything you know about cabinet making.

Just a thought: maybe the Lord won’t mind if you do a little gardening. That’s how He started the whole thing off way back with Adam. A little okra, lima beans, collard greens, some tomatoes. That was heaven for you here, maybe there, too. And no weeds!

We’ll see you soon. You taught us that yourself from the Word. Life is a vapor. To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, for those who are His. And, go ahead and eat all the okra you can grow: Kathy and I probably won’t like it up there any more than we did down here.