There will be a memorial service tomorrow, Dec. 19, 2010, in Oklahoma City for Bill Stemmons. It will be done precisely as he asked, with the hymns sung by those whom he requested, in the order that he specified, from the Processional through the Recessional, and at particular points during the message.
He also designated who would play the piano and sing each hymn, and who would bear his casket to and from the service, and to his body’s final resting place. But contrary to what you might be thinking, Bill was not a perfectionist, he was a parliamentarian, a professional one. He just believed in good order.
There is a difference, you know. Perfectionists often are not happy people, the world being the kind of place that it so often is. But Bill always seemed to be happy. His eyes had a perpetual twinkle and he had one of those faces that made him appear to be continually smiling, even when he had good reason not to be.
Since it’s such an uncommon profession, being a parliamentarian was exactly the right career for Bill because there was nothing ordinary about him.
He was his own man in every way but one, and if it was somehow possible to line up all the men in the world and rank them according to their singularity, I have no doubt that Bill would be near the front.
Bill and I first met in Teen Age Republicans in high school. We were among the millions of young men and women drawn to Barry Goldwater, Ronald Reagan and the conservative movement.
Later, we were both at Oklahoma State University where we shared the usual political activities and participated in a Christian fellowship that met on campus.
It was a few years later, though, that Bill had his greatest impact on my life, though it would be several decades thereafter before I would grasp just how great an impact. I had married and was attending graduate school at the University of Dallas.
For reasons known only to him, Bill suddenly showed up one day for a visit. It lasted a week and he made sure that every day we spent some time studying the book of Romans in the New Testament.
Frankly, I found it irritating at the time because grad school was hard and I was beginning to wander from the fold.
But I think Bill somehow knew then that I was headed in the wrong direction and that was why he kept taking me to Romans, especially to the eighth chapter, verses 28 through 31. Years later, after I had achieved some success in my career, then crashed heavily on the desperate shoals of alcoholism, those verses would be my life line.
Bill never stopped talking and never stopped smiling. It was only years after our respective life-journeys took us in different directions that it became clear that was the way he was.
Bill believed deeply in conservative principles and throughout his life worked hard for people in public life who he thought would advance those principles.
And when he became your supporter, he didn’t just send you a few dollars or put your sign in his front yard. No, Bill worked, hard, for the people in whom he believed, most recently during the 2008 presidential campaign for former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee.
Bill even moved to Iowa for several months prior to that state’s crucial primary at his own expense. The clip of a news interview with him from that period that accompanies this post provides a taste of his devotion and enthusiasm.
But politics was not why Bill never stopped talking and never stopped smiling. I said he was his own man in every way but one. From a young age, Bill made his public profession of faith and every day for the rest of his life, he lived, as best he could, as a servant, a “blood-bought” servant he would always say, of his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Politics and parliamentarianism were Bill’s professional interests, but sharing and living the Gospel were his life’s passion, his deepest conviction, and his most enduring trait. He wasn’t a prig, indeed, there was nothing Pharisaical about him. He was a happy Christian. And he knew why.
Bill passed on earlier this week, having lost an earthly struggle with cancer. I have no doubt that after he stopped hugging and thanking the Lord, he began asking Him questions. “What did you mean with this parable, why did you say that to them.” And on and on. Jesus, the potter, is laughing in delight.
RIP, Bill Stemmons, friend and inspiration to more than you knew.
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