Ralph "Butch" Lassiter

From the day I met him, Poppy was the only name we ever called him. I don't know where that name came from, I suspect the oldest grandchild might have given it to him and it stuck.

I met Poppy at Carterville Christian Church in March of 2004. The occasion? His baptism. The short version of the back story is that shortly before this particular day he walked into a local used car dealership and told the owner - Van Benson, a trusted friend - that he needed "to be saved." Sometime earlier, Poppy had started attending church at Carterville with his granddaughter (Brittany...now my wife). Soon after his trip to see Van, he felt the Holy Spirit leading him to take the step of being baptized and so there we were. I don't remember the exact date, but it was early evening on a Thursday.

Statistics will tell you that very few 65 year-old men accept Christ as their Savior, but Poppy did. That meeting taught me a couple of things about Poppy.

First, that Poppy was a person who was more than willing to stand up for what he believed. In the 5 years I knew him, he was never one to be pushy, but he also made no apologies for making his faith known to anyone who would listen.

Second, Poppy was someone who knew how to and liked to celebrate. You can see how excited he is in the photo from that day.



Over the next few years, Poppy made a number of indelible impressions on me. Just a couple of stories.

When Brittany and I got married, unlike many of our friends from this area where the families have known one another or at least known of one another for many years, my family was completely unknown to all of Webb City - where all of Brittany's family is from. Our parents met in early 2005 before we got married in May, but that meeting didn't include any of the extended family. So when the grandparents all rolled in on wedding weekend my grandparents didn't know anyone on Britt's side. While at 80 years old each they certainly could handle a few hours of wedding and reception even if they didn't know anyone. But Poppy was having none of it.

The next thing I knew, Poppy had gone to my grandparents and was making them feel right at home. He had a gift for that. I don't remember if they ever got to see one another again after that day or not (I don't think they did), but almost without fail, anytime we saw either Poppy (and Nan) or my grandparents they would ask about one another.

One more story. One Sunday morning a couple of years ago Robin Sigars was giving announcements from stage during church it came time to have the small cardboard boxes that are used to collect the benevolent offering each month passed. Generally, Robin asks kids in the audience to come up and pass those boxes. On that particular morning none of the kids responded. Completely in jest, Robin looked over at Poppy and said, Butch, do you want to come help me pass these boxes? It was clear in Robin's tone that he was kidding. By this time, Parkinson's had made it difficult for Poppy to walk and there was no expectation for him to get up and circulate throughout the auditorium. Robin turned to the other side of the room and then realized that Poppy didn't know that he was kidding (or more likely decided to play along), because Poppy was half-way up the aisle running (no, really) toward the front. Poppy wasn't about to pass up a chance to serve. Robin commented later that if only he could get others in the congregation to be so willing to serve we'd never have a shortage of people to serve the ministries of the church. He was right about that.

I did not have the privilege of knowing Poppy for all that many years. The stories that Nan (his wife, Sue), his daughters (Pam, Kim, and Tracy), and his grandchildren tell only confirm my observations of him.

At 12:10am on Thursday, April 23rd, Poppy finished his race here on earth. After years of dealing with the effects of Parkinson's that all too soon restricted his physical ability, he now walks and talks without any hindrance. His family misses him terribly because he was so special to them (us), but they (we) understand that he is now far better off and for that we celebrate through the tears of saying goodbye.

Today at noon, Poppy was laid to rest at Mt. Hope Cemetery.

I've explained before that when I lived in Stillwater on the most solemn days as well as the ones of greatest celebration, we wore orange. I have chosen to carry that tradition forward. Today most certainly was a day for orange - both a solemn remembrance and a celebration of eternal victory.