wisdom.

Dad was able to make this world a better place simply by living authentically, with love and a deep God-given wisdom in his heart. The best way I know how to share him with you is to share the eulogy my sister wrote for his funeral. These words are full of his spirit and they capture his personality and heart so perfectly. I could not describe and honor him anywhere near as accurately or as beautifully as Sara did in these words. If you knew my Dad and did not hear his eulogy, I hope you will remember him fondly as you read...If you did not know my Dad, I hope this gives you a glimpse into the wonderful man that he was:


My name is Sara, and I am Manuel Vara's younger daughter; as he liked to say "his diminutive one." 

It's strange to think that my dad has been around for my entire life, but I've only been around for a third of his. And even the third that I knew was already so full, so rich, I can't even imagine what it would be like to live that three times over! So, in giving a eulogy for him I don't know if I'm quite up to the task. I definitely can't tell you his whole life story. I can't even paint you a full picture of the third I've been around for! 
To try to do justice for a man like my dad in just a few precious minutes Is a crazy idea. And, I know that every person in this room today would give a fortune to spend those few minutes talking with HIM again, instead of listening to some cliff notes about his recent endeavors.

So...let me try to bring you a little bit of the man that I knew and loved, instead. And a little bit of what I think he would say to us if HE was the one up here instead of me...

First, he would give us all that pinched, sliiightly condescending, half-teasing smile that makes his mustache poke out funny. He would tell us that we're being silly feeling sad today, and He would start making his point by asking a simple but deep question : "Why do you think that my passing away is a sad thing?" And of course, we all know where he's going with this: as he so often did, he is going to give us a better way to think of things. 

Buying into it, and trusting him to guide the conversation, we answer him
"I'm sad for you. I wish you could live longer and enjoy more life. Fish more, hold your grandkids, blare Neil Diamond, run, hike, camp..."

Again with the mustache smile.

He would dismiss you, like he would any time you worried about him; he didn't like to waste time on himself, he would rather spend it on others. But he’s right, he’s already lived quite a full life, I mean really LIVED, and lived loud. He sang loud, laughed loud, cheered loud, sneezed loud.... My sister was on the swim team as a kid, and she said she could always hear him cheering for her over the rest of the crowd- yes even from under the water.

He was still young, but he was the definition of well-seasoned. Have no doubt, he had his fill of good times. I can't tell you how often I've heard Dad tell the story about how he and his good friend Tom Curlin would take nothing but cheese and wine on a boat and fish in silence for days, and have the time of their lives doing it. 

Or that time when he was bike riding with the Durkin twins, and he shouted “Duck!” because there was a tree branch overhead, and Ryan popped up and said “Where?!” just in time to get smacked in the face. I can still hear Dad laughing so hard over that one that he’d get himself coughing and tearing up.

He and my mom backpacked at Big Bend. He did Indian Princess camping with us girls. He ran faithfully, and shared many a run with my sister Kerith. He cherished his peek-a-boo time with Harper, and had even started teaching Aiden how to fish. 

He loved many little things in life: His “Large Hot One” from cafe calypso, his well-worn bible, his big blue college ring, the History channel. He looooved his Christmas carols, his oldies music, and the bedtime songs that are now a staple of both grandkids’ evenings. He was born to be a grandpa - he always loved babies, & they loved him. 

"Okay, " he would say, "so if it's not for me, then why are you sad today?"

“Well, think of all the people you’ve touched and cared for. I’m sad for the people who won’t ever get to be cared for by you.”

See, my dad had a talent for finding anyone who felt insignificant for any reason in every situation, big or small, and making them feel like a king.

Well, about this time, I imagine, he would hunker down for a long conversation by inviting you to join him outside while he did some “inhalation therapy.” He would find something to prop one foot up on, and he would look far off at something we can’t see. 

What I would give to know what was going on in his head at these times.

My dad and I used to play this game we called "Wonders." It started out with easy questions when I was young and got harder as I got older. 
"I wonder... what you did today at school, my girl" 
"I wonder... who invented chess"
"I wonder... how God imagined the entire universe in only seven days"
“I wonder... If we love Jesus so much, why do we eat Him at Communion?”

I remember one particularly life-changing round, in my teens that started out "I wonder why we bother with relationships when they always end in hurt"

His answer has shaped my life since, and is so telling of who he was.

“Relationships,” he said, “are not about how we feel. They’re about getting to know God. We are made in God’s image, so that by getting to know each other, we are getting to know Him. So in every relationship, you should try to give others the best impression of God possible - always be as patient, kind, loving, forgiving, and selfless as you want them to know that God is. When we fail, and it hurts, that’s just a reminder that we are only “Christ-like,” not God Himself.

Yes, the people he’s impacted. Now I see why he did it. 

And with that in mind, I know what he would say. “My girl, I try to help other people so that I can bring them to God. Now I get to work even closer with God than ever - It’s about time I got a promotion!”

“Okay,” he says, “now we’re getting somewhere. If there’s no reason to be sad for me, and no reason to be sad for others, then what’s the real issue here?”

And we will get down to the honesty of it, as we always do with my dad. We will have to say: "I love you so much; I rely on you; I’m going to miss you. How will I make it without you?"

And in his, deep, comforting voice, "Do you really think that I would leave you alone?"

And we know, in our hearts, that no, he wouldn't. That he won't. 

This is the man who ran into burning buildings to save complete strangers; the man who hunkered down and stayed through hurricanes so that he could be in place to be a first-responder after the storm; the man who could turn any cup of coffee into a counseling session that would change your life; the man who spent his Sundays bringing communion to people’s homes when they couldn’t make it to Mass; this is the man who gave my cat CPR so that i didn't have to suffer the loss of a pet. This is not a man who will ever leave us alone. 

We may need to get used to talking with him and seeing him differently, but he is undoubtedly still here with us, and still helping us.

Even in his passing away, he left us a message of comfort: You see, my dad passed away in his white robes while he was serving at Saturday evening Mass. He had a heart attack at the foot of the altar in the presence of his Savior. The Lord came and found my dad serving faithfully at the foot of the altar, so he gathered him up and brought him to the Kingdom where he can serve much closer and more joyfully at the throne of his master. He left his body, with the congregation offering him up in prayer and the priest blessing him in the middle of this most sacred worship service, with his wife at his side.


He passed away still wearing his white robes, on the day that the second reading had just told us that the men in white robes are the ones that had succeeded and would serve Christ day and night in a place where they will no longer hunger or thirst, or feel heat. And where The Lord Himself can lead them to springs of living water and will wipe away every tear from their faces. 


I envy those who get to see his face right now: as he learns the answer to every wonder; understands all the nesses of life; hugs his mom and dad; falls down at the very throne of his Lord; and sees the beauty of the plans laid out for all our lives.

I can only imagine how beautiful his face must look right now, full of that kind of joy.