Four years ago, almost to the day, I blogged HERE (Is “blog” still a verb in 2025?) about the day I learned to hang a door. The person who taught me was my one-time boss, a carpenter/contractor named Dave Lillich. This weekend, Ardelle and I will be away from Calvary because we’ll be in Northwest Arkansas to commend Dave’s body and soul to the mercy of God. He died in January after a short bout with cancer.
I worked for Dave for only a few years before he said I’d learned everything I could from him and would probably be better off launching on my own. That was Dave. He was a catch-and-release guy when we cast flies into the White River together. And he was catch-and-release with his carpenters when he believed we’d flourish best working for ourselves.
A businessperson with a scarcity mindset would have worried they were training up competitors, which was not untrue. I think Dave was just delighted that a few more people were practicing our craft out in the world, with all the affection and care he taught us, hopefully leaving a little wake of beauty wherever we worked.
One of my favorite projects with Dave was renovating an old church. If memory serves, the congregation had moved into the great big flimsy tin box of a former discount furniture store, leaving behind the steeple and the stained glass. Dave couldn’t bear to see the building go to ruin, so he bought it and turned it into apartments.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re imagining carpets made to survive keg parties and other tenant-proof finishes to maximize the return on his investment. But that wasn’t Dave. He asked me to build a staircase that led to a loft, and to build it — this is a quintessential Dave Lillich move — out of the salvaged staves of a giant vinegar vat, quartersawn from a great Douglas fir at least a century prior. He’d been saving the lumber for who knows how many years for a project worthy of the wood. The boards were nearly three inches thick and probably sixteen inches across. After a day of planing them down to expose the grand old tree’s tight red grain, the whole church smelled like a pickle factory. I probably did, too.
Now for a confession. I wrote the previous five paragraphs with no idea whatsoever about what theological lessons or wholesome metaphors these ruminations might serve. And as I type this, I’m realizing that there are times when metaphor diminishes, rather than expands, the really real. “No ideas but in things” was one of the best ideas William Carlos Williams ever had, if you ask me.
Someday, I may have those pungent, gorgeous vinegar vat staves stand in for something else in a sermon or a story. But today, remembering my friend and mentor, I simply want to present you with the splendid objects themselves and the person who taught me what I think Mary Oliver meant when, decades later, she told us that “attention is the beginning of devotion.”
Here’s one more shimmering object in this world that you might choose to attend to for a time today. It’s a vivid, near perfect little prayer for the departed from St. Augustine’s Prayer Book, built from dust and angels, breath and tenderness, the land of Egypt and the gates of glory. If there’s a finer description than this of the Love that I believe has now received my friend fully into itself, I have yet to stumble across it.
Almighty and everlasting God, you have breathed into mortals a soul formed in your own likeness; now as dust returns to dust, command this soul of your own making and formed in your image to be placed with your saints in an everlasting home, and gently and tenderly receive one who returns as from the land of Egypt into the land of promise. Send your holy angels as guides in the way of righteousness and lead him to the open gates of your glory, for you are our hope and our strength in life and in death. Amen.
Blessings on both you and Ardelle as you remember your friend.
Thank you, Leanne.
It’s a blessing to have the privilege of reading this, Scott. 🙏
Thanks for these comforting words. Safe travels, dear ones.
Touching, Godspeed, and thanks for the card.
We are lucky when when we have people who are mentors in our lives. I’m so glad you are able to be there this time for him. And I love this line from the prayer: “one who returns as from the land of Egypt into the land of promise.”
Amen to all of this, Jackson.
I love this multi sensory “blog”. When closing my eyes to reflect on the words of the prayer, I can almost hear the sanding tools working to uncover the beautiful wood, the smell of long gone pickles, and see the beauty created by giving a discarded structure a new purpose. Thanks for sharing your story.
Sorry for the death of your friend and mentor….. thank you for this beautiful blog of memory and love.
Lovely words, my friend. He was as big as life. The prayer is perfection. I’m only sorry we’re out of town and won’t be able to celebrate him with you today. Blessings.
Thank you for the kind words about my own friend and mentor, Dave Lillich. Dave was truly a unique guy and is the primary reason I was able to graduate from college. If not for his concern, gentle leadership and mentoring, I would have been another in a long list of “one and done’s” at John Brown University. He taught me many things…about life, faith, carpentry, perseverance and self discipline. He touched the lives of many people and that is a wonderful legacy.
I had planned to be there today but am not feeling up to it. I’m glad y’all will be there and leave it your more than capable hands. God Bless and safe travels!
Thanks to each of you for your thoughts and responses. We’re on the road, and I’m in the passenger seat pecking on my phone, which is refusing to make individual replies right now. But I love hearing what these reflections stirred up in you.
Such a sweet memoir. There are those who frame us—sorry, I tried but couldn’t resist— as surely as our genes frame our bones. Maybe they’re angels unaware they are angels? Maybe sent? Who knows. But there they are.
This is a beautiful tribute to your friend. I am sure you will miss him. It sounds like his life was a blessing to everyone who knew him.
The prayer is also beautiful, simple , and true.
I must confess, though, that the first thing in this reflection that warmed my heart was the story about fishing in the White river. My husband and I spent many hours fishing there and in other Arkansas rivers.
Love this, Christie. Thanks so much for posting.
Dear Scott, if I recall, have you told us other stories about Dave? Is this the man who would announce “Glory” at some sight that would astonish, amaze, or scare you? Is this the man who taught you how to arrange your tools and materials just so, so that your work would be easier? These are the talents that you brought to Calvary all these years later that have helped us restore an old building that will serve generations to come. And most importantly, you have helped us see Glory.
Thanks be to God for your friend, all mentors and for you.
Thanks, Peg! The “Glory!” guy was another character from that formative time. But I was working for Dave when I encountered him. Great memory!! Isn’t it a gift to be reminded of the people who shaped us, especially when we have the opportunity to pass on a little of what we received from them?
Thanks for sharing a lovely and holy memory. I find one of the blessings of earthly death is the vibrancy of the memories of life. Fishing and carpentry are truly healing inspirations.