Justin Tindall -

Going through my memories of you, Uncle Jeff, is like watching a kid go through a toy chest for the first time. There is just so many great moments to choose from! Most of my favorite memories include the cabin at Christopher Creek, the summer you spent working with us on our house in Pinetop, or watching you nobly and humbly lead our entire family in prayer on special holiday occasions, particularly Christmas FHE at the old house. But if I had to choose one memory, it would be of a small moment we shared on the morning of August 2, 2006. I was just about to leave for my mission to Bolivia and I was excited to go. Don’t get me wrong, I was scared out of my mind, but I was ready to go and I couldn’t wait to get started.

 

While driving with my parents to the airport that morning, I couldn’t help but be confused about the emotions taking place in the car. Everyone seemed happy, but there was an awkwardness in the air. I think we were all thinking the same things: Do we cry? Should we just smile and say “Goodbye”? Should we feel sad? Is he going to last two years? (Trust me, we were ALL thinking asking ourselves the last one!)

 

All of the sudden, my mom got a call and I heard her tell someone that we had already left for the airport. You, Uncle Jeff, were on the other line. Did it matter that we had already left the house for the airport? Not one bit, because you had pulled over onto the side of the freeway in the middle of Wednesday morning traffic and were waiting for us to pull up behind you. As I got out of the car, you were striding over with that John Wayne swagger (something that always made me admire how strong you are), and without hesitating, you grabbed me in both arms and embraced me as hard as you could. With tears streaming down your face, you told me how much you love me and how proud you were of me.

 

Uncle Jeff, that bear hug, that embrace, was the first time that I ever felt like a man. I know that sounds odd that a hug would make me feel like a man, but that’s how I felt. Sure, I was almost 19 and had grand illusions about how mature I was, but you made me see manhood differently. Being a man to you meant stepping up and taking on a challenge with your chin held high. Being a man to you meant doing something because it was the right thing to do, not because its something you should do. With that hug, I felt like you were telling me that I was starting to become a man. No adult male had ever made me feel that way before. As we said goodbye and I climbed in the car with my parents, I then knew it didn’t matter if I cried or if I was sad, or if I was jubilant and excited, either. What mattered was that I was stepping up and taking the challenge to become someone better than I currently was then. I was becoming a man.

 

I want you to know that not a day went by during my mission that I didn’t think about that moment on the side of the freeway. It gave me the courage and the strength to work one more day, one more week, one more month in Bolivia. Even now, almost 5 years since returning home, I haven’t forgotten that simple show of affection that has, to this day, reminded me that there is a strong, great man and uncle in my life who loves me and is expecting the best of me. It’s a daily reminder that today, I need to be a better man than I was yesterday. I will forever be grateful for that lesson. I love you Uncle Jeff.