Jim and I first met at a Christmas party in Loma Linda, California, when he was teaching at Redlands Junior Academy and I was a medical student. Our first date was to Lion Country Safari in Jim’s yellow Maverick with black stripes. The pizza we ate for lunch that day was awful, but awful pizza cannot quench love! A few short months later, over another pizza in Shreveport, Louisiana, Jim proposed marriage, and so began a journey of 35 years together bringing up three fine sons and moving to far-flung places such as Kansas, Louisiana, Washington, Canada, and finally Kentucky. Jim was always so good to me, and I learned so much about the unconditional love of God because I saw it in his love for me. I think that it would be nice if every woman could have such a wonderful husband as mine. For the past four and a half years as he bravely battled his disease, he was always optimistic and never complaining. Strong and independent to the very last, he was and always will be my hero! My husband, my lover, my very best friend, I will miss you terribly.

Dad was everything to me that a dad could be. My earliest memories of him include playing hide-and-seek. Searching the house for dad, or better yet, hiding in the shadows waiting to be found. Running back to the living room, or getting a playful tickle. Sitting on his lap, reading Uncle Arthur's bedtime stories, or My Bible Friends.

On our family's move from Baton Rouge to Shreveport, Louisiana--I rode in the U-Haul truck with Dad, plying him with questions, not the least of which, "Are we there yet?" Dad's patience must have been un-ending, because I think I spent the day doing nothing else but running the lift gate up and down on that moving truck.

He always believed in us. When I was five years old, Dad overhauled the V8 engine in the family's '78 Dodge Aspen station wagon. I was his right-hand man. He explained in minute detail how every part of the engine worked, and together we disassembled the entire engine, replaced the rings and bearings, and put it all back together. That was the biggest sense of accomplishment I'd ever had, putting in the last bolt and hearing that engine roar to life.

For my eighth birthday, Dad bought me a space shuttle Lego set. At the time, my family had just moved to Upper Columbia Academy in eastern Washington state, and we were living temporarily in an unused wing of the girls dormitory. I remember sitting with Dad on the floor of the dormitory hallway, working together to assemble the Lego set. It seemed so puzzling to me, because Dad seemed to be having so much fun with my new Legos. "Dad," I asked, "why are you sitting here putting together Legos with me? Haven't you outgrown Legos by now?"  To which he replied, "No. I still enjoy them as much as you do."

Whether it was outdoor excursions, or woodworking, or just home projects, Dad always involved my brothers and me. He made us feel loved. When I was 10 or 11, he bought a 17ft canoe, and we would go on family outings to the lake. We soon realized, however, that it was difficult for all five of us (plus the dog on occasion) to fit in one canoe. So, like Dad was, he bought a set of plans, and set out to build his own canoe. It took nearly a year, but eventually all the strips were glued together, the canoe was covered with fiberglass and epoxy inside and out, and it was ready for its maiden voyage. Dad built a special rack for his station wagon, to carry both canoes side-by-side, and we headed to the Little Spokane River.

We laughingly called Dad a "walking encyclopedia." Before the days of Google, if we didn't want to go to the library to answer a question, we would just ask Dad. He was an avid reader, and his mind was amazing. You could ask him any question, on almost any topic, and like as not he would know the answer.

Most of all, throughout his life, Dad taught us that this life alone is not the object of our journey. For those who, like Dad, are faithful to the end, death is but a little sleep, before the dawning of eternal day. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalm 30:5

When Daniel and I got married, I discovered that my father-in-law really cared about me as if I were his own daughter. I couldn't have asked for a better second Dad!

When we would go canoeing, Mom and Daniel always wanted to go exploring farther than Dad and I wanted to go. So I'd stay back with Dad. He'd always look at them go with a big smile on his face and chuckle, "Like mother, like son!" Then he and I would have one of those delightful chats that I looked forward to so much. His sound wisdom, combined with his sense of humor always were just what I needed to hear.

Dad, I miss you so very much and I can't wait to see you at Jesus' soon return--when the twinkle in your eye returns and there'll be no more pain or goodbyes. May I be found as faithful as you.

Though the pictures might suggest that he wore a semi-permanent grumpy facial expression, Dad was always the one looking to make people smile. That was true whether he was baking delicious pastries when we were kids to make Friday nights extra memorable, or supplying us with copious factoidal information (It took me years to learn that chocolate milk did NOT in fact come from a brown cow) or telling stories that would be sure to get a laugh.  He seemed to have a never ending bank full of stories that didn’t always make sense to us, other than for a small amount of humor. For example, I remember dad talking about a pizza that he had in Shreveport when he was dating my mom. He would always jokingly complain about how hot that pizza was. I just assumed that he told this story like any other “dad” story, and that his esophagus must have suffered some lasting damage, else why would he keep repeating that story for so many years?  Deep down inside he loved many people (though perhaps not everyone), even if he didn’t make a fuzzy show of it. He will always be in my heart and memory.

I remember when I was sixteen Dad and I started building an airplane in the backyard and although we never finished the project, it was a great father-son bonding experience.

One of Dad’s favorite funny sayings I find to be very true: “ It’s OK to talk to yourself, it’s OK to listen to yourself, it’s even OK to answer yourself; just don’t say ‘huh?’ ”

This past weekend Jim McFeeters passed away from cancer. He was my pathfinder director growing up, my mentor and most of all my friend. I believe God places people in our lives. He and his wife Cathy were some of those key people that God put in my life and changed it for the better. He was one of the first people outside of my family that believe in me, showed me that I could do more than just be in the church pews or a member of a pathfinder club. He pushed me and helped be grow as a person and as leader. He started with small things, giving me responsibility. It was working with him that I realized my passion for working with kids. Without him I probably wouldn’t have been in pathfinders, went to camp, or be where I am at or who I am today. He always had a cheerful attitude, took time with all of the kids in the church (even though I'm sure we drove him crazy some days lol). He was always teaching us something, how to run a sound booth, facts about science and nature, camping and just always made you felt like you were “home” when you walked into church and heard his laugh, saw his smile and got a hug. Life wont be the same with out him here. I am grateful that he is no longer suffering, and so very grateful to have had him in my life. Today I am going to KY for the funeral and I know it will be hard on all of us but most of all his family. Please keep Cathy and the rest of his family in your prayers

I remember having very deep and philosophical discussions with Jim over the years and one in particular was with Jim and my dad at the lake. It was exceptionally clear and we were talking about God and our origins and purpose on this earth. You know, light hearted stuff and Jim and I started talking about the speed of light. I'll always remember Jim telling me that he thought that was God's speed limit for our universe. Very deep and wise conversation. I'll cherish it always. Love you Jim. Till we meet again!! 

We called him “Jimmy.” He was our little brother. When he came along we had to divide the food and the toys one more way. As we grew up he followed us everywhere. After he learned to read we would notice that he wasn’t around, and we would find him in a corner of the house reading a book. At night he read under the covers with a flashlight.

He quickly became interested in photography and astronomy. By the time he was around 10 he wanted to build a telescope. He built a cardboard telescope first and then began the process of trying to talk our parents into buying a lens so he could build a real telescope, which he eventually did build, grinding the mirror himself and using the metal from two old refrigerators.

When he was in the 8th grade he built a darkroom in the garage and was developing his own photos. His favorite subjects were his pets, his siblings, and nature, and eventually his wife Cathy and their children.

During high school he worked for the maintenance department. While there, he was allowed to drive the garbage truck, only to run it into a wall.

After college he met and eventually married Ardi LeDuc; they were married five years before she passed away.

We loved him and will miss our little brother very much.