What was Ian like?

In a time like this the song “If I could turn back to time...” comes to mind, because this was not the end to our beautiful vacation, planned meticulously by Ian, that any of us expected. But we can’t and that is why we are here. I ask your indulgence to spare me a few minutes as I turn back the time in Ian’s life.

In school and college times in Belfast, the gregarious Ian made friends that became friends for life. I know that he communicated with many of his Wallace group in recent days––no doubt with his latest groan jokes. He played basketball for school and college and the highlight of his basketball career was to have played on the Ulster squad and represent his country. Through all the moves, the black and white team photo has accompanied us.

Busy times ensued as he built a career as a young engineer. The gung ho Ian was the first engineer to plant a stake on the Shetland Islands to prepare for the construction of the Sullom Voe Oil Terminal, the U.K.’s largest construction project ever. In addition to the Shetlands, where I joined him after our marriage in 1976, he traveled widely and worked on many projects: the Orkney Islands, Saudi Arabia to build roads in the desert, Amman, Jordan to work on a the new Queen Aliyah International airport, the less exotic County Clare to work on the Moneypoint power station, and finally to a project in Huntington, WV to arrange for coal from Kentucky to be shipped to Ireland and Europe in the early 80s. It was meant to be a three year contract, but as I frequently reminded him, especially if I was having a bad day, he had long overstayed the expiration date.

More stable times ensued with a move to Northern Virginia close to Washington DC where engineering took a more normal turn with infrastructure projects. We called this home as Ian became an elder of the Presbyterian church, sang and played guitar in the worship group, and became a doting dad to our daughter Lyn. He was her number one cheer leader at swim meets, and a constant guide to help her plan her path through college, universities and career choices. The second happiest day of his life was when she announced she had finally found a boyfriend, Corey, who she was pretty sure would measure up to both her and Ian’s approval, and the happiest day was her wedding day just over 10 years ago. He might have given her away to Corey, but he maintained the “my girl, talkin’ about my girl…”music to announce her calls on his phone. The only day to equal this was December 16, 2020 when our grandson Bennett was born.

Easier times came when he worked from home as a consultant civil engineer with his beloved Winston the Wheaten Terrier below his desk. Eventually he took a progressive retirement. Then in one of life’s strange turns, 35 years after his arrival in WV, the desire to be with Lyn, Corey and Bennett drew us back to Huntington, our WV home.

Recent times included golf buddies, the “gripe” group, (read complain about problems of age and politics group), cushion battles and wrestling with Bennett, which Bennett always won, support of struggling communities in our home town, and endless explanations to West Virginians as to why he was not the one with the accent!

Finally end times included an extensive trip to Europe culminating in a trip “home” to Northern Ireland to visit family, especially his brother Keith, to play golf together, and to discuss the chances of his beleaguered team Manchester United ever winning the cup again. Ironically he was following their win on Saturday afternoon when I arrived to see him. All serious stuff! But here on October 4 time for Ian runs out.

In short:

- Ian was a loving husband and devoted father and grandfather.

- He loved music, especially the Eagles and the 60s, and sports, especially soccer––football to you.

- He was a keen photographer and had a great eye for a good picture.

- He told corney dad jokes and entertained people with his Irish humor and the curious pronunciation of the number 8.

- He loved spreadsheets for planning because they were detailed and logical like his mind.

- He took care of everyone and everything with his generous spirit.

But above all, he was immensely proud of what this boy of a modest Belfast background had achieved and become, but he knew profoundly at the same time that it was only because of God’s grace and blessing on his life.

And if his heart ultimately gave out, maybe it was because he poured so much of it into living purposefully, meaningfully, and well.

As for me, to quote and slightly modify a poem by W. H. Auden:

He was my North, my South, my East, my West

My working week, my Sunday rest

My moon, my midnight, my talk, my song,

I thought that he would be with me forever, I was wrong.

Now there is no more time. Wherever Ian was, that was home, our home. But we will leave him here as per his wishes on the coast of his beloved Northern Ireland that he recommended everyone to visit, but preferably when the weather was good!

After all the years of travels and homes, he has come home and I feel in my heart that it is a fitting conclusion. And Lyn and I will pack up all the memories of this gentle giant we carry in our hearts and minds and take them to our homes in West Virginia until we will all finally be reunited in our Father’s heavenly home.

Thank you for your time!

Jill Moore - written October 5 and delivered as eulogy October 6 2025 in Lisburn at Service of Thanksgiving. 

                                                                            We miss you so much!

Easter Meditation

Recently I’ve been thinking about the Easter story because it is easy to lose the focus of the literally earth shaking events of that time even though our faith is based on them. With the distance in years we can just see it through a historical lens or be critical of all the bystanders thinking we would never have behaved that way had we been there.  But as I reflected,  I wondered, “Were you there…?” For I know I was.

I thought of Peter, the go-getter of the group who was always the first to answer and come up with the big ideas. We read and shake our heads at his bluster. But I know on my best days, I’m quick to volunteer for things, I read a request for help and think, “I can do that” and I add it to my list. Maybe I promise to provide things, or faithfully uphold someone in prayer through a difficult situation. Then, hours or days later, I realize I forgot my commitment or I make excuses as my energy or my faith flags. Then I’m ashamed because I know I let not only others but Jesus down.  So, was I there?  Yes, I was there.     

I’m not sure what kind of soldier you had to be to get the job of crucifying people or making sure they were dead before you took them down from the cross and piled up the bodies. But it was a job that apparently had some downtime and perks, because we see that as they waited for Jesus and the others to die, they had time to play a dice game.  I wonder did they sit on the ground to the side and keep an eye on the crosses. Did they do this to distract themselves from the noise and agony of death and the anguish of family members that were all around this place?  But in the midst of death they carried on with their petty games and divided up the spoils.  It may seem a distant idea, but some meditation on their actions helped me to see a pattern emerging. It’s easy for me to turn from the horrors of the daily news and distract myself on social media rather than to do things.  It’s easy to claim that we are just doing our job and completing the things that are required of us without looking too closely at some of the more unsavory tasks that have been part of the requirement. We can ignore pleas for help here or not pay attention to the needs of another there.  On another level every day I benefit from the discomfort and suffering of others without knowing it, the children or the underpaid who work for a pittance so that I can enjoy a plethora of shiny objects deemed essential to my comfort. So was I there…? Yes, I was there.

Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea came at night to claim the body.  These were quiet followers.  I get the feeling that Joseph or Nicodemus might have been able to swoop in at any time with their influence and at least question what was happening. But they didn’t.  Nicodemus came with 75 pounds of spices  along with the alabaster pot of cream that demonstrated his love and his wealth.  But it came late.  They came and did what needed to be done.  They rolled up their sleeves and treated the body. I’m sure they were appalled to look on the nail holes, see the pain on our Lord’s face, and to face in a very visceral way the suffering he had endured.  We read that Nicodemus came at night. Have you been quiet about declaring your faith in the daytime, before crowds, of being afraid to speak up for the right cause?  I’ve also turned up late for some events and rolled up my sleeves and worked or made some kind of contribution I hoped would cover my shortcomings.  But maybe it would have meant more had I been there earlier so people could have felt my support and love.  So, sadly, I was there too.

I can see Mary wandering aimlessly in the garden on Easter day. She had forgotten the message of hope that Jesus told her – just like daily I forget what I read in my Bible notes.  She was panicking,  and in her crisis, nothing made sense to her.  Have you been there?  I’ve been there so many times.  Even as I get older I still lose focus of the lessons I know, I’ve tried and tested; reminders to focus on God’s plan and the assurance that “I am with you always” in particular. But put me in a crisis situation and I can lose all sense of direction.  Mary wasn’t even seeing straight when Jesus asked her what was happening. She thought he was the gardener!  He didn’t lecture her, he didn’t remind her what he said, he didn’t rebuke her – he just called her name – and in so doing all became clear and she remembered the real message of Easter. She had frantically been looking for him, but he found her.  When you have been in a crisis, have you heard Jesus call your name?  Do you know he is looking for you?  Sometimes we need to stop the other voices and the “what ifs”  to listen to Jesus.  

So while I ponder the Easter message again this year, I realize the Easter story is not in the past. It is our story now. Were you there? For I know I was there, which is why the message of Easter is relevant to my life every single day!

Ephesians 2:5 - it is by grace you have been saved.

Updated 2025 :)

Alas JoAnn Fabrics! I knew you well.

The recent demise of JoAnn fabrics might also have collateral damage in the form of my infrequent but joyful forays into the realm of the peacetime arts of Athena, the goddess of crafts. I identify myself proudly as a “not in the least” creative person with no original ideas. It was in our 7th grade sewing class that this became evident.  The teacher was mercilessly unencouraging and it didn’t help that the Singer treadle machines (now found in museums!) required synchronised delicate movements of feet to operate the needle along with deft hands to guide the fabric in straight lines. Too many skills to master at once for me!  I blamed the fact that I seemed to get everything upside down or back to front on my left handed brain. My sister had greater success and, having bought a Singer portable machine some years later, made some of her own clothes. I marveled at this machine that creatively turned fabric into tailor made clothes that Grandfather Barr, a tailor by trade, would have been proud of. In my late teens, I bought patterns and fabric to follow suit, but I frequently got stuck with my own pins, frustrated by the instructions, and my finished efforts belonged more in the “not quite as seen on Pinterest” category.  

  

Years later, when I was pregnant with Lyn, I wanted to create a welcoming and perfect nursery so I requested a sewing machine for Christmas.  Once again, Singer promised confidently to “unleash inner creativity” by providing an array of stitches, zipper possibilities and buttonholes when all I needed was to sew in a straight line.  An excellent seamstress friend came over to offer some simple instructions and convinced me I too could be a capable sewer.  For crib bedding, (before all that was banned) I entered the amazing world of trying to find the perfect fabrics. I had so much fun with mix-and-match fabrics and furbelows, trim, and ribbons that made plain items into exclusively crafted and personalised ones.  Encouraged by my initial success, I followed the example of other mothers in the church and expanded the repertoire to simple pinafores, which required use of the buttonhole device on my machine, dresses, some with zippers, winter flannel nightdresses and summer shorts.  I enjoyed choosing the fabrics and playing with contrasts and textures. I was amazed how flat fabric could take on forms and shapes and be transformed in an afternoon.  The quality and my patience gradually improved and the pride in completed products overlooked not a few imperfections. Alas, eventually “made by mom” was no longer a desired brand and the sewing machine took a rest in the back of the closet. 

In 2002 we moved to Leesburg to a more spacious house. Everyone talked about how exciting it would be to decorate and furnish it, to plan the new rooms and arrange the furniture in different settings. This all just seemed very daunting to me as we were dealing with a longer commute and busier schedules and I had really enjoyed the comfort of the home we left. Now the task was to turn the new house into a home.

I watched the sunrise in the mornings to  see how the light played on the walls.  I  watched where the spring flowers bloomed and how the autumn leaves changed on nearby trees.  I  felt the summer’s cool relief from the outside and the comfort of its warmth and walls against the first snow, blizzard, and its protection while Hurricane Isabel relentlessly tore down power lines but kept us safe within.  Finally I was ready to decorate and I decided that by giving each room a theme or motif I could carry colors and textures from one space to the next. That required time and patience to coordinate fabrics and paint choices. So I blew the dust off my trusty Singer  and treated it to an oil change and service at the local craft store. During breaks and holidays I set off in search of materials at a fancy new high end fabric store hoping I would do them justice. Guided by images in magazines or books and coached by sewing experts, with my trusty Singer’s help, I made an array of drapes and duvet covers, pillow and cushion covers, all carefully chosen to complement each room’s light and theme, with the goal that at the end of busy days they would provide a haven. The greatest challenge again was sewing in a straight line - my variety of zigzag being the default! 

Casual valances created light and relaxing moods to link the inside to the outside in the sunroom, light hearted blues and whites for Lyn’s room, demure toiles for the primary bedroom, colorful cabana stripe drapes with matching but muted bedding for the guest suite, while an English garden theme with heavy trim provided a restful setting in the other. The final project was valences and cushions for the living room which also housed the library so it needed to be comfortable and cosy. In this project I discovered the use for my long-lost geometry as I measured and pleated, making sure to respect the adage, “measure twice but cut once” to avoid costly and irreparable mistakes in calculation. In doing these I learned other tricks of the trade, the power of super glue to hold the fabric perfectly on mounting boards with no sewing required!  I labored hard with the luscious thick cushion fabric and their lion mane trim to match the ottoman, and I broke several sewing machine needles in the effort  but they were  worth every penny, minute, needle and curse as they still adorn the sofa in our home in West Virginia maybe 15 years later. They had better last as I have no desire to put the machine or myself through that experience again. 

And after a long rest of several years, during the pandemic (2020), Mr. Singer emerged for a sequel to its original mission, to make cute and comforting baby blankets, (all only requiring straight lines), for the next generation, and of course to make masks to keep us safe.  For almost forty years, it has been not just a useful tool but a forgiving partner, along with JoAnn fabrics, in trying to remedy the transgressions and trauma of 7th grade sewing class!  

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