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Chris Fabry
Married to Andrea since 1982. We have 9 children together and none apart. Our dog's name is Tebow.
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Where We Are Now

After finding and remediating mold twice in our Colorado home, we abandoned ship in October 2008. Because of the high levels of exposure, our entire family was affected. After months of seeing different specialists for all of the problems, we came to Arizona to begin comprehensive treatment to rid our bodies of the toxic buildup. In August 2009 we moved into a larger home, four bedrooms, south of Tucson, north of Mexico. I am doing my daily radio program/ writing from that location. Thanks for praying for us. We really feel it.

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Monday, November 10, 2008
Bill loved our family and all of our kids. He was at our house so many times helping with some problem or project.


I met Bill through his son and I believe his wife found out I was thinking about building an office at my house. Bill comes over, we look in the back yard, try to figure out a place to put me where I can have a little privacy. He knows I don’t want to spend a fortune on it. We walk into the garage, he looks at the 13 foot ceiling and says, “Why don’t we put it here? You’ve got a foundation, we can drop the floor down…” He’d built it in his head before I could even grasp the idea. I said, what about the staircase that goes into the house. Oh, I got a guy who can do that.

That was one of Bill’s favorite phrases. When it came time to put in cabinets and a countertop, "I got a guy who can do that."

When our fence blew down and our dogs were running in the street, I called Bill. I got a guy who can do that. And when I got the estimate from the guy, I called Bill. WHAT? I’ll be right over. He shows up fifteen minutes later. “For Pete’s sake he doesn’t need a new fence, just replace that post, use the old stuff there, patch that…” The estimate came down to half the price.

We wanted to landscape the back yard. I got a guy who can do that. We wanted to put in a basketball court and tear out the playground. I got a guy who can do that.

In all the time I knew Bill, I never knew about his alcohol struggle. I wish I’d been as good a friend to him as he was to us.

Bill was fascinated with what I did. I’m a writer and do some radio stuff as well. But he would come into the office, look at the bookshelf, and stare at my computer, as if to say, You really just sit here all day and write?

With equal amazement, I would wander out and watch him and his guys frame up a wall or string the electric wire and wonder how in the world they did what they did. I tried to put on a door handle on our bathroom, and I showed Bill. He gave it that blue-eyed stare, cocking his head. It was on upside down. “You can take that back to Wal-Mart and get the right one, you know.”

I wish I could write the last chapter of Bill’s life on earth. I wish I could change what happened, but I can’t. None of us can.

But I don’t think Bill would mind if I imagined what may have happened the day he shook the sleep from his soul and opened those blue eyes to see the glittering streets, the immaculate construction job. I think his mouth fell open and he thought, “Who did they get to do this?”

And then a cloud fell over his face and someone came up beside him. What’s wrong Bill?

“I don’t belong here. I’ve messed up. I’ve let people down. I’ve hurt them. This is where good people go.”

The man beside him probably inched closer. You’re wrong Bill. This is not where good people go. Look at the bullnose on that railing over there. Look at the precision in the walls. There’s nothing here that’s not perfect, including the people.

And Bill just gave one of those laughs. “Then I don’t have a prayer. I’m nowhere near perfect. For Bill Heinz to be perfect would take a miracle.”

And the man beside him said, I got a guy who can do that.

And when Bill turned, and looked into the face of Jesus, it all came together.

Bill had told me about his meetings with Methodist men. He just glowed when he talked about his son going on a missions trip. There was something inside him that understood we’re not just flesh and bone, but spirit as well.

Bill looked into the face of the man with the scars in his hands.

Bill, you did make mistakes. You made some big ones. But you’re my child because you accepted the gift I offered. When the Father looks at you, he doesn’t see you. He sees me and my perfection.

Bill and I used to joke that we had the best jobs in the world because we never had to get dressed up. We always wore sweats and Carhartt shirts.

Now, Bill is clothed in the righteousness of Christ. He’s forgiven. Restored. And unlike life down here, where the family had to pack up and leave every year or two after a house was finished, he never has to worry about moving again.

1 comments:

NewtA4RX330 said...

Yes, Bill was amazing. Or old house that he built in Monument, CO was so solid and amesome. We just loved it and miss the neighborhood so much.