Hi! Yes, I am Mandy McMullen – John’s wife. I really didn’t want to get up in front of this many people to speak, but I figure – when else would I get the chance to share about someone I love, with the people that he loves, and who love him? Only at weddings and funerals. So, bear with me as I do my best to honor my father-in-law – and my friend, Michael McMullen.
When I met Mike, I think John and I had only been dating for a whole two weeks. John invited me to his family’s infamous Monday Night Dinner. Monday Night Dinners, for those of you who don’t know, were a weekly gathering of family—Dave, Hope and eventually Hazel, John (and eventually me and my best friend Ellie), the Bradley’s (who are here with their 3 kids!), whoever was living with them at the time, and whoever else Mike and Sarah felt like adopting for the night. It was a lot! Especially if it was your turn to cook.
Anyway, before this night, I hadn’t heard too much about Mike, only about Sarah. In fact, the night I met John —when we were out dancing and drinking— John talked a LOT about his mom. Which you think should have been alarming? But I thought it was sweet. I learned she was writing a book. I was like, what? I’m a book editor. She was a massage therapist and reiki healer. I was like, no way, I’m learning reiki! Now this one was really strange: Sarah had been hit by a car while walking across the street in 2009. And I had been hit by a car while walking across the street – just a year before that.
So here I was, at a Monday Night Dinner, ready to connect with my new soulmate – Sarah! But, Sarah was not home. She was running 20 minutes late. Because she was at a writer’s group. For her book.
Which meant: Mike answered the door.
As I said, I had only heard a few whispers about him: mostly that he was quiet, reserved, to himself, and a little intimidating. Chatting extensively with Mike was not really in my game-plan for that night. I imagined he’d be stoic – like many dads are – and that he wouldn’t really engage much beyond the usual pleasantries.
Well, Mike welcomed me in, his face – emanating with joy, warmth, and excitement. We sat near the fireplace, and he asked me all kinds of questions. Who was I? Where did I come from? Why was I here? And not just here – at their house – but like, on the planet here. He took a genuine interest in me as a person — beyond being John’s girlfriend. In that moment, he wasn’t quiet or reserved, but incredibly open. And that sincere openness would carry on throughout entire relationship.
Before John and I got married, I had the privilege of living with Mike and Sarah. And then, when we got married, I moved just down the hall – Mike and Sarah had converted their back bedroom and garage into a one-bedroom apartment. When I told people that I lived this close to my in-laws, they gasped. Huuh! …That must be tough. And I was like, what? No. it’s the best! You don’t know my in-laws! Mike invited me over every morning to have coffee – I could use the espresso machine for lattes. And those lattes usually led to conversations about spiritual mysteries and TV shows we were binging. When you live in such close quarters, you really get to know a lot about a person, specifically how they spend their time. And Mike spend a lot of his time in his chair. Meditating. Reading. Praying. Singing. It was sacred space for him. He needed it. This was the reserved and quiet side I had heard about, the person who needed solitude and time alone. If you stripped Mike of his many titles – father, dad, website administer – there’d be one always lurking beneath the surface: Seeker. In his quiet time, he’d receive images, impressions, even visions and messages. He’d pray, and God would put specific people on his heart. And then, he’d invite them to a Monday Night dinner, or over to the house for coffee, or out for a bike ride. He was very intentional with his relationships. And as quiet and reserved and to himself as he sometimes could be, he also hungered for communion with others.
When the church he was in for over 40 years split– or broke apart, exploded – whatever you want to call it – it left most people drifting, questioning, disconnected from the people they grew up with. And for a good while, Mike retreated pretty hard, even from the ones he deeply loved. He needed to figure out this all meant for himself and his family. But after that initial hibernation, a desire for connection started stirring. He started inviting specific families and friends from different generations over to the house, to talk and share and process together. He formed a group in his living room, to share spiritual insights, poems, ideas, reflections. And he continued to do that when he moved here, to Eugene, with people like Jo and Michael and Peter – and many others. Yes, he still spent a lot of time in his chair, but he also spent time intentionally communing with others; loving and caring for them, serving lattes. And in this simple, beautiful way, he turned friends into family, and family into friends.
I’ll close with this: when Mike got ill, it was a big shaking for our family. I had never prayed harder for anything in my life than for him to be fully healed. His departure has been tough to face, even now. The day before we flew here to Eugene, I opened up an app I love – it’s a Bible app that invites you to meditate on scriptures and engage in conversations with God. The scripture of this particular day is one most of you know: Psalm 23:
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
The app invites you to close your eyes, and ask God to show you where He was during a recent difficult time.
I close my eyes and I ask: God, where were you during Mike’s illness? Where were you when he was suffering? And we were suffering? Where were you when he was in and out of the hospital, in ER rooms. In pain?
And I heard:
“In the valley of despair, I was there.
In the redemption of his hope (when he woke up months after being ill with a deep desire to live), I was there.
Before he was born, I was there.
And now, I am here. I am here.”
So, I encourage us: even when we walk through our own darkest valleys, don’t stop seeking, don’t stop loving. As Mike so generously showed us.
Thank you.
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