He was 80 at the time. We were at Six Flags Magic Mountain; lined up for a ride called The Viper. It was an eight-loop roller coaster. Surrounded by kids in their late teens, dad was not deterred. Never one to miss an adventure, he climbed aboard. And on this particular day he was the only octogenarian on the tracks. Though he staggered off, there was an unmistakable grin on his face.

Dad was an unpretentious man. It didn’t matter to him if he was driving an orange Pinto or a Cadillac. What mattered was getting things done for the Lord... and he did. He liked a challenge. And when someone told him he couldn’t do something, it only motivated him to prove his detractors wrong. He was like that, looking for ways to do something unequivocal for the Lord.

Dad was no respecter of people. He loved everyone equally. He held no grudges, showed no anger, and led by example. He was kind and generous to a fault. And no one who came across George Otis’ path ever left quite the same. He made you feel that you could do great things. And he made you feel it even if you weren’t sure yourself. A consummate motivator, he employed his stealth-like tactics to get things done. He had a way of dragging you into the most dangerous, fantastic and unbelievable adventures; and all the while convincing you that it was normal.

Dad believed in pushing us beyond what we thought possible. It was how he chose to live his life. He was aware that great men and women look not at the obstacles that prevent success, but rather to the possibilities of what we can do when we unite our spirit with His. Dad believed in taking chances. He taught us that. He believed in taking risks, in investing himself wholly in God’s purposes. Like most great men, he saw the world not as was it is, but rather as it could be. He would agree with the statement that faith does not wait for green lights. He once told me, “You can’t steer a car unless it’s moving.” And Dad was rarely idle. He was always moving, forever coming up with some grand new scheme.

Adventure, conquering one’s fears or risking failure were just part of the way dad chose to live his life. Why else would a young man climb to the top of a water tower in his Ohio hometown to overcome his fear of heights?  Or, why would he stand inside a terrorist camp in Lebanon and hand out food and toys? He was like that. He didn’t want his fears to define who he was or what he could do. Instead, he confronted them, overcame them and moved on with life.

Ultimately, a man’s legacy rests not in what he has accomplished but in the lives he has bettered. And in dad’s case, he bettered the lives of his children by showing us what it means to live an unequivocal life for God. His success rested in his tenacity, his single-minded focus, and in the woman who stood beside him for more than half a century. Behind great men are the women who support them, encourage them, and allow them to fail. And for mom, the ride has never been dull. It has been High Adventure – full of the unexpected, steeped in intrigue, and littered with deposits of eternal consequence.

What I most appreciate about Dad’s life is that he did not hold grudges. He forgave, he loved, he extended the kindness of Christ to all – without question, without expectation, without judgment. He was a man of composure, kindness, and generosity. He was hard-pressed to understand the modern-day proclivity for narcissism. A quintessential giver, he modeled the values he learned on his own journey through life – values that were born in the hardscrabble years of the depression. He overcame the play-it-safe mentality and launched out into a vast unknown world fraught with unpredictability. He would have it no other way. His journey took him beyond the shores of safety and deposited him in the frothing seas of adventure. He thrived on unpredictability.  

The thought of becoming shackled to the mundane, the mediocre or the trivial was never an option for George Otis. His escape from the pettiness of small-town life became an early obsession. He wanted more than his rural Ohio town had to offer. And his influence would eventually touch the lives of prime ministers, sports heroes and actors. But it was ordinary people that often caught his attention. He was no respecter of people when it came to sharing Christ’s love. And dad was never shy about sharing the truth that set him free with anyone who would listen—and a few who would not! There was no trepidation about his faith. And there was certainly no hiding his enthusiasm. Perennially positive, dad was a consummate encourager whose grasp of people was accentuated by his drive to make his life count. And it did. Dad would agree with the great missionary, Hudson Taylor said, “There are three stages in the work of God: Impossible, difficult, done.”

Dad lived the values he believed in. And he was tireless in his quest to honor God. One of his favorite verses, “Work for the night cometh when no man can work.” He lived as if each day were his last. He finished his course well, making his life count. I will remember dad not for his accomplishments. Instead, I will remember him for his capacity to love people, to show kindness and warmth, to bless and not judge. Perhaps at no time were these Christ-like attributes more engaged than when he visited a lonely Lebanese terrorist by the name of Nassar Kharfan. In his dank prison cell in South Lebanon, Kharfane was the only surviving member of a group that tried to destroy the Voice of Hope Radio stations. We are called to forgive; dad forgave. We are called to love; dad loved. We are called to honor God; dad honored Him. Dad loved unconditionally; gave sacrificially and blessed each of us with the sense that our lives can make a difference too. As Henry David Thoreau said, “When it is time to die, let us not discover that we never lived.”  Dad finished his course well.