I have offered by blog to my family to tell their own stories if they would like. Today is the next guest blog by my son, Peter Gunnin.

You could see the dust swirl, through the first ray of sun that started to peek through the curtains. I never could sleep in, even as a kid. I slipped my way quietly out of bed, since my family all shared one big room with multiple beds at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I pulled on a coat over my pajamas and stepped out into the chilled mountain air. 

I ascended Cloudwood’s spiral staircase that led to the back porch, and quietly entered the kitchen through the back door. As I made my way through the dining room, the house was still quiet, everyone was asleep…but there on the table in the sun room was a completely intact orange peel. No orange on the inside, just the perfectly spiraled peel. That could only mean one thing. I rounded the corner into the windowed room to see Grandpa sitting on the couch quietly smiling. “Hey bud! Whatcha up to?” motioning for me to come sit next to him as we stared out at the bird feeders. 

Quiet mornings were always what we did together. Neither of us could ever sleep past 6:30 a.m. I got him all to myself for those moments when we sat and watched birds, identifying them by color and shape. He even taught me how to peel an orange and keep the peel intact! We would share cereal and almost always a grapefruit or an apple hand-picked from a local farmstand the day before. Grandpa always had the best fruit. He was a fruit connoisseur. While we ate, we would talk about flights he had flown as a pilot and why Grandma made him get rid of his plane. 

He had a way of making you feel valued and gave each of us at least one special moment that made us feel seen and known. To me, this seemed to be the best of all the many wonderful qualities that Mike Hunter had. My moments were breakfasts and mornings together, mule rides on the farm, his funny dances, and his perfect marshmallow roasting techniques. Whatever it was, he made you feel special and like, you, for just a second, were the only person who mattered. 

I noticed this when I realized my Grandpa always called my mom, Boo. He called many people Bud or Sweetie, but only one person, Boo. To this day, I have no idea why or how this term of endearment came about. But, I do know it had to make my mom feel special as the middle child of three, to have her own nickname; just like our bird watching breakfasts made me feel special as one of nine grandchildren. 

Even as a man who never slowed down, “The Bulldog” as he was called when running his company, he found a way to relax when he was with his people. He could slow himself to your pace long enough to love and care for you. His laughter still plays in my head. He would goof around, making a fool of himself, simply for the joy of seeing his grandkids or his wife smile. Even in Grandma’s last days, I remember if he could just make her smile, just a small smirk or grin, he could sleep easier that night. 

Grandpa’s true source of joy was the happiness he could instill in all those around him. Whether it be with a silly face or action, a small gift, or even a big one, a smile from one of us was worth more to him than any money he ever had or anything he ever could buy himself. Both Mike and Martha gave freely of themselves, as well as everything they had, for the sake of relationship and family. 

I am a pastor now, in a small town in Georgia. Grandma and Grandpa were always fairly quiet about their faith, not because of shame or fear, but because they believed faith is something to be lived out. I firmly believe their prayers and the way they quietly served is what instilled my passion for vocational ministry. It is from them that I learned the lesson, that to truly live out your faith, isn’t about preaching to people, but living with people. 

It pains me that Grandma never got to hear me teach or watch me disciple the youth I serve, however, I know Grandpa listened to at least a few of my teaching sermons even if he couldn’t make the trip to see me preach in person. I hope he knew how much he had to do with those sermons and the ministry I walk out every day. I carry the inspiration of all of their retreats and simple faith in the way that I love the students of my church. I try to give each of my students those very small special moments, like the ones I had with Grandpa.

The legacy of the Hunters lives on, not only in the way I teach and my chosen career, but in my family, with my Son Shepherd. I wish he had gotten to know my grandparents more, to experience their warmth and love. But at least, they both met him and knew the family line would continue. When we told Grandpa we were pregnant, he cried and said, “Finally!” He was so excited. In his hard season of caring for Grandma, he couldn’t even look at our son, Shepherd, without a joyful tear in his eye. I am thankful we were able to give him a small window of joy in a difficult time, as he had been a window of joy to me my whole life.

I already long for the day that I get to round the corner into the ultimate light of heaven, instead of the sunroom. And to have him smile at me and beckon me to come sit with him and bask in the glory of our God. Until that day, every fruit will be hand-picked from the nearest farm stand, every orange peel will remain whole, and every marshmallow will be perfectly toasted. Thank you, Grandpa and Grandma, for your life and love. You meant the most to so many people, because all of those people felt they meant the most to you.