Note: The following was written and delivered by David Wiens at Don’s memorial service. A recording can be viewed here.

I’ve asked myself: what is the point of a memorial service? What are the primary objectives? Why do we expend significant effort in the planning and preparation of a short time when we have just lost a loved one? In my view, it is the following

• To comfort those left behind. This comfort comes because our sadness is less painful when it is shared with others, and the joy of what we were able to witness is similarly amplified.

• To speak the truth of a full life, and to give a picture of the vast biography that everyone has, but few have seen in fullness.

• To reflect on the ideals of the deceased and give glory where glory is due. We examine that life and learn from it, not as cold scientists, but as humans who have to and get to continue life with one another.

Donald Howard Wiens was born a healthy baby boy in the late spring of 1958 in Fresno, California.  As if a dream come true, the baby boy received his name “Donald” after his father’s childhood imaginary friend, and he received his middle name Howard after his uncle, who died an early death at age 19. His parents, Richard and Delores, immediately preferred him to his older sister Beverly (or so he would probably say). He was, in the words of his mother, “a good baby” (early precedent for a lifetime of stellar achievement).

Don’s emergence coincided with the beginning of his parent’s 20 year mission effort in Mexico. At age two, he, along with his sister Beverly, politely accompanied their parents down in Costa Rica for a year while they studied Spanish. Shortly after, the four of them found themselves serving God in the Mexican State of Durango, first in the city of Durango, and later in a smaller village known at the time as Patos (which means “Ducks” in Spanish for its many nearby ponds and their floating denizens). It was in Patos that Don experienced some of his fondest childhood memories. He and his best friend Samuel mounted their bicycles and innocently explored the extent of the village and far into the Mexican countryside. He often told a story of the time Samuel and him were forced to use a railroad bridge to cross a flash-flooded river and, shortly after clearing the crossing, hearing a train go by.

Around age 8 or 9, the family moved further south to the large city of Guadalajara, Mexico, in order to plant a Church and also operate a bookstore. Two more siblings made their way into the Wiens Family: first came Stanley, Don’s younger brother, and then Karin, his even younger sister.  In Guadalajara, Don continued his youth and independently directed his life. According to his mother, Don “knew what he wanted and where he planned to go”. He played, swam, and rode with a friend group of his making. In high school, he hitchhiked with some friends across Mexico down to the southern state of Chiapas, which granted him as much satisfaction as worry to his mother.

Throughout his childhood, Don clung strongly to the Christian faith of his parents, and made it his own when he strongly asserted his desire to be baptized on a family visit to Michoacán. Unlike many, he held to Christ strongly throughout his life. To my knowledge, he never expressed of a time in his life when he doubted God’s love and providence.

In 1970, he graduated 2nd in his class at Lincoln High School in Guadalajara, Mexico, a feat that oversells his academic prowess actually, since his graduating class consisted of 7 students. But smart and talented he was. For a brief period, he considered a career as a medical doctor, but his fainting at the sight of blood during a job-shadowing quickly quelled that idea. Other than that brief detour, he was singularly decided that he wanted to be a pilot on the mission field, particularly with a special organization known as Mission Aviation Fellowship (or MAF).

Don found his way to Tabor College, a small Christian college in Kansas that allowed him to take general ed classes while at the same time beginning his flight studies. His other preoccupation was girls (“That subject could fill another book!” his parents wryly noted). A good many of them came and went before he met my mother Mary at Tabor, but once he noticed her, his fixation was set. She took longer than he to warm up to the idea, but finally he convinced him to marry her, and they were married in Denver Colorado in August of 1982. Mary’s three older brothers Daryl, Loren, and Dave suspiciously gave him the full treatment of scrutiny, but soon came to view him as a fourth brother.

They spent a few years as a young couple in Denver before fully committing to God’s calling them to Africa with MAF. For the first two months they were apart while Don worked in Chad as a mechanic and later flying food relief in the Ivory Coast while my mom stayed in Mali, before they moved to the missionary compound in Kinshasa Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of Congo.

In early 1987, Crystal (my older sister) was born in a hospital in Kinshasa, and after that experience, my mother expressed some reservations about raising kids on that continent. Soon they felt it was time to leave Africa until at least their children were older.

They settled in Vancouver in 1987, where Don began his long career with the then-small Horizon Airlines as a pilot, shuttling passengers around the region in the Dash-8 and Metroliner turboprop aircrafts. Later in his career, he moved into a management position and found satisfaction in deliberating and writing the Flight Standards of the airline (“what were you supposed to do if a bird hit the left engine 5 seconds after takeoff?). He still flew occasionally, and his co-pilots often confessed nervousness operating next to the guy who literally wrote the book on how to proceed. But they seemed to usually come around to feeling at ease with his encouraging and disarming manner. Late in his career, he returned to the simple role of Captain, where he could experience the joys of flying passengers to destinations around the beautiful Pacific Northwest.

In 1989, he received me, his son, as the final addition to his completed family of four: Don, Mary, Crystal and David, a classic suburban quartet that would remain stable for 30 years.

Around the time he started at Horizon, Don and Mary also joined their other foundational community of the Northwest, Laurelwood Baptist Church. When he joined, the building was a single chapel surrounded by fields of tall grass. A simple estimate brings me to roughly 1500 weeks of church attendance. 1500 Sunday mornings, some of them joyous, some of them dull, some of them mournful.

Let me state the obvious: My dad loved this place and the people that made it special, and considered it a joy to serve as a Sunday School Teacher, an Elder, and a participant in committees, short-term mission trips, small groups, and pie-eating contests. He also just loved being a member, coming here to worship and of course making sure he talked to every. single. person. before we could leave.

God granted Don and our family a relatively peaceful and uneventful middle-life, but reserved for my father a great trial, possibly to test his faith. As many of you gathered here are aware, in 2009, my mother suffered a series of medical complications from cancer that left her in a wheelchair, lacking most of her physical coordination, and with very difficult speech. And while her mind was medically untouched, there is no doubt it affected her personality as well. It was then in the first years of that trial that mettle of Don Wiens was proven. Many decent men would have fled that situation. It required so much love and resolve and selflessness to daily care for his partner who was so unable to help herself. He bore this burden with uncommon magnanimity and grace. This decade of love for my disabled mother was, if anything is to be called such, his masterpiece, his magnus opus. It was the shining monument of his character.

When the cancer returned and my mother died, my father grieved deeply, but he also experienced an enormous sense of relief, having stood the test and passed. The final 2.5 years of his life were energetic and joyful, as if making up for lost time.

But it did not take long before a sense of loneliness emerged. Once, while taking in a beautiful view on a mountainous hike by himself, he thought to himself, “Life is meant to be shared.” In his prayers, he thanked God for bringing him his first marriage, but asked if God could make that happen a second time.

Early in 2020, Don and Jan’s shared heart of service and love for the Lord drew them together. Their families attended Laurelwood together and Jan had been a close friend of Mary’s. Their relationship quickly blossomed, and they each had the sense that God gifted the other person to them. It was evident to all observers (both the full supporters and the cautiously hesitant) that the two of them were, as my Dad put it, “quite smitten” with each other. They adopted the phrase “oh the wonder” because they felt blessed to have a second chance at love.

After their marriage in the Fall of 2020, they shared a year of romantic intimacy, and both enjoyed the swelling in the ranks of family members (particularly the children and grandchildren). And having both served at different times in Africa, Mexico and the Czech Republic, Don and Jan envisioned in their future a return to missions work together.

There are too many details in my father’s life to expound upon

• His summer jobs as a gas attendant in Hood River, or as a combine driver harvesting wheat across the Midwest

• His handmade Mexican guitar that he brought out and played with some skill only rarely.

• His 3000 mile coast-to-coast bike ride with my mom

• His stories of unexplainable miracles in Africa

• His involvement with the smuggling of bibles into China in 1997 during the transfer of Hong Kong.

And beside the grand things are small things that certainly cannot be expounded on:

• His constant steady maintenance of a fleet of vehicles, equal parts laborious chore and tranquilizing hobby.

• His friendly, abiding mustache.

• His passionate defense of Oreo protocol and other culinary preferences.

• His pantheon of great pets he cared for over his years.

• And yes, his love of motorcycles

A few weeks ago in late September, Don was riding his motorcycle south with two of Mary’s brothers along the Pacific Coast Hwy in California, when an incident occurred that led to a crash. We are not left with a complete picture of what happened, but what we do know is Don was called suddenly up to Heaven, away from his family on earth that loved him so much, to his beloved first wife and his Savior and a place of well-earned rest.

Finally, I know I have been talking to you all as his son, but I also feel kinship with the masses of people who admired him at a distance. If I had a beverage now, I would raise a glass and just say “Don Wiens: What a guy”. What a guy.