A Poem In Memory Of Grandpy

David Parajón , Missionary   Laura Parajón , Missionary  

Dr. Gustavo Parajón, our father, died of a sudden heart attack on the morning of Sunday, March 13th, 2011. While many know him as a great man, and a gentle giant, who worked tirelessly to bring hope and peace to people in Nicaragua, to inspire and mentor countless people to lives of service, and who in his lifetime established organizations to serve the poor, our family knew him simply as a loving Papi, Grandpy and Abuelito. He was always there for us when we called him and always wanted to know how the kids and we were doing and how he could be of help to us.

His faith and deep hope for world peace led him to always be up to date on current events in Nicaragua and around the world.  He always sought to help us understand the world better by sending us articles he found interesting then asking us questions and teaching us what he knew.

Our children loved to run up to him into his arms, to give him hugs, and then take a ride with him wherever he was going. He always wore a guayabera, a typical Nicaraguan light cotton dress shirt with four front pockets. He always said he liked them because he could put everything he needed in them—his pocket organizer, his cell phone, his pens, and treats for children.

We would like to share with you this poem written by our daughter Cristina, which she read at his funeral service. We think it captures Gustavo´s spirit of service and generosity very well. We miss him terribly and celebrate his life. We are also grateful for the outpouring of love and solidarity in the wake of his death.

David and Laura Parajón

Managua, Nicaragua

My Grandpa´s Guayaberas, By Cristina Parajón March 15, 2011

My Grandpa, as many know
Liked to wear guayaberas

And as many can attest

These shirts have many pockets

And my Grandpy earnestly loved

Those pockets in which he put

So many things beloved.

From his pockets, he pulled

Keys for the car,

Balloons for children,

Pens for drawing

Those pens that click colors

And a handkerchief for blowing

When we were sad and

We were crying.

But I think the main reason

That my Grandpy

Loved those pockets so

Was that in his very heart

He had pockets with overflow.

And he placed every person

In a pocket in his heart

And by his loving example

I curiously went to ask him

How was it that I

Could sew pockets in my heart?

Reading the Word,

Listening to GOD,

Trying to understand

Each person on this earth.

And that is how he taught me

To sew pockets of the heart

And many put my Grandpa

In a pocket all his own

And when he went to Heaven,

Mournful we all felt,

Because this pocket was so empty

But now I understand

That pockets of the heart

Never can be emptied

And that my Grandpy,

Who made me homefries in the morning

Who sang to me, Pio Pio

Who showed me how to have peace

And who taught me how to sew

Will never leave

The guayabera of my heart,

Ever.

Memorial donations may be sent to AMOS Health and Hope, 3088 Haberlein Rd., Gibsonia, PA 15044-8232.  Attn: Rev. Tim Spring, Board Secretary.  Please indicate if your donation is for AMOS, CEPAD, or the First Baptist Church of Managua.

American Baptist International Ministries
P.O. Box 851 • Valley Forge, PA 19482

Mi abuelito, como muchos conocen,

k gustaba andar de guayabera.

Y como saben las guayaberas

Pues tienen muchos bolsillos

Y a mi abuelito le encantaba

esos bolsillos en que ponía

tantas cosas agradecidas

De ellas sacaba

Llaves para el carro

Globos para niños

Iapiceros para dibujar

y esos lapiceros multicolor

Un pañuelo para soplar

Cuando tristes, queríamos llorar

Pero creo la razón

Que a mi abuelito

I-e gustaban tantos los bolsillos

Era que, en su corazón

Él tenía muchos bolsillos también

Y colocaba a cada persona

En un bolsillo de su corazón

Y por su ejemplo tan amoroso

Le fui a preguntar

Como era que yo podría

hacer bolsillos de corazón

Iryendo la Biblia contestó,

Escuchando a Dios,

Tratando de entender a los demás.

Y así me enseñó

como es hacer bolsillos

en el corazón.

Y muchos pusieron a mi abuelito

En un bolsillo todo suyo

Y cuando viajó al paraíso

Muy triste nos sentimos

Que ese bolsillo quedó vacío

Pero ahora ya entiendo

Que los bolsillos

Nunca se vacían

Y mi abuelito,

El que me hacía papas en la mañana,

El que me cantó Pio Pio,

El que me enseñó atener paz,

Y el que me enseñó a hacer bolsillos

Nunca se irá de la guayabera de mi

corazón, Jamás

\