PERFECT IN EVERY WAY

John Joseph Ligon escaped from the pain of this life surrounded by his loving family. We didn’t expect it so soon. That may seem odd when you learn that my brother-in-law was ninety years on this earth. In recent years he had successfully overcome cancer, several strokes, surgery to remove blood clots, and COVID. He just seemed to keep on going and going and going. We thought this latest infection would succumb to medical treatment and he would be back. Instead, he went home to join his wife of fifty-nine years and his parents. 

John was the fifth John Ligon on this branch of the family tree. We called him Johnny Joe. He had three children, two girls and the sixth John; nine grandchildren including the seventh John; fourteen great grandchildren and one great great grandchild. He was fortunate that most of them resided in the same small town he did or nearby. He was very active in their lives. He was a man of deep and simple faith. There was no need to worry or get over excited. He was like his father in that way.  

His only sister also lived in the same town. He was seven and a half when he got a sibling. Family lore indicates he wasn’t thrilled with his new baby sister. He put her in a wagon and took her down the street. His mother got a call from a laughing neighbor who told her that Johnny had just traded the little girl for a billy goat. Needless to say, his mother didn’t allow the trade to stick. 

When my husband was a small boy, he didn’t believe Johnny was his brother. He was twenty-two years older and married. Brothers were supposed to live with you, to share your room like Wally and the Beaver did. You wouldn’t think they were brothers by looking at them until you got to those twinkling blue eyes. They were exactly the same. 

Johnny was a Buick man. He had a refurbished Skylark painted bright blue and adorned with American eagles on the side. And he loved Roadmasters. The Skylark and two of his Roadmasters led the funeral procession right behind the hearse. 

Johnny’s wife passed away in 2012 and we were worried about what he would do after years spent being her primary caregiver. Once again he surprised us. 

He became a regular at the coffee shop downtown—Kiki’s. Not because he loved coffee. He’d appear between ten and eleven each morning Monday through Saturday and grab his Mountain Dew and visit. If he didn’t show up on time, the proprietress, Kathy, would check on him to make sure he was all right. 

Kathy’s husband, Steve, is a professional musician and has a recording studio in town. He started holding open mike night at Kiki’s and Johnny became a regular performer. He and Steve made several albums together. Johnny’s hymns and gospel singing could give you goose bumps. Johnny really enjoyed sharing his gift of song. It gave him a reason—in addition to his family—to keep going and to thrive in this life.  

Johnny loved Westerns. Reading them and watching them on TV. One night over the holidays years ago, he and I sat up late watching a movie. When it was over he said, “I thought you’d be surprised at the ending.” I was. How did he know the ending? He’d seen it before and watched it again because he knew I’d never seen it and thought I should. 

Johnny had a pilot’s license. He loved flying and he was fascinated by military aircraft. He had shelves full of airplane models he’d painted and put together. He developed neuropathy in his fingers that made kit completion impossible. Several years ago when we were getting ready to go home after the holidays, he brought a partially completed kit to the kitchen. He told me I’d done such a good job with Jim’s railroad models, he wanted to commission me to complete his plane. So I took it home and returned it the next holiday. I didn’t know anything about airplane models and didn’t properly weight the nose. The front wheel wouldn’t stay down. Johnny fixed the problem by staining a toothpick to match the shelf the plane sat on and strategically placed it so it wasn’t very visible at the tail of the plane and it kept the nose down properly. A year ago he had another kit on the kitchen counter, in case I wanted to complete another “commission”. I completed the kit and gave it to him for Christmas this past December. He said I did a fine job and was especially pleased with the camouflage paint job of blue sky and clouds. He apologized that he hadn’t picked out a new one for me to work on yet. 

This year at Christmastime he was a little frustrated that he couldn’t sing as well as he used to because he couldn’t get a breath long enough to sustain some of the notes and didn’t have the same range of the past. He told me there was one song he could still do. It was Mac Davis’s “Hard to Be Humble”. He proceeded to regale me with both verses and three choruses. The chorus is:

Oh, Lord it's hard to be humble  
When you’re perfect in every way
I can't wait to look in the mirror
Cause I get better looking each day.
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh, Lord, it's hard to be humble
But I'm doing the best that I can!

He said with twinkling eyes, “I brought the house down at Kiki’s singing that.” He had me laughing out loud. Steve confirmed at the funeral that he did indeed bring down the house with the song on more than one occasion.

Now the chorus of angels in heaven has a new, rich, goose-bump-inducing voice added to their glory. A voice that has been fully restored to the beauty and resonance of the past and it is truly perfect in every way. May you rest in peace, Johnny Joe. We love you.