Transcript: Jason Carter remembers his grandfather Jimmy Carter's life, achievements and frugality

Jason Carter, the former president’s grandson who now chairs The Carter Center governing board, memorialized his grandfather with blend of personal touches and humor, recognition of Jimmy Carter's intensity and ambition, and his determination to help people whether through politics or out of office.

The younger Carter painted the 39th president as a regular “PawPaw” from a “tiny village” who was able to connect with marginalized people across the world.

Here is a transcript of his remarks at a state funeral for Jimmy Carter:

In my church, we sing a song that says, “From the moment that I wake up until I lay my head, I will sing of the goodness of God.”

I don’t know how many people in here can say that. I know I can’t. But my grandfather certainly can. From the moment that he woke up until he laid his head, his life was a testament to the goodness of God.

And I thank all of you for being here to celebrate this life.

To the presidents and first ladies: It is a great honor to have you here. You know the human side of the American presidency like no others. And we appreciate you.

To the vice presidents, other distinguished guests and friends of all kinds: Thank you for being here.

To those of you who came from all across the world: Thank you for being here to celebrate and pay tribute to my grandfather.

I say grandfather, but we call him PawPaw, as many of you know. And we called my grandmother Mom Carter. So we spent our time talking about Mom and PawPaw and mostly, speaking of the human side of the presidency, just letting people know that they were regular folks.

Yes, they spent four years in the governor’s mansion and four years at the White House. But the other 92 years they spent at home in Plains, Georgia. And one of the best ways to demonstrate that they were regular folks is to take them by that home.

First of all, it looks like they might have built it themselves. Second of all, my grandfather was likely to show up at the door in some ’70s short shorts and Crocs.

And then you’d walk in the house and it was like thousands of other grandparents’ house(s) all across the South. Fishing trophies on the walls. The refrigerator, of course, was papered with pictures of grandchildren and then great grandchildren. Their main phone, of course, had a cord and was stuck to the wall in the kitchen like a museum piece. And demonstrating their Depression-era roots, they had a little rack next to the sink where they would hang Ziploc bags to dry.

And demonstrating that they changed with the times, eventually he did get a cellphone. And one time he called me sort of early on in that process, and on my phone it said, “PawPaw mobile.” So I answered it of course.

I said, “Hey, PawPaw.”

He said, “Who’s this?”

I said, “This is Jason!”

He said, “What are you doing?”

I said, “I’m not doing anything. You called me!”

He said, “I didn’t call you. I’m taking a picture.”

A nuclear engineer, right? I mean.

They were small-town people who never forgot who they were and where they were from, no matter what happened in their lives. But I recognize that we are not here because he was just a regular guy.

As you heard from the other speakers, his political life and his presidency, for me, was not just ahead of its time. It was prophetic.

He had the courage and strength to stick to his principles even when they were politically unpopular. As governor of Georgia half a century ago, he preached an end to racial discrimination and an end to mass incarceration. As president in the 1970s, as you’ve heard, he protected more land than any other president in history.

Fifty years ago he was a climate warrior who pushed for a world where we conserved energy, limited emissions and traded our reliance on fossil fuels for expanded renewable sources.

By the way, he cut the deficit, wanted to decriminalize marijuana, deregulated so many industries that he gave us cheap flights and, as you heard, craft beer. Basically all of those years ago, he was the first millennial. And he could make great playlists, as we’ve heard as well.

Maybe this is unbelievable to you, but in my 49 years, I never perceived a difference between his public face and his private one. He was the same person, no matter who he was with or where he was. And for me, that’s the definition of integrity.

That honesty was matched by love. It was matched by faith. And in both public and private, my grandparents did fundamentally live their lives in effort, as the Bible says, to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with their God.

Sometimes I feel and felt like I shared my grandfather with the world. Today is one of those days. But really, he shared the world with me. The power of an atom. The beauty and complexity of a south Georgia forest. When we fished, he celebrated the majesty of everything from the smallest minnow to that grand circulation of waters. And he shared this love with my boys, taking these Atlanta public school kids out into the fields to show them about row crops and wild plums.

In the end, his life is a love story. And of course, it’s a love story about Jimmy and Rosalynn and their 77 years of marriage and service. As the song says, they were the flagship of the fleet. And rest assured that in these last weeks, he told us that he was ready to see her again.

But his life was also a broader love story about love for his fellow humans, and about living out the commandment to love your neighbor as yourself. I believe that that love is what taught him and told him to preach the power of human rights, not just for some people, but for all people. It focused him on the power and the promise of democracy, its love for freedom, its requirement and founding belief in the wisdom of regular people raising their voices and the requirement that you respect all of those voices, not just some.

That conviction made him a naval officer who believed and demonstrated, as you’ve heard, that the greatest power of America was not the military, but its values. Those values were personal to him, and he lived them both publicly and privately. As you heard (former Carter White House aide) Stu (Eizenstat) say, as president, he gave voice to dissidents, stood up to dictators, brought countries together in peace.

His heart broke for the people of Israel. It broke for the people of Palestine. And he spent his life trying to bring peace to that holy land. And he talked about it at the dinner table. It was the same in public as it was in private. And for the last 40 years, as you’ve heard, he spent his time living out that love and that faith alongside the poorest and most marginalized people in the world. And that work, again, has been based fundamentally on love and respect.

The Carter Center has 3,500 employees, but only a couple hundred in the United States. The rest are spread throughout the countries where we work. Ethiopia, South Sudan, Chad, Bangladesh. And all of the Carter Center’s programs are based on a respect, that same respect for the power of regular people, even if they are in tiny villages miles from anywhere else.

To give one example, we’ve all heard a lot lately about guinea worm disease. It’s an ancient and debilitating disease of poverty, and that disease will have existed from the dawn of humanity until Jimmy Carter. When he started working on this disease there were 3.5 million cases in humans every year. Last year, there were 14.

And the thing that’s remarkable is that this disease is not eliminated with medicine. It’s eliminated essentially by neighbors talking to neighbors about how to collect water in the poorest and most marginalized villages in the world. And those neighbors truly were my grandfather’s partners for the last 40 years.

And as this disease has been eliminated in every village in Nigeria, every village in Sudan or Uganda, what’s left behind in those tiny 600-person villages is an army of Jimmy and Rosalynn Carters who have demonstrated their own power to change their world.

And that is a fundamental truth about my grandfather. It begins where it ends. When he saw a tiny 600-person village that everybody else thinks of as poor, he recognized it. That’s where he was from. That’s who he was. And he never saw it as a place to send pity. It was always a place to find partnership and power, and a place to carry out that commandment to love your neighbor as yourself.

Essentially, he eradicated a disease with love and respect.

He waged peace with love and respect.

He led this nation with love and respect.

To me, this life was a love story from the moment that he woke up, until he laid his head.

I’ll conclude with this. As Andy Young (a civil rights leader, former Atlanta mayor and Carter's ambassador to the United Nations) told me, he may be gone, but he’s not gone far.

The outpouring of love and support that we have felt from you and from around the world has showed how many lives he has touched and how his spirit will live on in many ways.

For us, he’ll be in the kitchen making pancakes. Or in his woodshop finishing a cradle for a great-grandchild. Standing in a trout stream with Mom Carter. Or for me, just walking those Georgia fields and forests where he’s from.

Thank you.