Father (June 18, 2017)
I remember my father. He was near 40 years old when I was born. I didn’t ever think of him as “young,” but I did hear some of the stories and escapades of his younger years. Mostly he tried to keep those years out of sight and out of mind. He grew up wilder than he wanted to admit, came to Christ rather late in life, and become a preacher in his thirties.
I remember he was into gardening. Seems there was always a garden that needed hoeing, weeds that needed pulling, and produce that needed picking. In his final few years he had a garden that produced so much he spent a great deal of time spreading it on tables in our front yard for the neighborhood to take, without charge, as much as they wanted. His produce was “organic” before organic was popular.
He was a student of Scripture. During his “retirement” years he was either in the garden or in his study. His hand held a gardening tool, or a Bible. I remember him studying early in the morning and late into the night. Sometimes there was no break in-between. He had a early Spring garden, a Summer garden, and a late Fall garden. He has his Bible in his heart and mind, constantly, consistently, and purposely.
People called him to ask about how to grow plants. People called him to ask about Scripture and what it meant. He was very good with answers for both.
He was a disciplinarian. He believe hard work was good for boys, early to bed, early to rise, and staying out of trouble were mandatory things. Staying out late, failing to complete “chores,” and talking back. . .ever, were just not a part of his agenda for this boy.
I didn’t discover his wisdom, care, concern, and llove until I went off to the University. When he was no longer providing the ever present discipline, it grew easy to become lax, to waste time, and to find the struggle against disobedience to God’s design weaken.
Fortunately, (certainly by God’s design) the Truth he taught me every day grew to become a lifestyle which has ordered my days for so many years. I will soon be as old as he was when he went home to Heaven. I can only hope my sons have seen a small part of his wisdom and work in me. Perhaps, one day, they will write a not like this. . .or not.
Father’s Day is a good time to hope they will. Thanks, Dad, for a life well lived here on Earth, and I know you are hard at work in Heaven.