Busy with the harvest, the deadline for my column came and went last week before realizing that Father’s Day was approaching and hence completely forgot I had the opportunity and blessing to write about my dad. So I’m making up for that fogginess this week with reflections of my dear dad. Better late than never!
Dad was a wonderful father. He taught us the value of good, hard work, and together on our farm we learned the worth of earning what you toil for and then reaping the rewards of one’s hard labor. All of us kids had to pitch in and work on the farm with chores, picking stones, baling hay, curry-combing cows, cleaning up the barn, dehorning calves, scraping out the barn yard — we did everything.
Learning the name and purpose of tools came from Dad. He would be fixing a piece of machinery and would need help. I’d be the go-fer, getting tools out of the toolbox and handing them over, handle first. For example, I learned box wrenches came in all different sizes. Dad would mutter from underneath a piece of machinery, his voice muffled, “Hand me a 5/8!” or “I need a 1/2!” I knew to look at the handle and pick the right size.
“Get me a Philip’s screwdriver!” I understood he didn’t need a flat-head. I don’t know how or when I learned these things, it was a simply a matter of repetition and patience.
Dad wasn’t the disciplinarian. That was Mom’s job, but when Dad furrowed his brow and became stern you knew he meant business. One day when I was sassy at the table, pushing my chair back and storming away, he followed me and let’s just say, encouraged me to come back and start over.
Before we left the table as youngsters, we always had to say, “May I be excused?” Over the course of time that civility was less imposed and I don’t know why or when. I think it was too hard for our parents to keep stressing that particular courtesy. I believe basic politeness is a lost art these days.
Dad loved Mom. When we were young, there was always so much work, but I remember distinctly falling asleep upstairs listening to the sound of them talking and giggling softly together at night, rehashing the day or making plans for the next, and it filled me with a solid, secure feeling, and cemented the fact that they loved each other deeply and fiercely loved us kids. I recall Dad would pull Mom close in a side hug and peck her cheek with a twinkle in his eye, smile at us above her head and say, “She’s petite!” Oh, did he love Mom.
When Dad handed over the reins of the farm to my brother, the pressure of making decisions and holding down the fort was relieved. He simply could relax and enjoy helping out at the farm, and then he and Mom had the opportunity to travel and go bowling. They were also able to go trout fishing together (something they both loved) more often.
They moved to the “house in town” just before retiring from the farm, and I think those 25 years they spent there were some of their happiest. Mom made it as homey as possible for Dad, who was a farm boy and thrived best on country living.
In January 2009, Mom passed away. A few days after her journey Home, Dad asked me one afternoon as I was sitting with him at the nursing home, “Where’s Mom?” Physically challenged toward the end of his life, he always had his right mind, but once in a while would wander, so I thought that’s what had happened that day. He and Mom were joined at the hip for so many years that when she wasn’t there, he became out-of-sorts. She anchored him and was his other hand and part of his very heart.
“Oh, Dad,” I responded kindly, trying to hold back my tears, “She went home to Jesus, remember?”
He became quiet, pondering. Slowly, day-by-day thereafter, he started to steadily withdraw from us and begin his own journey to Jesus, and to rejoin his beloved wife. He became subdued, sleeping more, and talking less and less. Finally, when we were all there one early evening in April, just four short months after Mom passed, the angels quietly came and took Dad away. Oh, the reunion in heaven! The giggles! The talks! The bride and groom, united once again.
Dad left a faith legacy, a birthright, and it was not just material. By loving the Lord and Mom, he showed us a sacrificial, gentle side of him. He left part of his heart with us, a tender, loving, generous heart complete with a twinkle in his eye for his dear one.
We shall see our loved ones again one day; this is our hope as Christians. This isn’t all there is, thank You, Father! Day-by-day, those of us who accept the free gift of salvation by grace through Jesus are all making our journey Home, and oh what a reunion that will be!
‘Til we meet again, Happy Father’s Day, my dear Dad!
(“Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man who can find? The righteous man leads a blameless life; blessed are his children after him.” Proverbs 20:6-7)
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