My dad was a very humble but proud man, if that makes sense. He had grown up under very meager beginnings. His dad was an alcoholic and his mother very simple.
He told me they never lived in any one place more than a few months. They would move into a rental home and stay until they were evicted, then move elsewhere and do the same. He said he would always have the bus drop him off maybe a mile from the house. He didn't want anybody to see where he lived.
He bragged Grandpa cared for them though. When he got paid for whatever odd job he had done, he would buy groceries for the family before he bought beer.
Grandpa died when I was just a few weeks old. He evidently turned his life around for the Lord several years before he passed away. During those last few years, he was in church every time the doors were open and loved by everybody.
My earliest memory Dad was probably me attending a Billy Graham crusade with him in California. I remember there was snow on the ground and we had to walk quite a way up hill to get to the stadium. We traipsed through the snow up a long hill only to discover the crusade had been cancelled due to the weather.
This was symbolic of the life my dad lived. He lived his life trying to prove he was somebody. There was probably not a more righteous and caring man than my Dad. Yet, he never could accept that he was good enough to be loved by God.
Growing up, he did not go to church often. Mom would drag him there on occasion, but mostly he resisted. He was a godly man though. He never drank, smoked, or cussed to my knowledge. He thought us to love and respect God as well.
He finally did start going to church when I was about 17 years old. His spiritual struggle became evident then. He would go to the altar often praying for God's forgiveness. He would leave empty though, declaring he just was not good enough.
He did find acceptance in Christ just a couple years before he passed. He prayed through night with the pastor and discovered the grace of Jesus.
Like his dad, his last days were spent on fire for the Lord. He was loyal to church and went visiting with the pastor on s regular basis, declaring to others the grace and forgiveness of Jesus.
At age 67, when I was in my early 40s, Dad suffered a massive heart attack and went to meet the Lord. This was a shock to us all.
I had just spoken with him the night before bragging that Michael, my oldest boy, had made the all county football team. The last words I recall hearing from Dad were very befitting of a man who loved his family, "Tell that boy I'm proud of him."
Though Dad lacked confidence, he far surpassed his own expectations. He spent the biggest part of his adult life in traffic management. He never made millions, but he was a good father to his children and a good friend to those whom he knew.
He may not have recognized his own accomplishments but he took great pride in the accomplishments of others. His wife was the most beautiful woman in the world. His kids could do what they did better than anybody and he didn't mind telling you. His hometown was the best place to live and his friends the best.
He was a Razorback fan like none other. No matter how bad a season they had, they were the best in his book.
At his funeral, over 400 friends, family and loved ones packed our little FWB Church in Greenwood Arkansas. His entire surviving Senior Class of over 40 was there. As I spoke a short eulogy on his behalf I was able to say words not many can say of their father, "There are no regrets."
No comments:
Post a Comment