It was exactly one year ago this morning that I received the call that my daddy had passed through that thin veil and was now residing in his new Home with not only Christ but with his own daddy, mother and son. As a way of honoring him today, I’d like to share with you the words I spoke at his funeral.
My Daddy, who only had a high school education, was one of the smartest men I knew, mainly because he lived by wisdom and not book sense. So I begin with a list.
Daddy’s 10 words of wisdom to live by:
1. The safest speed to travel on the interstate is with the flow of traffic.
2. Shop locally and always use your hometown pharmacy. (I still do to this day.)
3. Don’t store sharp knives on the kitchen counter or leave them in the sink at night. (This was in case someone broke into the home. You didn’t want to give them easy access to a weapon.)
4. Don’t look at the overhead light bulb when you are changing it.
5. Don’t gossip; it’s usually hearsay anyway.
6. Stand for the American flag when it passes by.
7. Borrowing from Teddy Roosevelt and a big one for Daddy: “It’s not the critic who counts … but the man who is actually in the arena.”
8. Say your prayers every night. (He did and he taught us to do the same thing.)
9. Go to church every Sunday. (I actually tried this one out for size one morning when I was in 4th grade. My parents had always said, “We won’t MAKE you go to church.” So I got up one Sunday morning and announced I wasn’t going to church. Daddy’s response was simple but never forgotten: “Get in there and get your clothes on.”)
10. Lastly, Daddy always told me to “leave them wanting more.” He was normally speaking specifically to my piano performances, but it’s one that extended those boundaries and flowed over into life itself.
While looking for a newspaper clipping this week, I came across a post I had shared on my blog some 15 or so years ago. Obviously Mom had printed it out and saved it. I’d like to share an excerpt with you.
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When I was in 6th grade, about 12 years old, I obviously hit “the age of accountability” that we hear so much about but which we really can’t explain. I think I had used a bath towel and placed in back in the cabinet wet. Mom found it and wanted to know who did it. ‘Not me!’ I said. Well, it wasn’t long, but sometime later that evening, first-time guilt encroached upon me. I knew I had lied and it bothered me greatly. That very night, I crawled up in my daddy’s lap in his bedroom, and I confessed every known sin to man — or at least to me: from the towel, to sneaking the frozen cake squares out of the freezer and eating them behind the closet door, to the pack of crackers I had slipped in my pocket at a local “rippy mart.”
Anyway, my daddy didn’t berate me or punish me or scold me, he just gently let me tell all, get it out of my system, and come clean. And, yes, I’m sure he must have encouraged me to ‘go and sin no more.’ I don’t remember that part. I just know the sense of relief I felt having bared all and the security I found in my father’s lap.
Of course, I didn’t realize it until many, many years later, but Daddy was sitting proxy for my Heavenly Father that night. When I think of mile markers in my faith journey, that was a huge one. I was so fortunate to have a daddy that was available, but most of all, forgiving.
Daddy was a storyteller. Another Jesus quality. When nighttime came, Daddy would see to it that prayers were said, then he would tuck me in and tell me a story. Sometimes Chip would be in there with us, but often, it was just Daddy and me. Seems like time was all he had. I know he was making some of them up, but I have a feeling most of the stories were taken from his own life or mine. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little girl…’ Quite honestly, I can’t remember them now, but I can recall with clarity laying there listening and never tiring of hearing them.
But one of the richest memories of Daddy is seeing him on his knees. Every night, Daddy prayed — and he did it the old-fashioned way: at the side of his bed, on his knees, hands folded. (No doubt Mom prayed for us children, too. But I think she did it the only place she could find peace and quiet — behind the locked bathroom door.) Surely the weight of the world was on Daddy’s shoulders as he raised us four children on limited means. But I have a feeling he found the strength on his knees to carry that load. As for that image, it is etched in my mind for all eternity.
I credit much of my faith to my parents, but I certainly know that my healthy view of God stems from my earthly father. So, thanks, Dad. You took some of the faith struggles of out my life by being such a Godly influence and role model to me. I realize very few can give that kind of testimony in today’s society and I am eternally grateful.
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When my Daddy’s own mother had just died, he and I were in the car together, and as we were crossing over the railroad tracks at the bridge just down the road from here, he said, “You know, when someone you love dies, this world doesn’t stop. It keeps right on turning.” Daddy was right, this world doesn’t stop. But what Daddy also knew is that the God who was good, merciful and faithful on THAT day, would continue to be good, merciful and faithful on the next one.
Indeed, our Daddy’s life preached the gospel. May we all be so inspired to live in such a way that the same can be said about us.
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