I thought I’d write an update about what God did for each of my parents in the years since I wrote my testimony. I’ll start with my dad.
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My dad wasn’t sick a day in his life. Well, not in the physical sense. I don’t remember him ever having a cold or a stomach bug. Nothing. But there was something hidden deep inside him, something even he would later be hard-pressed to articulate, that made him turn to alcohol. I do know that he had a quiet, expressive soul, and that combination is a hard one to deal with.
Most days of my childhood I could smell the alcohol on him, except for the days he didn’t come home. Still, he was kind and willing to listen when I needed someone to talk to.
I left home a month or two after high school graduation. The next time I saw my dad a couple of months later he had aged more than I thought he should have. After that I didn’t see much of my parents for a number of years until after their divorce, and I was able to talk to my dad again.
When I became a Christian, I wanted more than anything for my family members to be saved and our family restored. I thought about it, I hoped for it, I prayed about it.
Sometime while I was away, my dad quit drinking. He’d had an experience that frightened him and made him stop. So without the alcohol, and without my mother, we were able to reconnect.
Both of us being chatterboxes, we’d talk on the phone for long stretches at a time. We’d theorize and philosophize about everything under the sun. And every now and then I’d try to work into the conversation my very favorite topic – Jesus.
My dad would be struggling with something and I’d tell him about the One who knows how to untangle life’s messes. He’d be hard-pressed to understand something else and I’d tell him about the One who gives peace.
I ‘d talk to him about salvation, I wrote him long notes explaining the way to salvation, and his answer was always the same: “I’m trying.”
I’d tell him “Dad, you don’t have to try, just believe in Jesus.” Still, salvation hung in the air, ungrasped, year after year. And during those prayers I lifted up for my dad, the Lord would sometimes speak in that still, small voice, letting me know that it wouldn’t be until just before his death that he would finally receive Him.
A few years later I got a call from my aunt letting me know my dad was sick. The worst kind of sick. He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone for fear they’d look at him or treat him differently. I called my dad and we had a hard conversation. He continued to work until it was impossible.
It was May, and I got another call from my aunt letting me know Dad was in the hospital. I rushed there, day after day, and sat next to him, holding his hand. His mind was already starting to go. He didn’t know where he was or even what year it was. I kept praying and had others praying, too.
One morning someone called, I can’t remember who, to say he’d had some kind of seizure, or something. Our assistant pastor and his wife, our dear friends, graciously met me at the hospital.
There were no more seizures, and the funny thing was, he now knew what year it was. Pastor T went in to talk with him and when he came back out sometime later, he said he’d asked my dad if he wanted to pray to receive Jesus, and my dad said yes. Grasped.
Almost immediately after that, he was a candidate for hospice. One never knows if a hospice bed is going to become available, and if so, how long it will take. But one opened up almost immediately, and the one God chose was perfect.
It was in a home with a beautiful garden. If there was anything my dad loved, it was gardening. He loved the soil (don’t call it dirt!), he loved earthworms, he loved planting. We used to say that once he was able to retire from civil service he should work at a nursery. He would have loved it.
My family, my sister and her family, and my aunt, uncle and cousin sat outside among the gardens eating together for Memorial Day while the hospice workers looked after Dad. We wished so much he could have enjoyed the beauty with us.
The next morning I got a call at 6 am from one of the hospice workers saying he probably didn’t have much longer. I quickly dressed and drove the several miles to get there.
I walked into the room and my cousin was standing by his bed, telling me he had just passed. His beautiful blue, tear-filled eyes were still open. I had just missed him. Still, I held his hand again, and said, “I love you, Daddy.”
My Heavenly Father had, in a miraculous way, kept His promise. Whatever that seizure was, God allowed a moment in time for my dad to be aware, and our friends to be there at just the right time, so he could believe in Jesus and receive Him, and I could have that assurance. That was just five days before he stood before the Lord, washed clean of his sins, and was welcomed with open arms. The peace and joy that had always alluded him in this life was now his forever.
I think about the day I’ll see him again when nothing, and no one, will ever separate us again, and I thank my Heavenly Father for this most precious of gifts.
Eternally Grateful,
