My father was born October 6, 1927, and he entered into glory last night, May 25, 2022. As we remember his life and legacy in the days to come, I will obviously have more to say, but I wanted to register one central thing at the outset.
I wanted to thank God for giving me a father who was so manifestly present in my life, for as long as I can remember. Whatever, whenever, he was there. He was constantly there, and in his manner of being there, he was constant. Always steady, always reliable, always responsible. Constant. And I find that he was present in such a way as to remain present with us even after being gathered to his people.
Three memories will serve, not as detached fragments, but rather as representative of a steady presence. These are just samplings that represent a host of other incidents and events.
I remember standing in our front yard and having him put a humorous fist in my face, and doing it in a way that communicated nothing but security. The three rules in our house were simple. No disobedience. No lying. No disrespecting your mother. Life was simple. Trust God. Honor your parents. Stay in fellowship.
He was active and busy and in much demand—as an evangelist, and as a conference speaker. But he routinely carved out time to serve as a coach for our various little guy teams. That was how he carved out time on the calendar. But he also carved out time in the evenings, reading to us, reading to us, reading to us, from Lantern Waste to the Hundred Acre Wood, and back again
I remember my father, standing behind me, teaching me how to tie a necktie. Such a father.
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