My Hero

I want to tell you about my Dad through a daughter’s eyes. When I was growing up, I’m not sure I realized it, but I admired my Dad a lot. I could tell that people looked up to him and respected him, but at the same time Dad was down-to-earth and fun. He was responsible for a whole church full of people and was always busy doing important things. But Dad also had the cool factor. He always looked young, acted young, dressed well … and had great hair. As a public figure, some people back then even compared him to Tom Selleck or Joe Namath (for those of you who remember those guys). I don’t remember Dad disagreeing with that.

Dad was competitive. From an early age, he taught me to play ping pong so he could have someone to eventually challenge him. We would have intense ping pong matches in the basement with Charlie, the award-winning buck that Dad had shot in West Virginia, watching from his mount on the wall with interest to see if I could manage a win. Or on our annual summer vacation to the beach or to the mountains, we’d always finish dinner up with a competitive round of miniature golf.

He was talented. I remember times while I played with Barbies in our unfinished basement, Dad would sit nearby, painting landscapes and portraits with his oils. Dad would never in a million years have said he was talented, but he had a great baritone singing voice, he was a wonderful artist, he was a good athlete who played many sports – and was playing 9 holes of golf well into his mid-80’s. Like his dad and his Cherokee granddad, he was a master storyteller and loved to work a good joke and story into conversation and into a sermon. Dad wrote his own sermons 3 times a week from scratch for over 30 years – (I calculated that’s close to 5,000 sermons as he didn’t like to repeat them) –  written in his bold, black scrawling cursive on sheets of paper with books sprawled out all over our den (family room) on Teryl Drive. Dad would almost always finish up his sermon during the early hours of Sunday morning, including funny stories and dramatic examples, to help people understand and relate to God’s Word. It reminded me of how Jesus used stories a lot to get his point across.  

Dad was winsome. In his desire to be a man after God’s own heart, Dad often told me, “We win people to Jesus by first winning them to us.” I saw him live out that philosophy. Dad would get to know the waitresses at his regular spots, the neighbors, his golf buddies at Hiawatha (Golf Course), the nurses and aides at Danbury, etc. And eventually, they would find out he was a pastor and, some day, when they were ready to know God, they would turn to Dad for help. Somewhere along the line, I realized that the life Dad was living was as good as one of his sermons. Much like Jesus.

One summer, as a teenager, I had a baby bunny that seemed sick, so I brought it into the kitchen – and things went badly from there. Before long, I heard Dad coming home in the garage, I went running to him crying, “Dad, come quick!” He ran into the kitchen to find a very stiff, dead rabbit stretched out on Mom’s very clean kitchen table. One of Dad’s talents was handling crisis. As usual, he was calm and caring – dealt with my feelings and then disposed of that bunny – before Mom could get home. 😊 As the years went by, I realized my Dad was kind of a crisis super-hero. The bigger the crisis, the more calm he became. He was the one that people called when their world fell apart, when their loved one was in the hospital, when they weren’t sure they could go on.

Sacrificial. I remember so many times when the phone would ring – this was in the days before emails and texts – so it was always the phone. We might be watching Carol Burnett on Saturday night at 10 pm, Mom doing her nails, while Dad worked on his sermon – or it might be Christmas Eve when the whole family was gathered to celebrate with grandkids (my girls) — and the phone would ring to tell us of a crisis. Dad would immediately put on his dress clothes and go out to a hospital or a home where someone was facing the hardest moments of their life. This was a regular occurrence, but I don’t recall Dad ever complaining in those moments. He just genuinely cared, prayed with them and comforted them. Like Jesus.

Dad related well to all ages – teens, older folks, college students, kids, everyone. But, deep down, Dad was an introvert. When my parents got married and began pastoring, Dad was 20 years old. He liked to recall that, early in their marriage, they were driving home from church one Sunday when my Mom said, “Jack, if you want to be a pastor, you’re going to have to talk to people.” Dad took that advice to heart and began a lifetime of studying and mastering it. Eventually, even in a congregation with a responsibility list of 1.500 people, Dad knew every person and was the one that people wanted to go to – with his humor and understanding. Dad genuinely loved to brag on other people, often loudly and with others in earshot, pointing out the good in them.

Generous. I remember the year that there was an envelope for me on the Christmas tree when my own family of four was struggling financially due to medical bills. Not a word had been mentioned to Dad, but the large check was just the right amount to pay off the debt. If you spied on Dad, you might have caught him anonymously paying for someone else’s table at Bob Evans. Or receiving a bonus at District Assembly only to turn around and write out checks for the pastors of smaller, struggling churches.

Thankful. I came to realize my parents must have had a secret pact to be thankful. Because rarely did a day pass when Mom didn’t write down a list of things they were thankful for and Dad didn’t mention the great meal he was eating or the wonderful people he knew. Every night, in their 20 years of retirement together, they would sit on the couch and hold hands and Mom would read a devotion and they would pray. At holiday meals, my parents made us sing the Doxology before we ate– “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”  It came from their heart. And in the last two years, Dad was quick to brag on his Assisted Living staff so many nights when we talked, “Can you believe how kind and caring these workers are?”

It was these more recent years, the hardest ones, when Mom’s dementia began. And I saw how, no matter how many times Mom repeated the same question or observation, Dad would answer calmly, patiently, and respectfully as if it was the first time she had said it. No one would know from Dad’s reactions that Mom had dementia. As he had done throughout their 69 years of marriage, he would eat whatever she set in front of him with thanks. And he would sit beside her holding hands for their nightly devotion as she repeated the same devotion from the night before. And he would brag on how wonderful she was. And later, when she was at Eastern Star, I watched Dad calmly talk to her on the phone 20-30 times a day even though he cried after. And, guys, I learned so much more about love from my Dad – he loved and honored my Mom.

A shepherd. Many times, Dad told me he thought the best pastors were Shepherd Pastors – the ones who led their people like Jesus did – living life with them – leading them with love and care, having fun with them in good times and bringing help and comfort in trouble. For so many of you here today, the connection and love that you had with my Dad was one of the most important, defining ways that Dad served God. I want you to know my parents viewed all the love you gave them with wonder and thanks – they felt so blessed by it.

 Six weeks ago, when Dad got the word at the hospital that he only had days left to live, he said he was ready. That night, back in his room, I held his hand and we said Psalm 23 together – “The Lord is my Shepherd – I lack nothing” … and Dad was calm and smiling. Three days later, he would peacefully slip away. And since that night, I have been realizing that Dad’s life was a very well-lived sermon, at least for me. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he followed where God led him: Winsome, crisis super-hero, sacrificial, generous, loving, thankful, shepherd. Man after God’s own heart. Surely welcomed Home with love and celebration.

I love you, Dad.