As of today, August 9, 2016, it has been a year since we said our earthly goodbyes to my daddy. In so many ways it is hard to believe that it has been a year. I still often think, “I need to call Daddy and tell him . . . ,” and then I remind myself that I cannot do that.
My mother, as well as a few others, wanted me to speak at my
dad’s funeral service. That is not something that I felt like I could do for
emotional reasons. Instead, I wrote out what I would say if I were speaking and
let my mother read it. She accepted that. Now, on this one-year anniversary of
his death I share with you my words about my daddy.
My daddy was a man who loved to serve. He was a hard worker
and good provider for his family. If someone was stopped on the side of the
road and needed help, he was the one to stop and offer help. He visited those who were in the
hospital and those in the nursing home not because it was an obligation but
because he loved and cared. He was the one who made certain all the widow
ladies were taken care of. He had a heart for the people of Mexico and traveled
to Mexico numerous times over the last 35+ years to build churches, homes, an
orphanage and to minister to the people.
He was a born leader. As my family and I were putting
together his obituary, I came to realize that there were very few organizations
of which he had not been a part. He served his church and his community well.
I truly believed – as I think many others do – that my daddy
could fix just about anything from broken hearts to cars to an antique windup jumping
dog. He considered it a challenge to fix something that was broken and he was
always up for a good challenge.
Everything I have mentioned are things that most everyone
who knew my daddy already know. What you may not know is the daddy that he was
to me. He was the ever present father who never missed one of my activities. He
was the one who came running if I called out in the middle of the night. That
held true not only while I was living under his roof, but also after I moved
into my own apartment. He was the one who taught me not to accept handouts but
to work hard for what I wanted in life.
He was the man who carried me down the aisle when I accepted Jesus as my Savior at the age of seven and then walked me down that same aisle when I married my husband 20 years later. He was the one who built dollhouses and treehouses. He was the one who climbed trees to rescue me from treehouses. (He did that more than once!) He was the one who moved me more times than I can count. He was the man who supported me no matter what, loved me, cherished me, and called me “Doll”.
He was the man who didn’t want to die because he didn’t want
to leave my mother. He was the man who even in his illness was still trying to
take care of others. He was truly a living example of the hands and feet of
Jesus. He was the man who had the use of his hands, feet and voice taken away
by ALS.
He is now the man whose hands, feet, and voice have been
restored all because of his faith in Jesus Christ as his Savior. He is now
rejoicing in Heaven. I am thankful that I have the hope of joining him one day.
There was no other man like my daddy. I was blessed that God
chose him for me!
As we are reminded in Psalm 30:5, “weeping may stay for a
night, but rejoicing comes in the morning”. Even though in so many ways we
still mourn Daddy's absence here on earth, we rejoice in knowing he suffers no
more. In that, there is JOY!
May you too have JOY in remembering your loved ones.
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