When someone dies, the firsts are hard. and this is the first Father's Day without my Dad. He left us gently and mercifully on February 27th this year.
I think of him at odd times. Like when I went to fetch Mom for my birthday supper at our house, earlier this month. There was a small poster in the elevator for a fund raiser selling Pies for Father's Day. And I looked over all the different choices, wondering which one I would get for Dad. He loves pie! And then I remembered. Oh. Right.
Or when I'm looking at the loon, lonely and lingering long in our bay, just last night. And I think, I'll tell Dad about our loon. He'd loved to hear about our loon. He is fascinated by their elusive beauty. It' s something he really misses about being at his own cottage. And then I think, oh. Right.
It's good that he's gone. Eleven years in a stroke-broken body is more than enough for an active doer like Dad. And he did that so well, with dignity and love, being broken like that. Not everyone can. It's an excruciatingly hard thing to do. Abby is still convinced Great Grandad is playing hide and seek with Jesus, because now he could run to find all the good spaces, where before he just had to sit a lot. And if he does sit now, I imagine it's to eat pie and look out over the water to watch a loon be beautiful. So it's good he got to go Home.
But Father's Day this year.....a first.
Dad, I am so glad we got to finish well, you and I. There were so many things, so many times when I was growing up that went bad on us. I wasn't sure our story could have such a strong and noble final chapter. But it did.
And it's because you took something meant to destroy you, and you let it make you more of who God created you to be. Your body was crumpled but your spirit stood strong. As each year of those last eleven crawled us through them, you did not cave in to resentment or self pity. You refused to entertain grumblings or demandingness. Instead you kept smiling. You encouraged and blessed others endlessly. You lavished praise on me and prayed for me and my family and my ministry. You showed a fearless faith to anyone you came into contact with. No one could spend 10 minutes with you, without knowing you loved Jesus. Dad, you let that ending decade make you more and more the godly man your heart so wanted to be.
Thank you Dad. You fulfilled your purpose and beyond. I am humbled to be called your daughter. I am honoured to call you Dad.
For Dad's Celebration Service, Saturday, March 6, 2010
I have so struggled for the right words to say today to bring a fitting tribute to the man that was my father.It seems like too big a task, to sum up the living of 83 years, and what he means to me.
So, for my tribute today, I would like to use my Dad’s own words.In fact, I have five quotes from Dad.Sayings he used frequently, and words he spoke only once.But all of them hold huge meaning for me.And I trust will represent him well.
First quote.
“You wouldn’t want to see that go to waste now.”
Only I’m not saying it right, because it needs to have a thick Scottish brogue put to it, as only Dad could do.In our growing up years he would say it often at the table when he was finishing off something we were too full to eat, using frugality as an excuse to have a second helping for himself.
But that notwithstanding, frugality was clearly a strong value for Dad.It showed up everywhere, really.Did you know a family can save hundreds of dollars every year just by doing hair cuts at home?
Dad cut our hair for years.And he was all about efficiency.Didn’t want to do it too often.So the bangs….up as short as you can get them.And sometimes we appreciated his hair cuts and sometimes we did not.
But he cut his own hair too.Dad had one of those electric shears, and even after the stroke, he would try to do it himself.At one point I began to respectfully beg that perhaps we should start going to the barber.But he refused to spend the money, and asked me to cut his hair.
So that first attempt, he’s telling me he wants it short.In the back.Off the sides.And I did my best.But by the time we were done, Dad had an unfortunate Forrest Gump haircut.I’m thinking…oh well, it grows back and I can try to do better next time.
A few days later, there was a phone message from my sister Gwen.“I was up to see Dad and saw his hair cut.Nice payback.”
I am not as frugal as my Dad.I do not cut my own hair.But I have so appreciated his outstanding example of responsible biblical stewardship; the kind of wise management of resources that has allowed us to care for him, and continue to care for Mom now.
Second quote:
“Slow and steady wins the race.”
This was the moral of the story I remember Dad telling me at bedtime, over and over again….the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare.You know, the story where the proud and boastful hare thinks he can easily win a race against the humble, plodding tortoise.But of course, in the end…slow and steady won the race.
It’s not hard to see why it was one of Dad’s favourites.He lived this.Always working, not flashy, but persistent and dedicated.This is a man who started working at one company, Lincoln Electric, when we was 16 years old, and stayed there his entire working life, rising to a managerial position, overseeing the safety program of the factory, and then retiring 44 years later.
This is a man who built his own cottage from scratch. Had a workbench piled high with people’s TVs to fix.Always had at least three or four projects on the go at any one time, and loved to scratch jobs off his list – if only so there would be room now at the bottom to add something else.
There was nothing pretentious about his work ethic.No ambitions to get rich quick or scrabble his way up any corporate ladder.Just a quiet, steady way to be about one’s own business, taking care of one’s own family.
This value served him so well after his stroke.Slow and steady.It’s how he had to do everything.
It was a value he sought to instil us….and that’s why I remember the bedtime story.And that’s why, sometimes when I find myself impatient to see results before their time, I just have to remember this quote from Dad.
Slow and steady wins the race.
Third quote:
“I’m proud of you.I’m not proud of the way I raised you, but I am proud of you.”
He only said this once.We were on one of those slow and steady post stroke walks from the house to the car.Those painfully slow walks, taught me so much, and provided many profound moments of healing for me.This was one of them.
I can’t remember what we were talking about just before he said it.In fact I think there was a pause in the conversation, and then this.I’m proud of you, I’m not proud of the way I raised you, but I am proud of you.
Now the truth is Dad would have many things about the way he raised me and my sisters that he should be very proud of.A clear understanding of biblical stewardship.Strong work ethic.Good self discipline in so many important arenas of life.Dad also gave us all a spiritual grounding in solid biblical values.(pause)And he taught us fun songs in the car.
But I know from other conversations Dad and I had had over the years, that at that moment, he was referring to times in our growing up years when the stresses of his work life collided with his natural human faults – no one’s perfect and my Dad wasn’t – to bring about expressions of anger and an overkill on control that he wished hadn’t been there.
And to respect him and those who know this most, I do not want to say too much or too little about it.
Except to revel in the healing of his humility to say this to me that day.
Quote four:
“God bless you.”
This he said all the time in his latter years.So it’s not surprising that these would be the last words I heard my Dad say.They weren’t to me, they were spoken to one of the nurses at The Westmount, giving him his medicine.
At this point in his journey Home he could barely speak.Each word was a great effort, hoarsely whispered.But he made the effort anyways.He wanted to encourage the nurse.Thank her for her care.Bless her.
He said this all the time.I would be pushing him in the wheelchair and he’d greet each person, whether he knew them or not, and offer this blessing to them.The Lord Bless you…and he’d call them by name if he knew it.All the time.Always offering his words of blessing and encouragement.
The man Dad was not proud of being to raise me, withheld praise to us as little girls.The man Dad was in these last years of his life, more than made up for it.
One more quote.
“Amen!”
It’s an expression of agreement, of confirmation.It’s a way of saying “so be it”.And for Dad, in the last little bit, it became a substitute for the simple word “yes”.
Nice day, eh Dad?Amen!
We’ve got pumpkin pie for dessert, Dad.Amen!
Dad, would you like me to close those blinds?Amen!
And on Saturday, February 27, 2010, God decided it was time for Dad to go Home, and to that I say Amen!
That this was a life well lived, Amen!
That this was a man of grace and love and gentleness of spirit at the end, Amen!
That Dad now deserved to be free of his stroke broken body, and enter into a strong and liberating eternity, I say Amen.
And I can’t help but imagine Dad arriving there last weekend, and Jesus greeting him at the door and saying,
Oh Art!I’m so glad you’re here.There’s a whole long list of things I need you to do for me.When can you get started?
And Dad would be in heaven.
Not quite a year after Dad’s stroke in 1999, we gathered our wits about us and a few pictures to honour him with a tribute put to music.The song is entitled “My Redeemer is Faithful and True” and it’s by Steven Curtis Chapman.
