Indulge me one more time

If you will indulge me one more time to talk about my Dad's passing, I promise I will be much cheerier next month. It's nothing morbid I promise.
Most of you know that I like to talk about my dog, Winston, in my blogs,so let me start with:

While I was out walking Winston on the day after I learned of my Dad's passing, a voice as clear as if I were talking to you say, What if this is it? What if everything your Dad taught you about the Lord is wrong? What if he has just entered into nothing and there is no Heaven and no life hereafter. To lay a little ground work let me say that I was saved when I was 8 years old, so after living a life of faith for 54 years and the devil is still trying to convince me that this whole Christian thing is not real and I'm just wasting my time.

You can always count on ole slewfoot to attack you at your weakest moment. I just lost my Dad, I was depressed and very sad, so what a time to hit me with those thoughts. I have to admit that I thought about it for a few moments. That thought did enter my mind, what if I am wrong, what if there is no hope.
Thank goodness those thoughts lasted only a few minutes, for the Holy Spirit welled up within me and filled my mind with another thought. Paul said in 1Cor 15
;19 says "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.". As usual that ole devil was giving part of the truth. If I and my Dad have lived this Christian life and he died and there is nothing else, then we are surely miserable. Think of all the fun we could have had, all the money we could have made, and all the wild drunken parties we could have shared in. Isn't that what the world calls fun and success? If we lived this Christian life following as best we could the example of Christ then wouldn't some people see our lives as a waste.

My mind then started to thinking. I know that is usually dangerous, but this time it was OK. It occurred to me that I can choose to believe what the devil said and live life with as much gusto as I can for as much momentary pleasure as I can find. Then when it's over, I just go into the ground and that's it. Wow, I should be depressed. However, I can choose to believe in Christ who offers me hope of not only a good life here, but an eternal life after this one ends. I can choose to believe that my Dad is rejoicing on the streets of Glory as I write this blog. I can choose to believe that when it comes my time, I will enter into Heaven to join them. That ole devil forgot to tell me the rest of the story. He forgot to tell me that because Jesus defeated death, I don't have to fear where I will go after I die. He forgot to tell me that when Jesus faced death he cried out in pain and agony so I won't have to.

I choose to live by faith where I have hope of better things to come.

A time to reflect

As I sit here at my keyboard, fighting back the tears from the news that my Dad will not be with us much longer, I find myself reflecting on the past events of my life where my where my Dad was involved. Though he will never read this, I want to say it before he makes his move to Heaven. Please bear with me while I share some very private thoughts.

As far back as I can remember my Dad has always been a man's man. He weighed 122 pounds in high school, yet was on the boxing team. He was a Ranger in World War II. He was very private about those war days and even when I would press him, he just wouldn't go in to it. He said it was too personal. Dad was a painter and paperhanger for most of his life, though I can remember him talking about working at a grocery store after he and my Mother were first wed. He made 25 cents an hour back them. He took work wherever he could get it, but painting would be his life's work. He started helping my Grandfather paint houses at 12 years old. He worked painting water towers and smoke stacks, up 250 to 300 feet in the air. In the end, he settled down working for my Grandfather along with his brother. When my Grandfather passed away, my Dad ran the business keeping it in my Grandmother's name, while he just took an hourly wage, allowing my Grandmother to keep supported by the company that her husband founded.

I just wanted to lay a foundation of the type of man that my Dad has been. While he ran the business for my Grandmother, he still physically worked painting and only got paid for the actual hours he spent holding a brush in his hand. To keep the business going, he would bid on jobs after he put his 8 hours a day in and never took a dime for that. As you can tell he was a man putting in a lot of hours. I say that, because when the church doors were open, he was there. Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. If there was a revival going on, he was there every night. Oh, he never went alone. My Mother was always with him and they drug me and my two sisters to church every time the doors were open too. He didn't just send us to church, he TOOK us to church.

Not only did he take us to church, but whenever there was a school program for us kids, he was there. I begged and pleaded for him to sign the papers so I could play Khoury League baseball and he finally gave in. Maybe he resisted letting me join the baseball league, because he know the commitment that it was going to take. You see, he didn't just sign the paper to sign me up, my Dad took me to every practice and stayed there until we were done, and then we would take home three or four of the guys whose Dad didn't come tho their practice. He didn't just go to my games and practices, but he was out in the yard playin catch with me, so I could improve my game.When I joined the band, he made payments on my trombone so I could play it in the band, and then he would attend every program we did. Then I had to play football. I started in Junior High School and he was at football practice as soon as he got off work and again, we would take home soe of the other kids. He was at every game, even though he's have to take off an hour early from work to get to the game. I was first string in Junior High and I think he was proud of me. As a Sophomore I dropped down to second string, but he was still there, watching me sit on the benchf for a good portion of the game. As a Junior in High School I dropped yet again to third string, but my Dad was still htere at practice and the games watching me sit on the bench a lot more. Finally, my senior year, a miracle happened and I made first string again. I was the starting center, and again my Dad was there cheering me on.

My Dad did much more than that. He didn't let me get away with much. He kept a tight leash on me, but as a result, I was never in trouble as a kid. I was never hurt as a kid because I was in a place where I shouldn't have been. The few times I did stray, my Dad knew how to use a belt on the place where it can be used for discipline. Yes, my Dad spanked me, no he whipped me, and I think I am the better man for it. He taught me not to lie or steal or cheat. In business, he taught me to do and give more than my customer is paying for. I have tried hard to follow that advise. My Dad took the time to teach me the trade of painting and wallpaper hanging. It's not easy training your son to do a real job. I'm sure that I tried his patience many times, but when he was done, I could walk into any painting company and work without any problem. Before I retired from painting, there were many times that I wished I could have picked my Dad's brain on tricks of the trade, but dementia had already taken that away.

Still further in my life, I saw my Dad praying. I saw him praying at home, and at church. I saw him giving what talents he had to the church. When the church needed painting, my Dad would donate all of his labor to the church. When hard times hit, I can remember him and my Mother taking food or money to the Pastor's house, just to help them out.

I'm hoping you can see by now the huge model that I needed to live up to. Unfortunately, I haven't done as good as my Dad. I only know my failures because of the light he has shown me live by. While I made most of my kids games and practices, there were times that work got in the way and I didn't make it. I joined the Air Force and sat behind a typewriter for 6 years, so that's not quite like being an Army Ranger.

I can only pray that when my end of time comes that my kids will be able to say that they saw Jesus in me, as I have seen in my Dad.