We were living in Denver at the time he got sick and had driven home in September to see him and to tell him we were expecting a baby. My heart hurts knowing he never got to meet Benjamin Charles. And then Eloisa. Then Sam. Then Stella. And now one more that won't know him here. But they know so much about him. His shaping of me has in turn shaped them. They are influenced by him indirectly through those of us that were able to learn from and be loved by my dad.
The influence he had on me is too great for me to even know. Now that I have my own children and sacrifice for them, most of the time without them seeing or recognizing, I realize I owe my dad a thousand thank yous. For all the things I noticed but didn't appreciate at the time. For all the things that went completely unnoticed.
Perhaps the greatest mark he left on me was his joy. When dad was 31, he battled cancer for the first time. The doctor told him he didn't think he would live another 2 years. I was almost 2 years old at the time. God gave him another 23 years. The remaining 23 years were not lived in fear of cancer but in fear of the Lord, or as Brennan Manning calls it, "silent wonder, radical amazement and affectionate awe of the infinite goodness of God."
I cannot read about the joy or fear of the Lord without immediately thinking of him and truly still not having a better example in my life of someone whose spirit exuded joy and affectionate awe. He was always the most excited about our vacations, the most excited about a night out at a restaurant, the most excited to buy toys and clothes for kids in need, the most excited to host a friend, family or stranger, the most excited about playing church volleyball, the most excited. Period. He drank in the goodness of the Lord. Dad's cup ran over and we were blessed to be splashed with the excess.
I talked to him on the phone the night before he died. He was at the hospital because of a blood clot. As we were talking, a nurse came in and was trying to get an i.v. in his arm. She tried multiple times without success and it was of course uncomfortable (not to mention bloody) for my dad. A friend arrived to visit him while we were on the phone. She surveyed the scene when she walked in and my dad's cheerful greeting to her was "gotta keep the joy of the Lord, right Judy?" It's one of the last things I heard him speak besides, "I love you." There are people that say things like that to convince themselves and there are people, like my dad, who believe it with all of their heart and soul and convince others by their sincerity.
For his bravery in suffering and pain, for his generosity that sometimes drove my mom a little crazy, for his tenderness and father's heart, for his hope in the Lord Jesus Christ, for his child-like joy for life, I am forever grateful.
We miss you, Dad. My kids miss you even though they have yet to meet you. Have an awesome tree house ready for them.
"There have been times when I think that we do not desire heaven; but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hears, we have ever desired anything else." C.S. Lewis
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