When I was a little girl, I watched my dad, and I had no difficulty in seeing that the most important thing in his life was following Jesus. I also knew that after Jesus, he cared about his family more than anything. He was my hero, living in the jungle, teaching people about Jesus, and when I grew up I wanted to be just like he and my mom.
Although he was very busy with his teaching and lesson preparations for the Loko believers, he always made teaching us a priority. My dad taught me how to live, and not just live, but live a life that is glorifying to God.
He taught me about God the Father’s love, as I saw his love for each of us. He taught me about God’s greatness as we would look up at the stars together, and marvel at the One who made them. He taught me how to step out of my comfort zone as he encouraged me to try new things and not get too hung up on failures. He taught me about priorities by willingly following the Lord when he believed that God was directing him to go overseas.
A few years ago, we found out dad had cancer. He went through an extremely difficult radiation treatment and, to our joy, it seemed as if the cancer was gone. This January he went back in to see the dr, and they discovered that the cancer was back. My mom was with us in Missouri welcoming her 6th grandchild into the world and when we got the news, she and I were fairly devastated.
I’m sure it was hard for my dad to hear as well, but honestly I can’t even really remember him complaining or mourning about his situation. He loved Jesus. He believed that whatever God allowed in his life could be used to grow his faith, and bring him closer to his Lord. Once again, he was my hero. Once again, he was teaching me how to live.
A little over a month ago I got a call from my family. It was a Thursday afternoon. My brother told me that they had been to see the dr. and had been told that there was nothing more medically that they could do for dad. They thought I should get up there as soon as possible. Michael booked a ticket for Brynn and I to fly up on Saturday.
After a long, draining trip (Brynn wasn’t too fussy, just loud), I walked into my dad and mom’s room, and tried not to burst into tears. My dad was on a rented hospital bed. He looked up at me and smiled… and I lost the battle with my tears. Dad’s smile has always made me feel as if everything is going to be alright.
We didn’t know how much longer we would have all together as a family, so Michael and I decided that he and the older kids should come up after a few days. Days together stretched into weeks. Dad was never a quitter.
On the one hand it was amazing to be together and we were so blessed to be up there. I was thankful to be able to help my mom, hug my dad, hold his hand, watch him smile as we laughed at the different funny sitcoms we would watch late into the night while we were keeping up with his pain meds. The smiles that he and Brynn shared will be precious memories for me even though I know she won’t remember. Her face would light up whenever she got near grandpa, and in return, so did his.
But it was hard. Probably the hardest thing I have ever done. Watching my dad grow progressively weaker was more painful than I could have imagined. There were many times that I begged God to let dad go… not because I wanted to say goodbye, but I didn’t want to see him suffering anymore. Sometimes I felt as if I just had to tell my dad, “Just let go. You don’t have to keep fighting!”
And yet, those words never came out of my mouth. They couldn’t, because my dad was once again teaching me a lesson. It was one that didn’t fully hit me until after he passed away. He believed that God had a purpose for him; that he had a “race to run”. During the month that I was up in Wisconsin, I often thought, “I’m watching dad die.” But a couple of days after he passed away I realized that I wasn’t really right. My dad wasn’t dying… he was living. His body might have been dying, but he chose to live up until the moment that the Lord released him from it.
He wouldn’t quit. He wouldn’t just give up and let the inevitable happen. My dad lived until the very moment that he died. And in doing so, he taught me his final lesson. More than teaching me how to die, dad once again taught me how to live. How not to give up, even when suffering is at its worst. How to trust the Lord, and cling to His goodness, even when you don’t fully understand what He’s doing.
I can no longer read 2 Tim. 4:7,8 without thinking of dad… “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”
My dad is my hero. Because he has always pointed me towards his hero.