Awesome Father

As I pulled into the church for a memorial service this week I got an overwhelming anxious feeling in my gut. I am awkward around grief and death. My mind races. I overthink everything. I wanted to be early and I wanted to be late to avoid doing or saying something wrong. Maybe these feelings are more normal than I think they are but I have never discussed them with anyone to find out.

I am not the most polished fellow when it comes to looking the mature or professional part or adhering to norms. I work on it but sometimes I think it’s better for me to stay home.

I saw a young couple I know headed to the front door so I moved quickly through the parking lot to get behind them in line. We made small talk until the doors opened, letting us in. I realized I was trying to make them laugh and so I just stopped talking. As I walked into the foyer and then into the sanctuary I made nervous eye contact with each of the men I know. We nodded at each other, silently communicating, “This is crazy. Losing a brother sucks. Love you man.” At least that is what each nod seemed to represent to me.

I found a seat near the back and began searching for familiar faces while trying to look stoic. The room was filling with his family, friends, ministry partners, homeschoolers, Boy Scouts, and police officers. The room itself is beautiful. Very traditional. Long and narrow. Big arches holding up the roof. A pulpit of wood to hold the Word of God at the front with an enormous wooden cross filling the wall behind the pulpit. Musicians were playing peacefully as the seats were filling.

We were about to celebrate the life of one of the finest Christian men we have ever known.

I began to pray for his wife and his children and the preacher that would be preaching. I couldn’t stay in prayer. I kept trying but I felt herky-jerky, gittery. I pulled out my phone and re-read my daily Bible reading. I was in Psalm 39. Verses 4-5‬ say:

“Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah.”

‭I repeated, “my end and my days. My end and my days...” over and over again. Lord, help me to understand who I am in You. Lord, use my frailty. Lord, help me to make every moment count for You.

The preacher started the service with prayer and then the song leader led us in congregational hymns. He shared, “The family said this was one of his favorites.” When I got to the right page in the hymnal I couldn’t contain my joy. This was my favorite hymn to sing also. It is page 255 in my old hymnal at home. My first tear of the day rolled down my cheek. As we began to sing it became apparent very quickly that I was the only one in my area that loved the song. I could feel the stares of the people around me every time I shouted “Hallelujah!” but I knew my brother would want nothing less than me singing from my heart unto our Lord. At some point someone shared one of our brother’s favorite scriptures, where our Lord tells us what is most important for us and our children, to Love the Lord our God with our whole heart, soul, mind and strength. I smiled large because I remind myself daily of the same truth, praying for my family.

After the hymns three young people began singing “It is Well with my Soul”. A young man at the piano. Two young ladies behind him. I squinted to see who they were. When I realized it was his children, tears began to flow down my face as these kids sang to Jesus in honor of their daddy who was gone.

Three men got up to eulogize their brother. An uncle to represent the family. The man who discipled him to represent all of his brothers in Christ and a fellow police officer to represent his brothers in blue. I don’t know if that is what they intended these three men to represent but it seemed perfect to me. Hearty “Amens” could be heard throughout as we agreed with the good words spoken about a darn good man. He was all that we thought he was.

Then one of his little girls stepped up to the pulpit to declare her undying love for her daddy. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I sobbed. I snorted. I tried to keep the snot inside my nose as I shared a drop of her ocean of grief. I can’t imagine.

Then his teenage son stepped up to the pulpit. A slim, humble, yet confident young man stood tall to honor his father. He had written down what he wanted to say to be sure he did not forget anything, but he decided to “go off script” as he put it. He went on to describe exactly what happened leading up to his father’s death, immediately afterward, and the days that followed. He wanted to glorify God in the midst of their pain. He declared to everyone who could hear his voice, “There is a God.” I cried and cried. He thanked everyone who had loved on their family, helping to get them through. He went on to eulogize his dad and demonstrated to everyone that his daddy had done right and well and had raised some incredibly strong children.

When he was done he introduced a song he had written a week or two before his father died. He quietly walked over to the piano, took a quick drink of water and played and sang one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard.

The preacher communicated collective support for our local police. It was a very tactful, rousing, demonstration of support for our local police, and it just felt good. I don’t clap in church but I felt like I had to put my hands together a little so I didn’t look like a hater. I just don’t like clapping in church for a singer or a preacher or anyone else who may be stealing the glory from God in His house. Part of my rebellion hangover I suppose. But it felt good and right to thank our local police for serving and protecting us.

The preacher then gave his own eulogy for our brother and shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ with all who could hear, exactly the way our brother would have wanted. I prayed that all would come to repentance and faith in our Lord Jesus.

I sat there and kinda relished in our similarities. We both work full time, minister full time, parent full time, try to love our wives like Christ loved the church and gave Himself for it, attempt to live by the same guiding words of our Lord Jesus, and have the same favorite hymns. Other than the fact that he was tall, handsome, athletic, a dominating basketball player, tough, and righteous, all of which I am found lacking, we are like two peas in a pod.

I want a similar legacy. How am I living? I began to think about each of my children. One by one thinking of all of their unique challenges and how much each one has blessed me. Reminding myself that their challenges are who they are and my blessing as their father is the thrill of demonstrating genuine love to each of them individually regardless of my weaknesses.

I allowed myself to dwell on my mistakes as a father long enough to feel broken. The sweet joy of brokenness is what my Lord can do with me once I get there.

I got up from my seat thankful I had been there because God had done a work in me. I was once again excited to be alive, to do right, and to pursue greatness as a man of God, a husband, and a father.

Life is rich and rotten all at the same time. High highs and low lows. Regardless of my circumstances I must strive for excellence.

Lord, help me to understand who I am in You. Lord, use my frailty. Lord, help me to make every moment count for You. That should be easy enough... For You Lord.

Happy Father’s Day my friends.

“The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.”

Pete