Things My Father Taught Me

Do you remember the things that your Dad taught you? I am talking about the important things, like, how to shoot a gun? Do you remember him teaching you how to cast that line into the right spot in the pool? Maybe you remember him teaching you how to throw that curve ball so that it would break just right and catch the batter off balance. How about teaching you how to tuck the football in after you had caught that over the middle pass, insuring that you didn’t fumble? Was it a behind the back dribble that your Dad taught you? How to sink a twenty foot putt, or even a one foot putt?

We all have things that we have learned from Dad. Things that make us remember those days that are past, “yester-years” with a fondness, maybe even a wistful smile. They remind of us of pleasant afternoons spent with Dad. They might even remind us of getting up early, before dawn, to go on hunting or fishing trips. Somehow those events are forever planted in our minds.

My father wasn’t much of a “sportsman.” When he was growing up during the “Depression” he worked more than he played. He couldn’t throw a baseball, he always said he threw like a girl and he really did. I don’t think he ever played a game of football in his life. I never saw him shoot a gun. I know he probably played some basketball, only because I have a picture of him, in Korea, poised to shoot a basket, but even then he is holding the ball awkwardly. He loved to fish, but we never caught anything when we went, truthfully. We only went camping about four times while I was growing up. He was an awesome sport, but not a sportsman. He loved for us to play ball but couldn’t teach us much about doing it.

My “special” memories of the things my Dad taught me have nothing to do with sports. They do, however, have a lot to do with the time he spent with us. During those times he was teaching us those things that were really important to life. He was planting perpetual seeds of value in our lives. I live today based on what my father taught me in those times spent with him.

I remember as a young child most of our Saturdays were spent visiting people. Most of these were people I didn’t know. Yet on a Saturday we would all pile into the car with a list of people to visit. Mom had a list of people she needed to see and Dad had a list of people he needed to see. We would stop at each house and they would get out of the car, go to the door and visit for a few moments. David, my brother, and I would stay in the car (I know you can’t do that today but in the ‘60’s it was alright.) Even today, when I hear gravel crunching under someone’s feet as they walk on the sidewalk, my mind goes back to those afternoons and recognizing from that sound that Dad was coming back to the car. Dad and Mom taught me to care about people.

I am a carpenter by trade. My first carpenter job was at the age of ten. Dad was a town carpenter for the lumber mill town that we lived in. For many months, when he came home from work he would eat supper and then he would drive to Eureka, about twenty-five miles away, to work all evening. Now this was a deferred payment job, which means he wasn’t getting paid immediately. In fact he was just “laying up treasures” because he was helping build a Sunday School wing on a Church so payment comes in eternity. However, just before he would leave I would ask him if I could go too. So I learned from my Dad at the age of ten how to lay our studs for a wall. I also learned it always pays to give to God, even if it is your time and energy.

There were a lot of evenings when we got in the car and would take a drive. No, we weren’t going to see scenery, we were going to Church. All the way there and all of the way home Dad and Mom would talk. They weren’t talking about people and they weren’t talking about how rough life was. They were talking about their lives, events that happened as they were growing up. Dad would talk about his work. We felt we knew as much about the people he worked with as he did. He always had a funny story from the day to share. We sang songs together. Dad had a hard time carrying a tune, but I don’t know of him ever forgetting the words to a song. In our family it was like the old song, except it changed just a bit: “Momma sang bass, Daddy sang tenor, and me and David would join right in there…” I still sing many of those old songs today. I have shared many of Dad’s funny songs with my kids and grandkids. They taught us to be a family and to love the things of God.

I was blessed to be able to learn a lot of things from Dad that have been so valuable through the years. I read a passage this morning from the Psalms that made me realize that once again. The Psalmist said walk around Zion, check out her bulwarks, examine her palaces so you can tell the next generation. Zion of course is the Church. The bulwarks are the strengths of the Church. The palaces are the beauty of the Church. We need to know it for ourselves, but we also need to show it to the next generation. Teach them something that is everlasting.

Thanks Dad! You taught me some things that are more important than shooting a gun or casting a line. They will last longer than knowing how to throw a curve or dribble behind my back. You taught me to love people, to love my family and to love my God! Those things are everlasting!

God Bless!

The Brown Thompson Chain Bible

I was talking to someone the other day, I can’t remember who. Time out, the bad thing about talking to so many people and getting old is you can’t remember who you told what. So then everyone thinks your losing “it” because you repeat yourself. You aren’t losing “it“, you are just having trouble keeping track of “it.” Meanwhile, back at the ranch.

I was talking to someone the other day about an old Bible that I have which belonged to my Dad. My father started preaching at the age of eighteen in 1948. He preached his last message five days before he passed away. That message was preached from his hospital bed in 1999. During those fifty one years he wore out two Thompson Chain Bibles and used a couple of others.

The first Bible that I remember Dad using was a brown covered Thompson Chain. It is the only thing of Dad’s that I ever really wanted and he gave it to me a few years before he died. The cover is so worn around the edges that the leather is separated. The binding is coming loose in the back. The pages are wrinkled and marked from handling, preaching and studying.

I remember the Christmas that Mom bought Dad a new black Thompson Chain Bible. With this one she bought a case for protection. I remember him preaching from that Bible many times. It too showed the signs of much use when it was finally put into “retirement.”

I could have had the choice of either Bible, mainly because I asked first. However, I wanted the Brown Thompson Chain Bible. You see there were some special memories that I have with that Bible. Let me share a few with you.

On February 12, 1952 a twenty one year old man became a soldier upon invitation from Uncle Sam. Dad was an Ordained Minister of the Gospel. This should have disqualified him automatically. He said that President Truman liked him so much he come visit anyway.
Dad had flat feet and was born blind in one eye. Either one of those should have kept him out of the military, yet they took him anyway. When he arrived in Virginia for basic training the doctors examined him and asked, “How did you get in here with these conditions?”
Dad replied, “It wasn’t hard at all!”

At that time they wanted to send him home. He shouldn’t have been there at all. Yet Dad said, “No, I am proud to serve my country, let me stay.” He felt God had him there for a reason. They let him stay.

While at Camp Pickett, Virginia Dad was able to start a church on the base for the Pentecostal soldiers and their wives to attend. Through the years he talked to many soldiers who attended that church after he was shipped out. God had him there for a reason.

He was shipped to Korea. He was in the Medical Corp and drove an ambulance. Because of his beliefs he refused to carry a weapon. He wouldn’t even carry a side arm. He walked guard duty on the front lines, but refused to carry a weapon.

Several times his life was spared by the hand of God. One time he was helping load wounded soldiers on a train just behind the front line. As he returned from the train to get another patient his commanding officer handed him a piece of shrapnel. The officer said it had landed inches behind Dad and if it had hit him it would have killed him.

The Bible Dad preached from was the Brown Thompson Chain Bible. He carried it to Virginia and preached from it there. He carried it with him to Korea and preached from it there.

I remember as a young child seeing him carry it to the pulpit and preach from it. I remember him sitting and reading from it when he was grieving over the death of his father. I remember a few months later when he returned from the funeral of his young brother who was killed so tragically in an accident, he would pick up the worn Bible and read from it. It was like a friend.
In those early formative years I came to realize that it wasn’t “that” Bible that was so special. It was “the” Bible that was so special. The author and he were good friends. He could share his thoughts and sorrows with him and get Words of strength and encouragement in return.

I will never forget sitting with him one night, very late. It was a few days before his passing. He had called us boys to come and talk. Actually, it should have been to come and listen. My two brothers and my son Justin were with me. Dad shared a lot of things with us that night. One thing he said I will never forget. In essence he said he didn’t understand why he had gotten Parkinson’s disease. He was younger than most people are when they get it. He didn’t understand why he had been stopped from doing what he had hoped to do with his life. He had wanted to travel and preach. He had wanted to take care of Mom and enjoy his grandkids and great grandchildren. He said there were a lot of things that he didn’t understand. Yet he said he wanted us boys to know, if just one life was touched by his ten years of suffering, it was worth every moment of it.

I came across a passage today that touched my heart. The Psalmist made this statement, “I will make thy name to be remembered in all generations: therefore shall the people praise thee for ever and ever.” Dad made the name of the Lord to be remembered to all generations. Eternity will only tell exactly who was touched. Only eternity will reveal whose life was changed because of a man who loved and served God first and foremost in his life.

This I do know. My life is different because Dad made the name of the Lord known to me. This I do know, I have two brothers who are also preachers of the Gospel because the name of the Lord was made known to them. This I do know, he has a grandson and grandson in law that are preachers of the gospel. This I do know three of his granddaughters are filled with the Holy Ghost and living for God, actively involved in the work of God.

I am encouraged to know as I deal with the cares that life brings my way, I can make the name of the Lord known to all generations. I can do it by placing my trust and confidence in God. As I do this, the next generation will hopefully realize that God is faithful and true no matter what we are dealing with.

Yes, I picked the Brown Thompson Chain Bible because it reminded me of the God of my Father. A God whose name he made known unto me.

God Bless!