Gavin, His iPod, a Homeless Woman, Cookies, and 11 Cents...Compassion Converges on the Chicago River

Is summer really winding down?  That's hard to believe. We just returned from our summer vacation to Wisconsin and school starts in about two weeks. On our way back from Wisconsin we spent a day and a night in Chicago--mainly to take in a Cardinals/Cubs game at Wrigley Field. That was definitely an experience and it was fun too see so many Card fans away from Busch Stadium. After the game we road the train to the Loop area so the boys could see some of downtown Chicago. We had parked at Navy Pier earlier in the day so when we got off the train at around 8:00 we knew we were in for a 2 mile walk and we would eat dinner along the way. Fine with us because we wanted the boys to see some of the city anyway.

During our trek, we encountered something Gavin had never experienced.  We were crossing the Chicago River bridge and he was walking next to me holding my hand. At one end of the sidewalk crossing the bridge was a homeless woman--probably in her 30s or so. We kept walking and stopped in the middle of the bridge over the river while Lindy and I talked to the boys about the Chicago River. I had no idea what was coming next. Gavin's first statement, said in a way I knew he was shocked, was "Mama, that lady was homeless."  I affirmed what he was saying and thought it might end there. We had seen a couple homeless people already but they were men. I'm not sure whether Gavin didn't recognize that they were homeless or he was just struck by encountering a woman who was homeless. Either way, this was far from the end of the conversation. Immediately he said he wanted to go give her his iPod. (He has a little iPod Nano that he had been carrying under his Cardinals baseball cap that day on his head so it didn't get stolen. He's always thinking).  I told him that he was very kind for wanting to do that but since the lady was homeless she didn't have access to a power source for the iPod. Then, he said, "We have to do something.  I have to give her some money."  Well, Lindy and I were tap city with cash. This was the last day of vacation and we had $4.00 between us. I know.  We are notorious for traveling without much, or any, cash. I gave him a dollar to go back and give to her. Not sure why I didn't just give him the whole whopping $4.00 but I didn't. He ran back to her and gave it to her. He was excited when he returned because she had told him thank you.

I kind of thought that might be the end of it. We started walking again but the questions kept coming. Why was she homeless?  Where did she come from?  Where was her family?  Questions that I couldn't answer. I tried to talk to him the best I could on a level that an 8-year-old could understand. We walked along for a while and suddenly he said, "I have an idea!!  We should stop somewhere and buy some cookies. Then if we come across a homeless person we can give them a cookie."  He was trying to think about how he could somehow make a difference to them in a way that would be important to him. What's better than cookies, right?  I told him that was a great idea, but it was about 9:30 at night and I didn't know where we would get cookies at that time.

After that he was silent for a while but he still couldn't let it go. He said, "I have to do something for that lady.  I can't quit thinking about her."  He was really becoming quite consumed with the thought of her.  I told him that he could always pray for her. God knew who whe was and where she was and He would hear his prayer.   He told me that he wanted help praying for her so right there in downtown Chicago as we were walking along Gavin and I prayed for her. We prayed that God would send someone who could help her or that her family would find her and help her. We told God that we knew He knew exactly who she was, where she was, and that He had known her since she was conceived. We prayed that God would intervene in her situation.

Of course, we'll never know what happened to this poor lady but we know God heard our prayer and He saw the compassion of an 8-year-old boy that wanted to make a difference somehow. At this point, I think he had a little more peace about the situation and was able to let it go until the next morning....

We had stayed overnight outside of Chicago and when we were getting off the elevator to leave our hotel and drive home Gav handed me 11 cents. I asked him what it was for and he said it was to give to any homeless people we came across on the way home. It was all he had and he handed it over.

Oh my.  His sweet little tender heart.  If we can continue to foster his compassion and support him our little boy will accomplish life-changing things in his future. This side of him reminds me a lot of my Dad...one of the most compassionate, generous people you would ever have hoped to meet.  One of the things Lindy prays over our boys on a regular basis is that God would give them compassion for people.  In fact, I distinctly remember one night several years ago when Lindy was praying for Gav one night and he missed including compassion in his prayer.  Gavin said, "Dad, you forgot 'capassion.'"  No prayer ever goes unanswered and this one certainly is not with the Gav.  My prayer is that we would be sensitive to this compassionate nature that can either be made to flourish or stifled.  May we help to cause it to flourish.  His Poppy would be proud.





















Love to all,

Robin

Dreams of My Father...But Not the Obama Kind

Is it fair to say that "I have a blog" if the last two posts I published were in July and October of last year?  I guess I will say that I still do since I've had over 2000 hits on my blog since that post in July. Prior to that July post it had been six months since I published a post.  I've tried to think of a good reason why I can't seem to find time to do something that I used to love to do.  Never did I come upon a singular answer but the reasons that come across have a lot to do with my blog being a place where I share a lot of my thoughts and emotions.  While I'm doing much better with the grief now that my Dad has been gone for 15 months, it is still a struggle to "put myself out there" whether it be to share joy, sorrow, anything deep or even shallow.  I also don't like writing when I don't feel like I have something big to say, so to those people who gave me 2000 hits over the last 6 months; thanks for sticking with me.  (Lord knows it hasn't been me because I don't visit my blog unless I'm writing on it).  For those of you who wrote in Christmas cards to me, "I'm glad that you're writing your blog again" thanks for seeing something of worth in spending your time in this way.  Maybe I will really find my way back at some point.

On a light-hearted note, I do have people who know I have a blog and give me suggestions for things I should blog about.  (Maybe I should write a post about how you should never end a sentence with a preposition.  I did that on purpose, by the way).  Anyway, I was at a party recently and a friend told me that I should give lots of fashion advice on my blog because I can put together outfits and sometimes wear things others would never dream of leaving their house in and make it look great.  I took that as a compliment, because I do hear that very thing quite often, and I'm not always sure whether people mean that as a compliment or not; but I take it as such.  Mostly, because I'm not going to stop wearing raspberry-colored pants tucked into tall white Ugg boots with turquoise striped knee socks showing, a white sweater, a navy-blue puffy vest with white polka dots, and a scarf with turquoise, raspberry, and navy blue in it.  I'm going to wear that, people, so I will continue to put together outfits.  Anyway, for this particular friend, here is your fashion tip for today coming straight to you from the frozen tundra known as St. Louis this winter.  Ready?  Don't wear flip flops in the snow.  Your feet will get really cold.  There you have it.

Now, on to the real purpose of this blog post.  I've had two very vivid dreams about my Dad since he passed away; one was several months ago and one was last night.  I just thought I would share them because it's something special to me and it's my blog and I felt like sharing it.  Maybe, also, those of you who have lost someone can relate.  In my dream several months ago my family including Lindy, the boys, my brother and his family, my Mom and Dad were all in a restaurant.  We were waiting for a table and it was a noisy restaurant.  I went to see how long it would be until our table was ready, because that's what I do.  I find out how much longer we have to wait because we are not the most patient group of people.  Anyway, the restaurant was noisy so I told my brother what I was doing and he leaned over to tell my Dad.  They were both standing up next to each other but my Dad looked to be about the same age as my brother.  Himself; but younger, thinner, bright-eyed.  He was wearing a plaid shirt (which wasn't so out of the ordinary).  When my brother leaned over to tell him what I was doing I got the distinct feeling it wasn't because Dad was hard of hearing--like he increasingly was as he got older--it was simply because the restaurant was noisy.  That was really all there was to that dream but I loved seeing my Dad in his younger, stronger body.  Hair was dark and not white.  He looked contented--not impatient like me to be waiting for a table.  (My friend, Jenn, might have lots to say about this dream because she's good at that).

Last night in my dream it seemed that he had died but had come back to see me.  He was sitting in a chair, like a kitchen chair, and has if he had been waiting for me.   He was himself, but maybe what he looked like about 20 years ago when I graduated college.  He had dress clothes on--slacks, dress shirt, tie--but not a jacket.  Kind of like he had just come from church.  My Dad was one for dressing up.  Most people think that I get my "dressing up" gene from my Mom but I got it equally from my Dad.  When he died he had six new suits in his closet--some already tailored, some not--but all with tags on.  He had scads and scads of dress shirts, still packaged.  The man loved to shop and loved to dress up.  Two days before he died he preached on that Sunday morning and was dressed up in a suit, complete with pocket hankie and tie chain.  He and my Mom were quite a pair and I often think that growing up with a Dad who could dress up made me marry a man who wears a suit well and is comfortable being dressed up.  OK, now I'm getting bogged down in what Dad was wearing in my dream, but if you know me you would expect that.

The main part of the dream, and it was pretty short, was that when I saw him I knew it was my opportunity to say good bye to him.  If you aren't familiar with the story of how he died you'll just have to go back and read posts from November of 2012 because I don't want to go into all of it again. He died instantly, at home, of a massive heart attack, painlessly and wordlessly.  When someone dies like that there is no opportunity to say good bye.  I had spoken with him just 7 days before on his birthday and most of our conversation was about the shopping trip he had gone on that day and what he had bought for himself--mainly, a new tie.  Ha!  Clothes again!!  My Dad and I never had words that went unsaid between us.  We loved each other and expressed it and I told him so on his birthday as did my boys.  But, there wasn't that opportunity for last "I love yous" the day he died.  So, in my dream, when I saw him sitting there I walked up and just started kissing his soft cheeks and saying all the things I would have said if I could have, "I love you, Dad.  I love you so much.  You were the best Dad in the world.  I miss you.  Thank you for being a good Dad" and on and on.  I had tears running down my face as I was kissing his cheeks and saying those things and he just said, "I know, punkin."

Being able to say it to him gave me much peace, and even though that was a dream I know that he knows.  He's up in heaven waiting for me and heaven is made all the sweeter knowing he's there with the baby I lost.  I have reasons to believe that my baby was a girl that I think I've only shared with my mother.  I've had some sadness over that loss again recently and I think being able to see my Dad in my dream, with his bright blue eyes and his younger face was healing to me.

The best gift my Dad ever gave me was sharing Jesus with me, and showing Jesus to me all of the life that I shared with him.  Without Jesus, I don't believe we will see heaven or our loved ones who have also given their hearts to Him.  It's never too late for those of us on earth until we take our last breath.  The peace I have comes through the Prince of Peace and of all the things I have to be thankful for in my life serving Jesus, I think His peace that passes all understanding is sweetest to me above all other blessings.

I could continue this post following a whole other tangent but I think I'll make you wait for the next post.  Hopefully it won't be 4 months.  Sorry 'bout that.

Love to all,

Robin

Parent Teacher Conference...The Gav

It was Parent Teacher Conference time this past week.  Lindy doesn't get too hyped up about it but I really enjoy going.  This year, unfortunately, I only had one conference to go to out of three kids.  Jac's in high school and my guess is that they don't have Parent Teacher Conference in high school unless there's an issue.  Ethan never shared any information with me about his middle school conferences OR I completely overlooked the email that came to me about it.  That's a pretty good possibility.  Anyway, they are both doing well in all their classes and aren't having issues in high school or middle school so I wasn't too concerned about them.

The Gav, though, is still only a second grader so I was excited to go to his conference and hear what his teacher had to say.  Amazingly, after having three kids go through the same elementary school we have only experienced one year where one of them had the same teacher as another.  Gavin had Jac's kindergarten teacher and she spent half the year calling him Jac because she said he looked so much like Jac in kindergarten that it was uncanny.  (That was true, for sure).  Gavin has a teacher for 2nd grade who has taught at the school for many years but I had never met her up until a couple weeks ago.  So, I went to the conference expecting to hear a few things:

     --Gav catches on to things really quickly--check!
     --Gav is one of the best readers in his class--check!
     --Gav is really good at math--check!

He has done really well in school since the beginning of kindergarten--no thanks to preschool of any kind, only thanks to Grammy School which he attended three days each week since birth.  We have been amazed at how well he has caught on to all things academic.  Of course, his teacher also told me that Gavin has great "comedic timing."  Oh boy.  That's no big surprise.  He also writes books for fun and takes it very literally when she tells the class to write a sentence using a particular word.  In fact, a couple times already she has said something like "Write a sentence that includes the word "as" in the body of the sentence."  And, little wise guy Gav writes the sentence verbatim just as she has quoted it.  "Write a sentence that includes...."  Yeah.  She had to put a stop to that.

But, even though I was expecting to hear all the things I listed above I wasn't expecting to hear the following:  Not long after I arrived at the conference his teacher told me that she was sitting in his desk.  The students' desks are set up in pods of four with the four children facing each other.  She asked me if Gavin had mentioned a boy named Sam (not his real name) who sits to Gavin's left.  I told her I wasn't sure about this but if he had it wasn't anything that I remembered.  She said that Sam is pretty disruptive in class and can be very loud and pretty much "wild."  But, she said the thing that she has been most impressed with is Gavin's interaction with Sam.  Gavin is very patient and calm and laid back and just takes Sam in stride.  She said that even if Sam is right there in Gavin's face that he is always just kind and caring toward Sam.  As a result, Sam has attached himself to Gavin and views Gavin as his friend when many of the other kids in class aren't sure how to act around Sam.

Honestly, I just sat there stunned into silence.  You see, Gavin can be very sweet and has no problem at all sitting still when it's required of him, but "calm," "patient," and "laid back" aren't necessarily words I would use to describe him.  I just wanted to cry because I was bursting with pride.  Hearing how well he's doing academically pales in comparison to hearing that our 7-year-old is showing grace and compassion to another little boy.  This means more to me than anything else.  I always pray that my  boys would shine the light of Jesus to everyone around them.  They go to public school and, truthfully, there's not a lot of "light" in public schools anymore.  Lindy and I have made a choice to allow our kids to attend public school where the light is so desperately needed in this world of darkness.  It once again reaffirms our decision because Gav might be the only source of light in this little boy's life.  He doesn't have to preach to him to show him the love of Jesus.  He just has to be himself and practice kindness and patience.  What a beautiful thing.

Looking for Love in All the Right Places

Sometimes starting again is the hardest part after distancing yourself from something for so long. So it is with my blog. I started my blog almost three years ago and I haven't always been consistent with it but the last six months is the longest dry spell I've had so far.

I was talking with a co-worker today about how it seems that when you are grieving or you've experienced something traumatic sometimes you can keep people and difficult conversations and tough topics at arm's length. It's like you can only take on so much sadness at once or so much stress at once. You kind of put up a wall and sort of let things bounce off of you rather than sticking to you and weighing you down more. I know that's a lot of metaphors to take in but that's my thought process right now. If you're my friend in real life and you feel I've held you at arm's length, I apologize. I've pretty much been in survival mode but I'm slowly coming back. Slowly. Baby steps.

So, this is a baby step back to blogging. Something I really enjoy but have at times felt too raw or transparent to share anything and at times I have not felt at all like being funny. As I soooooo am, most of the time.

My three sons are back in pocket now after spending most of the summer at camp or at my Mom's house. (Honestly, it's just hard even saying or typing "my Mom's house" when it's always been "my parents' house").  They have each gotten to spend some time with my brother too which I think is just an awesome dynamic for my boys to get to be around the person who I learned the most about boys growing up. They are each like him in some ways and not like him in some ways. But, with each of them you really have to look for love in all the right places. I'm only going to point out a couple so that I don't get overwhelmed in my baby steps back to blogging.

The last time my Mom came to visit she brought me food. That might seem odd unless you knew my Dad. You see, she has more food at her house than one, or two, people could ever eat. We found out after my Dad died that he had been spending more than $400 a month buying groceries in bulk. If you needed he had it, and he's given lots and lots of food away. Now, every time my Mom comes to visit she still brings food. The last time she came there was a lone can of tamales in the mix. I was kind of surprised and asked her about it. She said, "Your brother insisted I bring that for you. He said you love canned tamales."  (Now this is true, but I have resisted canned tamales for a long time because of obvious reasons--fat and calories). Still, I was touched that he remembered. We haven't really lived in the same house for more than 20 years and he still remembered that I loved canned tamales. That may not be an obvious sign of where to look for love, but if you knew my brother, that can of tamales spoke volumes to me. Now, it sits in my pantry and I think of him every time I look at it. If he reads this he will be rolling his eyes at that.

Ethan, my 11-year-old, is similar in that you really have to look for his love in the right places. He begrudgingly lets me hug and kiss him but when I'm really looking for love from him I can find it. When Ethan and Gavin are in the car with me, mostly on Sunday morning, I let them be the DJ. We have Bluetooth and I give them my iPhone and let them take turns picking songs. Ethan invariably will pick songs he knows that I like and he will get on to Gavin if Gavin picks songs that he knows that I don't like. That is love. It may not seem like much, but from an 11-year-old, that is love in a song for his Mom.

Well, there you have it. One baby step to end a dry spell. Enjoy, and don't forget to look for love in all the right places.

Love to all,

The Goodbye Tour

Well, I've been living now for two months without my Dad.  It still seems surreal and sometimes the shock of it just catches me off guard all over again.  A lot of people ask how I'm doing, how my Mom's doing, how my brother is doing.  I'm still amazed at the kindness of people and I hope I can continually be more mindful to acknowledge others' grief because the remembrances and thoughtfulness really does bring comfort to me.

A little more than a month ago my sister-in-law, Lisa (my brother's wife), and I were emailing back and forth and I mentioned that my brother and I are both of the mindset to "Keep Calm and Carry On."  She said that we are an interesting bit of human study for her and we are more alike than different in that way.  That is true.  We get that from my Dad, but my Mom is of stronger stock than anyone might realize--especially her.  She spent 51 years of marriage, and her life since the age of 18, loving the same man.  Then, in a matter of seconds she watched him die right in front of her and suddenly she was forced into a new and different phase of her life.  She is an extraordinary example of peace in the midst of sorrow, strength in the face of the unknown, and comfort in the lives of those around her who are also grieving the loss of her husband. The recurring conversation she and I have had centers around how very, very blessed we are to have lost Dad the way we did (suddenly, without pain or fading away) and our blessed hope that we will see Him again one day as we know where he is right now.  Our hearts are saddened to think of everyone who believes that death on this earth is the end.  It isn't the end, it's only the beginning.  The real question is where you will spend eternity.

So, the title of this post is "The Goodbye Tour."  If you were a faithful "Everybody Loves Raymond" viewer then you might recognize that reference.  It has a bit of a different connotation here.  On one of the "Raymond" episodes Robert and Amy were leaving a party and he was making fun of her because she couldn't leave a party without going around to everyone to say good bye.  This "goodbye tour," as he termed it, took quite a bit of time.  Well, my Mom and I weren't leaving a party but we did go on a "goodbye tour" of our own on behalf of my Dad.  He died so suddenly that he didn't get to say goodbye to anyone--not even her.  The day after his funeral Mom was ready to start taking care of business in the community and letting people other than friends and family know that he had passed away.  I was really just along for the ride and my job was to "Drive Miss Daisy" and lend support.

The first place we stopped was the bank where he did all of his business inside the bank.  My Dad was never one for drive-throughs of any variety.  From the time I was a little girl we went inside the bank, inside Wendy's (his favorite fast food place), inside anywhere else that gave you the option to drive through.  He said it was because he wanted to be face to face and look in the eye of anyone with whom he was conducting business.  Personally, I think a bit of it was to do with the fact that he couldn't hear very well in the drive through, something he wouldn't really admit.  Anyway, I can't say that I ever recall going through a drive through with my Dad.  We always went inside and he was always friendly and talkative with everyone.  When we went to the bank we waited to speak with someone at one of the desks, rather than the tellers, because we needed to also take care of some business.  The girl we spoke with--I say "girl" because she was younger than me--clearly remembered my Dad.  She said he came in frequently...true...and he had just been in the week before...true, because he and Mom were supposed to be traveling to Louisiana the day he died.  Dad didn't believe in ATM cards--never had one, never wanted one--so he always went to the bank to get cash before taking a trip out of town.  This girl said that from the time he realized her last name ended with "hl" he was always coming into the bank and telling her new surnames of celebrities and well-known people that he had discovered whose name also ended in "hl."  You see, my Dad's interaction with and thoughts of people didn't just begin and end in what they could do for him, but he took a personal interest in them.  I guarantee you that not only was he searching for new names he had found to take to this girl, he was also praying for her.  That was just his way.

Our next stop was the grocery store where he would secretly pay for people's groceries on a regular basis.  (If you aren't familiar with that part of my Dad's history then you'll just have to go back and read my previous post about my piece of his funeral.  I explain it there).  We went to the manager's desk and spoke with both store managers.  We explained that my Dad had passed away and Mom showed them his picture.  They recognized him and were so very sad to hear he had died.  We told them we wanted to settle up any accounts for groceries that he hadn't yet paid for but he had already taken care of that and there weren't any open accounts.  Mom and I picked up and paid for a few items we needed while we were there and as we were walking out the door one of the managers handed us a ham and told us once again how sorry he was for our loss.  A ham for condolences.  Isn't that kind?  His legacy lives on because our friend who played the piano at his funeral donated the check she received to the grocery store to be able to help with someone else's groceries.  Dad would have loved that.  He had talked about wanting to take some of his white shirts to one of the managers at the store because he had to wear white shirts and looked like he needed some more to wear.  Mom and I had them cleaned and then took them back to the store the next week.  He was very appreciative.

Our next stop was to Dad's barber.  Now, you might think a man's relationship with his barber is no big thing.  But to my Dad, his relationship with everyone was a big thing.  His barber had already received a call--actually from an old friend of mine who's father also goes to the same barber--but he was still overcome with emotion when we stopped in to see him.  There we were in a barber shop, that was desperately in need of a woman's touch, and I'm watching as my Mom comforts Dad's barber as he sheds tears of sorrow.  I think they were tears of sorrow, but they could also be tears shed by someone losing a very good customer.  My Dad went to get his hair cut every three weeks.  I'm just joking about that...but not the part about Dad getting a haircut every three weeks.  That part is very true.

All in all, our goodbye tour brought a lot of healing for my Mom and me.  It was wonderful to hear the stories about my Dad that we wouldn't have heard otherwise and it was nice to see that my Dad's presence in people's every day lives would be missed.  Of course, we miss him because he's part of us but to have others who just knew him as he went about his business of being himself miss him is special indeed.

A parting thought that I might write about more later.  This may seem odd to some but I ponder odd things at times.  My parents were 32 and 40 years old when I was born.  I remember during the years approaching the exact age that my Mom was when I was born I thought about how many years of her life she lived before I was a part of it.  As an egocentric child of two parents it's easy to wonder how they ever lived without me, but they lived many years of their lives before I was ever a part of it.  I've been thinking about my Dad in that way since I turned 40 years old last July.  My Dad lived 40 years, 8 months and 4 days before I became part of who he was.  A little while after my Dad passed away I realized that I didn't make it to the age my Dad was when I was born before he was gone from my life. I know that's deep and maybe it's irrelevant to most who would read it.  It's just interesting to me as I reflect back on my life to think of how long my Dad lived without me in his life and now how long I will (may) live without him in mine.  After all, one of the biggest lessons I've been reminded of through this experience is that none of us is promised tomorrow.

Sorry to end on a deep note.  That's all I've got for today.  I promise the "funny" will be back in full swing at some point.  Right now, it's just an accomplishment to write anything.

Thank you for reading.  Love to all.

My Little Piece of My Dad's Funeral

I promised there would be some upcoming posts that would only be of interest to a select group of close family and friends who were unable to make it to my Dad's funeral.  Typically, when I do any type of public speaking/preaching I don't have my notes typed out word for word.  This was a different situation and I felt that I wouldn't be able to share without having my notes typed out.  I did share a little ad lib, but 97% of what I said is recounted below.  It's about the five loves of my father.  Hope you enjoy reading it.  I enjoyed sharing it...and I did it without doing the "ugly cry."  More later.

There is a reason why immediate family members don’t often speak at the funeral.  It’s because you run the risk of doing the “ugly cry.”  I’m no stranger to the “ugly cry” because I did it at my brother’s wedding rehearsal dinner and at my Dad’s retirement dinner.  I’m going to attempt to make it through without that type of display but there are no guarantees today.

My Dad would never talk with any of us about his funeral or what he would want in the event he died.  So, I told Mom and Rob yesterday I would say to him, “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”  I believe he would be pleased that his funeral wasn’t just a ritual, but instead a personal, meaningful remembrance.

First I want to thank Brother Trask for agreeing to speak today for my Dad’s funeral.  They were friendly but not close, personal friends.  However, Brother Trask was one of the men my Dad respected most in his entire life.  He ranked right up there with Pastor Wannenmacher in my Dad’s eyes.  I keep thinking of my Dad’s reaction if we were able to say to him, “Hey, Dad.  We asked Brother Trask to officiate your funeral.”  He would make this face and he would say, “Whoa.  He’s going to speak at MY funeral?”  He had a fierce respect for and loyalty to you and we are honored that you agreed to preach for him today.

I wanted to speak today because my Dad loved to tell stories and I felt that his story, from our family’s perspective, needed to be told.  Of course, with my Dad it was never about just telling the story, but about HOW you tell the story.  You had to have an angle.  The angle I chose for today is The Five Loves of My Father.  I had started writing down some notes last week and pretty quickly categorized my Dad’s story into five different things that he loved or was passionate about.  The next morning I asked my Mom if there was anything she wanted me to say when I spoke and she said, “I really want you to talk about the things that your Dad loved.”  Everything she said was something I had already included.  We are either on the same wavelength or we are just in tune with my Dad’s passionate heart.

The first love of my Dad was God and His Word.  He spent hours reading and studying the Word of God.  In his later years he would stay in bed until he had read all of his Scriptures and had called out by name in prayer all of his family members and all of his church members and their extended family.  We would tease him that the house could be on fire but he would stay in bed if he wasn’t yet finished with his reading and praying. 

He knew God’s Word better than any man I know.  When I was little we would play this game where I would read a passage of the Bible to him and he would tell me the book and the chapter, and oftentimes the verses.  My Dad was a man who loved to talk about the deep things of God and he really enjoyed his long talks with my husband and my father-in-law.  There were many sermons that were left unpreached by my Dad.  His last sermon was two days before he died.  My Mom said he never had difficulty getting a sermon as some pastors do at times.  He always had 2 or 3 sermons rolling around in his head just waiting to be preached.

But, my Dad didn’t just talk about God; he put God’s Word into action.

For many years we have teased Dad about being a stalker at the grocery store.  His tactics have changed over the years but he would regularly visit a store close to here and “case the joint” for people who looked like they couldn’t afford their groceries.  Then he would tell them he wanted to pay for them.  Most times people were surprised and grateful but once in a while he would encounter someone who was offended by this gesture.  That’s when he made friends with the manager of the store and asked him to let him pay for people’s groceries anonymously.  He especially loved to stalk people at the grocery store around the holidays.  Within the last couple weeks he told my Mom he was going to go to the store to see the manager about Thanksgiving and who needed help this year.  He also told her that he was going to give some white dress shirts to the manager because he knew he needed them.  My Dad didn’t just have a love for God’s Word but he put it into action.  There are thousands more examples of my Dad’s generosity but Lindy reminded me when I started typing my notes that I wasn’t the one preaching today.

The second love of my father was my mother.  We never, ever doubted his love for my Mom.  She was as much a part of him as his own skin.  He cherished her; and my brother and I knew she was his first priority after Jesus.  He was very affectionate with my Mom.  He would hug her and kiss her in front of us kids and it was as natural as air to us.  They went through some challenging times together as all couples do but it only strengthened their love for one another.  My Mom was always submissive to my Dad but able to be strong and independent at the same time.  For many years when my brother and I were growing up my Dad traveled for the Benevolences Department and left my Mom to care for my brother and me while she worked full-time.  He was also pastoring for all of those years and when he was out of town she would preach.  They were quite a couple.  Over this past week I have received numerous messages from old friends who mentioned the kindness of my parents and what an example of God’s idea of marriage they were to everyone around them.  My Mom often said that my Dad would have been satisfied just being on a desert island with her.  She was his Pon.

The third love of my father was the rest of his family other than my Mom.  She gets her own category.  That’s just how much he loved her.  My brother, Rob, is exactly the man my Dad raised him to be—a man of honor, integrity, humility, and loyalty to a fault.  He is one of the finest men I know.  He doesn’t think he will, but I am confident that he will do an honorable job filling his Dad’s shoes. 

I warned Rob the other day that I might have to tell this story about how proud my Dad was of him.  Last year when my Dad turned 80 years old his church had a big celebration for him.  We went to his church on that Sunday and he had Rob speak about his upcoming missions trip to Ghana, Africa.  When Rob finished speaking Dad said that when Rob came back from Africa he was going to have him come back to the church and tell about his trip and he was going to call it “Robert David Bornert Day.”  Well, Lindy and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity as golden as this one to help give suggestions about what should be included in his day.  I started right away suggesting pony rides, a ferris wheel, cotton candy…. We were going to make it a celebration.  For a while after that Lindy and I would text and email Rob all of our ideas for Robert David Bornert Day.  Lisa got in on this too.  Rob told me the other night that he really did go back to share about his trip and I was a little disappointed to hear that it just included a Powerpoint and pictures.   

My Dad also loved my sister-in-law, Lisa, like she was one of his own children.  Once she married my brother she was no different than if she had been a blood relation.  He loved my Lindy like his own son but he especially appreciated that I married this wonderful man, my rock, who would cherish me and take care of me like he did.

He saw the uniqueness of each of his grandkids and he never neglected to tell them that he loved them and that he was proud of them.  They each had their own special relationship with their Poppy.  Alex was his only granddaughter and the little one who made him a grandfather.  He was going to be called “Pa Pa” but Alex called him “Poppy” and it stuck.  They had a very close relationship as they lived close by all of her life.  John Addison was his first grandson and my Dad was tickled pink that Jac preached a short sermon the last two years at Fine Arts.  The first year he was only 11 years old.  Also, when Jac visited this summer and my Dad told me he was going to pay Jac some money for helping him around the house I told my Dad that Jac had pledged $100/month to missions this year.  Jac planned to give every dollar he earned from his Poppy to missions.  This nearly brought my Dad to tears.  His next grandson, Ethan, shared my Dad’s patriotism and love of country.  Ethan has been into all things military for the last couple of years and my Dad recently gave Ethan his hat from the Navy.  Also, the last time my Dad came to visit us was specifically to attend Ethan and Gavin’s Veteran’s Day Assembly at their school.  This was a big deal to Ethan as his Poppy was his hero since he served in the military.  My little Gavin is only six years old but he shares the love of writing with my Dad.  Gavin already writes little books that he illustrates and binds together.  He gave a little book to my Dad for his birthday.

I was amazed this past week at God’s graciousness in preparing a little 6-year-old’s heart for his grandfather’s death.  Gavin had been stuck on listening to an old song called “Big House” by Audio Adrenaline for the week prior to my Dad dying.  It’s a song that talks about our heavenly father’s house.  “It’s a big, big house with lots and lots of room.  A big, big table with lots and lots of food.  A big, big yard where we can play football.  A big, big house.  It’s my father’s house.”  Three days before my Dad died Gavin and I were running errands together and we listened to that song in the car no less than 17 times.  The next morning we listened to it again on the way to church.  Obviously I know the song is about heaven but I didn’t make the connection to my Dad dying until a couple days after he died when Gavin wanted to listen to the song.  I wasn’t in the mood to sing it along with him but I asked him if he knew what the song was about.  He said, “Yes, it’s about heaven.”  I said, “And where is Poppy?”  He answered, “He’s in heaven and he’s playing football.”  My little guy is comforted by the image of his Poppy playing football, something he never saw him do.  I’m comforted that there’s a “big, big table with lots and lots of food” because his motto was “No one leaves my house hungry.”

My Dad also loved and was loved by his brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and friends who were just like family to him.  He was widely regarded on both sides of our family as being the final authority on the Word of God.  You had a question about the Bible?  You called my Dad.  He would tell you the truth.

Also included in his love for his family was his church family.  Preaching was a great love and we all talked about when he might retire but deep down we knew he never would.  I think he would have withered away if he couldn’t preach the Word of God to his church family.  He was blessed with a church family who loved and honored him for the last 33 years, and we love them very much as well.  Before that his church family was in Searcy, AR and there are people here at his funeral who are serving God today because of my parents’ ministry.

The fourth love of my father was his poetry.  The last time I stood in this very spot I was standing next to my husband; and my Dad and my father-in-law were tying a knot very tight.  There would be no 10-minute wedding ceremony for us.  It was about 50 minutes and, trust me, our knot was not coming untied.  About 15 minutes of the ceremony was my Dad reading the poem he had written for my wedding.  He also wrote a poem for my brother’s wedding.  He wrote poems for holidays and other special events.  He loved to tell a story in poem form.  Earlier this year my husband and I were in Israel and Lindy read a portion of one of his Easter poems when we were at the Garden Tomb.  Writing poetry has been something that I believe kept my Dad’s mind sharp and occupied along with his endless study of the Word of God.  He had grand plans of having books of his poetry published and he already had several poems copyrighted.  This was something that he invested a lot of time in.  We talked frequently about the latest updates with his poetry.

The fifth and final love of my Dad was his love for television—but not in the way you would think.  His love for television fell sharply into two categories—Fox News and preaching programs.  He had no interest in anything else on TV but he loved to watch Fox news and talk about politics.  In recent years politics was one of our most frequent topics of conversation when he and I would visit.  I had caught the politics bug when I was 8 years old and we were watching the Reagan/Carter election returns.  I asked, “Daddy, what do all of those red states mean on the map?”  He simply said, “Punkin, that means we’re winning.”  Dad and I got used to winning, but he had to give me my first pep talk in 1992.  I was at ORU watching the election returns in my dorm room by myself and I had to call my Dad so he could console me. 

My Dad was passionate about praying for our country and our leaders and the direction our country is heading in grieved him deeply.  As we were driving from St. Louis on the day my Dad died I had lots of time to think.  One of the things I thought my Dad would ask God, after he got over the shock of actually being in heaven since this wasn’t part of his plan in the immediate or distant future, was this question:  “God, why did you allow Obama to be reelected for four more years?”  Later that evening when my Mom and I were talking in their bedroom she said, “Well, at least your Dad doesn’t have to deal with Obama for the next four years.”  We both knew how much Dad prayed for this election, but also how he knew that God takes care of his children no matter the outcome of any election.  We are children of the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.

My Dad also loved watching his preaching shows.  I doubt he ever got sermon ideas but he loved to watch them anyway.  When I was visiting on the last Sunday in October and getting ready to go to church I could hear my Dad watching one of his shows.   He was talking back to the preacher telling him he was getting some point of doctrine wrong.  Later I asked him what that was all about and he explained it to me.  Just like in baseball there’s no substitute for speed, in my Dad’s book if you’re a pastor there’s no substitute for sound doctrine.

I know there’s a lot more to my Dad than the five loves that I talked about today, but it’s hard to put 81 years of your father’s life into 15 minutes that sums up what was most meaningful to him.  Since he died so suddenly it has been hard to see the positive side to him passing away.  That’s what Mom and Dad always taught us to do—find the positive in everyone and everything.  I’ve found many “it could have been worse” scenarios but only one positive side.  And it’s the most important thing.  The silver lining to this cloud is that my Dad is with his beloved Jesus in heaven and we who are left here without him have the peace that comes from knowing that.

Thank you for allowing me to share from our family’s heart about my Dad today.  

And We Begin Again....

It's hard to know where to begin but I know that I have to write.  I guess the best place to begin is where I left off.  On November 14 I published the second part of a two-part blog post on "Faith Isn't Faith Until It's Tested."  Six days later my Dad passed away very suddenly...unexpectedly...without warning...here one minute and gone the next.  Some of my readers might be wondering if I thought my faith had been tested before that time but now I'm really going to have my faith tested.  If God could see fit to call my Dad home to heaven so suddenly, does my faith in Him stand up to this test?  My answer?  This life-altering event didn't test my faith at all.  It was already secure, rock solid, unwavering.  In the ten days since my Dad left this earth I haven't once become angry with God, questioned his sovereignty, or even asked myself why.  The shock of his death was very difficult and painful but in all things I give thanks.

We celebrated Thanksgiving two days after his death, even as we were still reeling from the shock of accepting that he was gone.  Yet we still gave thanks.  We gave thanks that he lived for 81 years.  His mind was still sharp, he was still independent in every way, he didn't suffer or linger on this earth...it was simply his time and God called him home.  In our minds, the alternative to how my Dad died would have been so much worse.  Our hearts go out to friends and loved ones who support their family members through years of illness and disease, watching them fade away slowly.  Even in the midst of our grief we felt blessed.  And, no, my faith never wavered.  God's mercies are new every morning and we have felt His mercy each and every day as we have come to terms with the reality that my Dad is no longer here.

My Dad loved to laugh and tell jokes and stories.  He loved to kid around.  We have been able to "find the funny" that I've blogged about before in the little things.  He would have appreciated that.  A couple days after his death my Mom told me Dad's latest blonde joke.  He loved blonde jokes.  Allison, one of our close friends and a member at his church, visited with us and was telling us the joke he told at church just two days before he died.  We found several things to laugh at while we were preparing our hearts to say our final goodbyes.  Mom and I were typing his obituary on Thanksgiving Day and when we were finished I shouted out, "Dad, we wrote your obituary on Thanksgiving Day and that is NOT cool!!"  The next day, on my Mom's birthday, was the day we had to go and view his body for the first time.  It was just myself; Lindy; Mom; my brother, Rob, and my sister-in-law, Lisa.  I was dreading it but once I saw him and realized he looked nothing like himself it made it a little easier.  We were able to say, "That's not Dad.  He's already in heaven."  As we were standing there chatting I leaned over and said to him, "Dad, we wrote your obituary on Thanksgiving.  Now we had to come look at your body on Mom's birthday.  This is really NOT cool!!"  We turned it into a light moment.  I shared one of my famous stories about back when I was a "real hospice nurse" and I learned how long it takes for rigor mortis to set in.  (My Heartland friends will appreciate that because they've all heard that story).  My brother shared something that was a TMI and not fit for sharing on my blog or anywhere else.  We found a way to laugh.

We have been overwhelmed and humbled by the outpouring of support from friends and family both near and far.  We understand that people die every day--it's the circle of life--but his death has been the most significant that our little family has experienced.  I gave updates on Facebook on a near daily basis for the past several days.  Since a lot of my blog readers are also my Facebook friends I will try not to be repetitive, but this outpouring of love and concern is such a big part of what has transpired.

I mentioned on Facebook that my mother had no idea that his visitation would be so well-attended.  She in no way expected there to be an actual "line" to pay their respects.  We were in a large chapel that was about 80 feet from front to back.  I could see that the line went out the door but I heard that the line went around the corner and almost to the lobby.  There was a line for two hours.  I was up in the front by the casket and speaking to each person after they passed by my brother and before they got to my Mom.  I found that I did a lot of apologizing to people for the long line and a lot of consoling people, some who couldn't speak as they were so overcome by their shock and their love for my Dad.  I tried to tell as many people as I could how special they were to my Dad and how much he loved them.  Later on, I told Lindy that I felt I did more consoling of others than they did of me.  I didn't feel bad about this.  It was just an observation.  I was touched by how many people were going to deeply miss his presence in their lives.  Lindy said that you just can't take the "pastor's wife" out of me; and I guess you also can't take the hospice nurse out of me who is compassionate to others during their time of loss.

Well, I felt the need to write but now I feel the need to close for now.  In the days to come I'll be posting some other things.  I want to write about his funeral, how meaningful it was.  I want to explain why I had a smile on my face rather than tears during his burial service.  I plan to post what I wrote and spoke at his funeral.  I might post the entire video of his funeral, but this would be of interest to only a select few friends and family who had hoped to attend but had been unable.  I want to write about the "Goodbye Tour" that my Mom and I went on the day after his funeral.  I want to let you know how our family is doing.  Just know for now that we are doing well.  Sure, we are sad, but the joy of the Lord is our strength.  My Mom mentioned the other day that she, my brother and I had gotten through this whole experience without one disagreement or one cross word to one another.  Of course.  We would expect nothing less.  We loved my Dad and we love each other.  What do we have to disagree about?  We agree, we love, and we begin again....