An Elegy to My Daddy

My dad holding the cane he carved

He didn't have much education. He dropped out of school at age twelve in 1924 to work and help support his family. Yet, he was one of the smartest men I ever knew.

He once built a house from scratch, doing the wiring and plumbing himself. No mechanic ever got a dime from him because he always fixed whatever the problem was with his truck, lawn mower, or power saw.

Rarely did a day go by that he didn't read the newspaper and follow the evening news with Walter Cronkite.

Later, after Mama died, the Bible became his primary reading source. Every morning I’d find him at the kitchen table with his worn Bible open in front of him.

He didn’t have much money. Yet, he was exceedingly generous, consistently offering aid to those requiring it. Every summer he donated a share of his garden vegetables to feed the boys and girls at the Christian camp sponsored by his beloved church.  

He also shared his time—often as backbreaking labor. As he aged, he spent hours sitting with a bedridden friend to lessen the burden on the sick man’s family.

He didn’t use many words. But when he spoke, everyone listened. He once overheard me yell at my brother, “I hate you,” with all the rage a six-year-old could muster. Again, my brother had thrown my doll into a tree where I couldn’t get her. The only reprimand I received was, "Mighty strong words from a little girl like you." I learned to choose my words with care.

He was humble and wise. I’m sure he was perplexed when my sister and I asked him to drop us off for school functions down by the church. We preferred to walk the rest of the distance because we did not want to be seen arriving in his unpretentious pickup.

He was stoic about it. No lectures, rebukes, or anger. He appeared aware that someday, laughter would come from this. And he was right!

He was disciplined. He smoked for twenty years and then quit one day, never picking up another cigarette. Since he ended this habit, the year I was born, I like to pretend he made the decision for me. But it was actually because the price of cigarettes had risen—again.

After I had children of my own, he quit coffee in the same manner because it grew more expensive. Headaches from caffeine withdrawal posed no obstacle once he resolved to act. 

He followed medical advice to the letter. While in his 80s, I watched him liberally sprinkle bran over his garden vegetables at suppertime because his doctor told him to increase the amount of fiber in his diet. Yuck.

He lived a highly productive life for 94 years. He died not knowing the impact he made on me and my life, along with many others. And though he never told me so, I knew he loved me.

As he lay on his deathbed, my hand caressed his head. I had to say it: “I love you, Daddy.”

He turned his face toward me, and his pale blue eyes met mine. With love spilling from them, he said, “Thank you, honey. Thank you.”

True to form until the end.

I ran into his former preacher a few years after his death. This gentleman, who experienced much, greatly praised my father.

"I really believe," he said, "that Brother Jeff was the finest man I ever knew."

My strong and gentle daddy was the finest man I ever knew, too.

Happy Father’s Day! May you recall special remembrances of a special father this week.

Book Giveaway Winner

The winner of Strengthen Your Spiritual Core is Cheryl B.! Congratulations, Cheryl. I’ll get this in the mail to you this week.

New Giveaway

This devotional, by the talented Lori Hatcher, will compliment your daily time with Jesus. Sixty short devotions give us much to ponder and learn.

So Easy to Enter

Who in your life most influenced your Christian journey? Add a comment below or shoot me an email about the special person who left a spiritual legacy for you.

Or feel free to share a characteristic or memory about your dad.