Dad

Thirty-one years ago today my father died.
I was getting ready to go to Terre Haute, Indiana to preach
a trial sermon for a Pastor Nominating Committee from
Clinton, Indiana.
I had been a Baptist pastor for eight years,
but had decided that I didn't belong in that tradition.
I opted for the Presbyterian Church.

Then I got word that my dad had died.
He was 56.
Dad was a quiet man.
Friendly and sociable; diligent and dutiful;
faithful and honest.
But he didn't know how to reach out to me
with warmth.
I know he loved me deeply,
but he had trouble expressing his feelings
and relating to me on a personal level.
I wish he was still here so that
we could really get to know each other.

He served in the 24th Evacuation Hospital during WWII.
He was a foreman at Belknap Hardware Company.
He taught Sunday School.

I rescheduled the trial sermon until the Second
Sunday of Easter.
I remember preaching from John 20.
The Clinton church called me, and I served
there for almost nine years.


[photo: the manse we lived in for over 8 years]