(Read Parts 1 & 2 first)
Was Henry Ready to Meet His Maker?
When I was
an adolescent my dad attended church with my mother on a regular basis. I think
he was always an agnostic. Neither an atheist nor Christian, mind you. An agnostic.
I think he “dabbled” in his own brand of religiosity when he joined the Masonic
Lodge; at least for a season. However, after I involved myself in what he
regarded as my personal “brand” of spirituality, more like Salvation, (I was
made to understand that) my father rejected organized religion altogether.
His manner
of rejecting not me, but my persuasion, I suppose.
When I felt
“led” to attend a local evangelical college, daddy dragged me to his preacher
for a pep talk of sorts, and, subsequently, to the office of my pastor’s wife;
the Director of Nurses at a nearby nursing facility. The best that came of his
less than successful attempt at changing God’s mind was a compromise; which saw
me attending a local community college my freshman year. (Having done so, “all
bets were off,” and I transferred to the afore-mentioned Christian college).
Over the
years I attempted to impact my father with what, at that time, I judged to
represent the Truth, i.e., Jesus Christ. His life. His atoning death. His
burial and resurrection. His ascension into heaven. His future return for His
saints.
At the time
I believed that stuff. Five decades later
… I still do
Ultimately,
my father aged, his health declined, and he experienced a stroke. And during
his convalescence in the hospital my pastor, Elwood Kern, visited him on a
regular basis. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t part and parcel of his job
description, …but he did it anyway.
And
seemingly, without fail, when Pastor Kern finished his parting prayer with daddy,
my father would muse,
"Preacher, you're the best pray-er I ever knew!"
"Preacher, you're the best pray-er I ever knew!"
When I was
forced to reveal my plans to place him in a nursing facility, my dad reluctantly
agreed to go.
They say
“what goes around comes around.”
I admitted
him, (and, subsequently, my mother) to
…the same
nursing home which he and I visited when we consulted with my pastor’s wife,
i.e., the Director of Nurses for that facility; almost half a century earlier.
And strangely enough, that room in which that somewhat contentious conference
occurred, still bears the familiar old sign on the door.
… Director
of Nurses
And, ultimately, my evangelical minister exercised a significant influence on each of my parents, and was involved in their memorial services.
And, ultimately, my evangelical minister exercised a significant influence on each of my parents, and was involved in their memorial services.
(Can
anything be more ironic)?
Over the
course of the four years which transpired between my father’s and my mother’s
deaths, mama would often ask me,
“Do you
think your Daddy was ready to meet the Lord?”
And based on
a similar question I put to my pastor, and his subsequent reply, I was able to
provide some sort of responsible answer.
“Pastor, do
you think my dad was ready to meet Jesus?”
To which he
responded,
“Well, your
dad was a good man. He was an inquisitive man. And as he and I interacted, and
he affirmed my attempts to encourage and impact him… well, yes, we make
salvation too complicated. Your dad gave every evidence of having made his
peace with God.”
And as I
often “encouraged (my mother) with these words” it seemed to give her some
degree of peace.
“Yes, mama,
I sincerely believe daddy made his peace with the Master, and I have no doubt
whatever that you will see him again.”
The last
words my mother ever spoke to my father on his death bed were,
“Henry, you
were a baby when your mother was called up to heaven. Now you will have the
opportunity to meet her.”
(and)
“I’ll see
you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Was my
father ready to meet the Creator of the universe, the Giver of life, the Savior
of the world, the Lover of men’s souls; He who will judge the quick and the
dead?
Yes, I can
say without hesitation, or fear of contradiction
…He was
ready.
(Speaking of unanswered questions, I suppose 1 outta 3 ain't bad).
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 28. Copyright pending
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