My dad never exchanged truth to make anyone feel good. He had a graceful way of telling you that he cared through his harsh and horrifically true analogies. I remember in one particular instance, my dad was preaching a "revival" at a church in the Dallas area. The church was full and the majority were people who only came to big events. My dad came out of a meeting with the Pastor and some of the deacons ready to preach. Something was different about his "readiness". There was a fire in his eye and passion in his words as he challenged and charged the church with the truth of Revelation 2. He warned them of losing their Pastor because they had lost their first love (Jesus). People wept and flooded the alter that night. They embraced their Pastor after that day. My dad did not walk on egg shells that night. He smashed any proverbial ice in the room with a warning: "Jesus will come and close these doors. For He is the one who starts churches and He is the one who closes them!".
I would over hear my parents talk at night after my sister and I went to bed. I would creep to the edge of their room and sit and listen awhile. They would unpack the day, talk about their love for us and the love for the ministry. My dad would share stories about people in the church who would come and try to start fights or ask questions about the sermon on Sundays and he never seemed to bat an eye. It was part of his calling. His hopes and fears for the flock he was shepherding were of great joy to him and my mom. He saw that people were growing, asking questions, being offended by the truth of God's word, and that excited him.
I am writing this filled with 2 great hopes. One being that God chose me and called me into salvation and into the ministry. The second being that my parents loved me so much that they never did give up on me. They saw through all the pain and misery I brought as a child and teenager knowing that God would use me as His own one day. I don't think my dad ever expected me to follow in his footsteps, he just wanted to see me in heaven one day. I knew that he prayed for me. I would hear him late at night or early mornings in the living room laboring in prayer for my sister and me and the people of the church. At times you would hear him weeping over the lost of the city. My dad cared. He cared more than I ever could. He still cares. He cares for people.
I want to be like my dad. My heart is slowly changing into the heart of a Pastor. I want to Pastor people. Struggle with people. Show people folly and weep with them as they repent of sin. My dad's ministry might never be noticed by anyone "important". I don't think he cares about that. My dad didn't give his life to a call of being noticed. He gave his life to a murdered and resurrected savior. One that loved him so much that he laid down his life for him. This fills me with much hope that I may one day be like my dad. Giving my life to a purpose that might not get me noticed on earth, but that I may receive a crown in heaven.
I long for the day when we join the hosts of heaven and the myriads of angels and cry out to the lamb that was slain. As our eyes see the King, God almighty seated on His throne. I long for the day that He will call the faithful forward and they will lay down their crowns at His feet and worship Him. I know I will see my dad in that crowd. As Jesus takes my dad's face in his nail-scarred hands, looks deep into his eyes and says, "You did great. Welcome home.".
Christ crucified, Christ glorified,
- rg
