Perhaps today, God would call him and all followers of Jesus Christ to meet up there in the air and go to glory together. Well, he got to go ahead of us and now he is joyful evermore.
After Dad left I was trying to recall some of the good memories; memories I could store in a memory chest to pluck out and reminisce over from time to time. I surprised myself by discovering quite a few.
One of the earliest memories was from when I must have still been a preschooler and we lived in New Jersey, USA. Dad still had secular work then. Each morning as Dad would back out of the driveway and motor down the road and around the corner out of sight, Mom would go to the window with the view of that 'last sight'; stand there and wave "good-bye". Naturally, those of us kiddos not yet in school gathered with her and became the daily wave-brigade.
That faithful daily wave has been imprinted upon my mind to this day. A last wave and friendly grinning face for the breadwinner of the family to take with him around the corner and hold on to throughout the work day.
I have tried to perpetuated that for my husband since we were married some twenty-nine years ago. Even son number one gets that treatment now. "Hie ho, hie ho, it's off to work they go."
Since before I was born, my parents would go up to Canada during summer vacation, hauling along their however many number of children they had at the time. They'd go to the province of Nova Scotia which seemed to be the other side of the world from New Jersey.
The "vacation" was spent assisting in a children's evangelistic ministry known as The Gospel Tent. Marvelous times were spent there and it was where Dad was the most happiest.
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| Gospel Tent Sambro |
Going to the Gospel Tent each summer for two months flat out entailed morning, noon and night: morning for Children's Bible Hour; afternoon for teenage talks, and the evenings for adult gospel meetings.
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| Rolling Tent Top for Storage |
Oh and we got to meet so many people and make friends with a glorious number of them.
After every breakfast and evening meal the 'workers' would have a Bible reading. Dad's children were well "baptized by immersion" in God's Word.
This was all a wonderful novelty during childhood years and I'm choosing to see the positive side and the fun, I must admit, we all had. (The teen years were not so accepting of all this but like I said, I'm trying to hold on to the positive notes. This especially since my Dad did thrive on this work for his Heavenly Father.)
The move to the wee village of Sambro presented new challenges of living that a more 'townified' Tom had to learn. One such had to do with our well water. In summer it could dry up and in winter the water could freeze up.
The summer solution was, of course, to ration and to conserve. Brushing our teeth, "Be sure to shut off the tap while you brush". "Only flush the toilet after a few uses unless it is "big business" Oh and, yes, Mom would use the rinse water from clothes washing to water the garden--if they had one. (Gospel Tent work didn't allow for much gardening.) Talk about reuse and recycle! Ha!
The winter solution Dad learned from a gruff yet kind and helpful local fellow who showed Dad how to hook up a light to lower into the well and heat the interior enough to keep the water from freezing.
No doubt there were lots more adjustments of which children were unaware: the switch from secular work to full-time ministry and the financial bit with six children to feed; the 'culture shock' of being so far from family and friends to a village that wasn't always so accommodating; the 'down-sizing' of his vocabulary, having to use simpler words among other new learning curves.
The ice-skating rink Dad made each winter was a hit for us and neighbor children. It wasn't big but it was thrilling enough. There was a spring around the back of the house that trickled and meandered around the side of the property and out to the ditch in front. Dad would dam up the side area and viola! Our mini skating rink! What jolly fun he gave us all!
There were times when Mom wasn't well or she had to nurse someone in the village or take one or the other of us into town which was about a half hour to forty minute drive away, to the doctor or emergency room whilst Dad held the fort at home.
He'd have to do the cooking. He'd often commandeer my sister's help at such times but I remember one time when he made "refrigerator clean-out soup". Now that was an admixture to report! Cut off the rotten parts of veggies and throw the rest into the soup pot. I recall being rather indignant about the so-called 'good' part of the tomatoes. Mom sure heard about it when she got home.
Funny thing is, I have done similar in my homemaking career. "Waste not, want not" was an adage heard on more than one occasion throughout childhood.
Once upon a time my two older sisters were involved in a biology experiment in high school. The students injected some sort of hormones into the chicks. When experimentation was complete and school holidays came along, what was to be done with the dear wee things?
"Dad, can we bring a chick or two home?"
Dad hems and haws but says, "Yes."
Well, what do you know, getting out of the school bus came a grinning sister bearing a box of, not one or two, but about a dozen cheeping chicks! Uh-oh.
"Into the basement go those chicks." commanded dismayed Mom. Dad kind of kept out of the way, likely chuckling to himself.
All but two chicks survived and grew into weird roosters. Blame it on the hormone injections. It was rather fatal to name them, but they were christened, "Peppy and Darby". One had clubbed feet and the other crowed as if he had perpetual laryngitis. They became free-range roosters....outside!
They were pretty good alarm clocks too. If we overslept it was a blessing on a weekday but if on a weekend, a nuisance. They'd go round the front of the house to the big heavy glass front door and peck on it and crow till they got a response and their breakfast. "Go scratch for your own breakfast, you roosters!"Eventually Peppy and Darby were no longer cute and had become real mean and nasty. One of my brothers became the champion who dared to go out and feed them. He did not go out unarmed. He'd gear up with long sleeved shirts and/or coats, long pants and gumboots with offerings of cooked liver or some other such rooster treats.
Doomsday for the nasties was inevitable but who would do the job? Dear Dad. He got out his slaughtering instruments to be as quick and painless and as easy as possible for his sake as well as for the roosters.
And wouldn't ya know it, my brothers called in the neighbor boys to provide audience. This was not what Dad was in favor of but, what to do...?
There was a first time for everything and finally the headless roosters were flopping about the back yard fascinating the neighbor lads as well as Dad's own sons. One of those neighbor boys remarked, "Mr. Roach, I didn't think you could do that!"
Mr. Roach droll-fully replied, "Neither did I!"
Those fowls got de-feathered somehow or another and packed away in the freezer for a long time. The poor things.
Having so many children and an uncertain monthly income...living "on faith" often entailed hand-me-down clothes. There was the time my older sister's dress got handed down to me and that unbeknownst to Dad.
One day, having donned that dress and feeling somewhat mischievous, I decided to play with the light switch. On...Off...On...Off...On...Off...On...
Dad's voice from the living room came on, "Susan, stop playing with the light switch!"
Pause. Hesitate. On...Off...On...Off, I continued.
Then that voice again, more insistent, "Susan, I said, stop playing with the light switch!"
Pause. Hesitate. On...Off...On...Off...On...
The sound of Dad getting up off his living room chair and striding towards the culprit began to panic my heart, yet there was a trump card as Dad rounded the doorway to the hallway and saw, me, not Susan. I hastily and cheekily declared, "I'm not Susan!"
Dad thought that was funny, I could tell, but he tried not to laugh his initial annoyance and parental displeasure away. Very fortunately for me, Dad's mercy and sense of humor kicked in and I got off scott free.
About Grade 4 or 5, I, as yet, did not know my timetables. The teacher had the nerve to tell my parents. Oh, was I ever mad at her!! Then I was angry with Dad for making me sit down nightly and write out a 'table' a night til I knew them and could recite them perfectly.
I still remember how calm, yet resolved Dad was in getting me to do all that. He didn't cajole or scold or sweet talk. He just pragmatically got out the paper and pencil and arranged them on the table giving me the timetable-du-jour, asking me to sit, looking at me with compassion, yet, "You do need to do this" in his eyes despite the anger in mine. That got that done.
On Sunday afternoons, there was Sunday School in our house for the village children and on Friday nights, it was for teen talks, also in our living room. After Sunday lunch and Friday supper, we'd help Dad set-up the chairs for the in-coming influx of children. Dad would go out and round them up and they'd all troop in and arrange themselves on the chairs.
I can remember Dad's big thermometer he made as an attendance chart. It was more of a collective attendance, and the number of children became the number of degrees in which the temperature increment rose. After a certain degree was reached, they got prizes or a big feed of food. Dad's kids got the benefit thereof too.
Dad's 'Tom Talks' were often illustrated with drawings and charts. I vividly recall the plagues in Egypt. Those made me shudder and squirm thinking of frogs everywhere; even hopping into your food on the table or into your bed when trying to sleep. You get the picture. Eeek! I think Dad must have really enjoyed preparing all that and giving the many talks.
Dad's favorite Bible story was of Mephibosheth (2 Samuel 9). King David's mercy and keeping of a promise to his best friend Jonathan impressed him. Dad often taught/preached on this story but alas I can't remember the lessons. I can think of my own but I don't want to put words in Dad's mouth. I just recall he liked this story and his liking became my liking.
An offshoot of the Gospel Tent work was the Chapter-A-Day (CAD) papers. These were a daily devotional with monthly questions attached that were sent out to whomever wished to receive it throughout the year between one summer and the next until the Gospel Tent time rolled round once again.
Dad eventually sent out more than one hundred CAD's monthly to various ones around Nova Scotia, other parts of Canada, the USA and to various others who had heard about CAD. Some even got mailed as far away as Ghana and Nigeria in Africa. Don't ask me how they heard of CAD but send them Dad did.
Now this was a major process and Dad enlisted his onsite right-hand assistants, his children. We got to write mailing addresses, stamp on return addresses, and stick on the stamps for all those numerous envelopes. We also got to fold those CAD papers and stuff them into said envelopes. We were never allowed to read peoples' answers to the questions or Dad's comments in red to them. Those Dad kept in good confidence, paper after paper, year after year for years and years.
Faithfulness. Keeping a secret (so to speak); good character to emulate.
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| Sambro, Nova Scotia |
On one such occasion, while Dad was inside the market getting his particular 'catch-of-the-day', someone was busy outside putting a fish under one of the seats inside our car. Quite the fishy prank. It wasn't noticed right away but after a couple of days the smell became ranker and ranker. Following his nose, Dad discovered the 'gift'. He removed the fish and aired the car. I don't know as he did anything else about it; just something to endure for the Lord's sake. Besides, it was kind of funny.
We heard later the chap who did the deed was boasting and chuckling about it. The boss got wind of it, didn't like the smell, and fired the guy from his fish market job.
Dad was in the kitchen again. Uh-oh! He thought it a fine 'souvenir' of his Newfoundland (NFLD) forays to prepare a dish of fish and brewis for our palates.
You see Dad would go preach for two weeks or so at a time in NFLD and had very interesting experiences there; fish and brewis dinners was one of them. He wished to share the joy. None of us were too keen but we were taught to eat what was set before us asking no questions nor raising too many complaints; after all, we had given thanks to God for our food. I think that was the first and last time Dad was allowed to make such gourmet vittles for us. Thanks, Mom!
The post breakfast and supper Bible reading times were a staple happening at our house. Dad saw to that. Old Testament fare at one meal and New Testament at the other. We could not escape; rain or shine, visitors or none. We did not always appreciate that but looking back, I see we got quite the 'seminary-like' training in God's Word; reading and memorizing and becoming well-versed children.
Speaking of Bible verses, one of Dad's friends, Mr. Bilisoly, painted huge signs with verses on them. Dad then hammered them into the ground in our front yard in the area that was close to the road. Everyone who had to go to and fro town to village had to pass by that way getting a double whammy going and coming.
Now, of all things, there came across the street from us, a nightclub that did a thriving business especially on Saturday nights. I guess some of the patrons of that place didn't appreciate the verses. Often come morning we'd see that the sign of verses had been toppled over. Out Dad trotted and stood it back up.
Sometimes when we went away travelling, the sign would get knocked down in our absence. But there was a friend-in-need that would kind of look out for us; unbeknownst to us at first. Eventually he told Dad that when we were away, the sign had gotten knocked down and he had put it back up for us.
The ones who had knocked down the sign must have found it kind of spooky. They knew we were not around, yet that sign had popped back up into place. Phenomenal!
Another time when there must have been good weather, some young chaps drove by our house and seeing Dad out and about the yard, shouted out the open car window, the verse, 1 John 1:7...
"The blood of Jesus, God's son cleans us from all sin"
laughing as they drove slowly by. Dad smiles. These guys have memorized a Bible verse. Dad smiles some more and prays the Holy Spirit convicts their souls unto salvation.
Dad liked to do different projects, learning what he could and then drawing conclusions and connections and lessons to things spiritual. One of those projects was bee-keeping. He read up on different types of bees and their care and what equipment was good for tending them and then he sent away for his chosen bee species and paraphernalia. That was tamer than roosters, believe me!
The bees lasted a year or two and we got a smidgen of honey and many 'bee' lessons. I remember them bee-ing very interesting; alas! I must not have listened well as I can't recall a single one of them. I do regret that now.
Dad was generous. He let me have many postage stamps back when I wrote many snail mail letters. He liked to write letters too so understood. Of course once I started working I could pay for the stamps and did; taking the stamps from his "stamp stocks" and leaving the amount in the stamp box. That was easy but he was the one to go to the post office and wait in line to purchase stamps. Never really thanked him for that. The things children, even grown ones, take for granted....
Then there was the time we went spelunking in the woods behind our house one fine fall or maybe it was a sunny spring. Not sure which but it was still chilly in the air and damp afoot. Off we went with Dad, us kids and a missionary to Bolivia who was visiting, a Mr. Thonney.
We marched about the woods and must have been going in circles until it wasn't fun anymore and Dad kinda had to admit, "Uh-oh, we're lost". I remember being dead on my frozen feet with thoughts of bears and wildcats finding us in the night and of all those village stories of those who had also been lost and not found. We wanted to stop and rest but wise Mr. Thonney wouldn't give us much more than five minute reposes and up we must get and move on.
It was he who eventually got us out about a mile up the road from our house; so we weren't all that terribly lost. Never thought a paved road looked so good before. Dad never took us bushwhacking ever again which was kinda disappointing but I understand.
Dad must have had nerves of steel. He taught most, if not all, of his six offspring how to drive; at least as far as I know. Ha. No wonder he had that receding hairline! I really don't remember much about it except the advice to make the driving as smooth as possible and not to jerk the car and give any passengers whiplash. Have pride in your driving knowing it was well-executed: the starts, the stops, the driving and the parking with precision.
The big city, "in town", was Halifax, Nova Scotia. It was a port city where huge container ships from around the world would moor, unload and, I suppose, reload. Dad would go down to those vessels and try to connect with the seamen giving them gospel tracts in their respective languages.
Dad loved to memorize at least one verse in different languages, usually John 3:16. This he would quote to the men. He especially liked it if a Russian crew came in and he'd point towards heaven and say, "Bog" (God). They'd shout back from the deck, "Nyet, Bog!" (No God!) and then Dad would quote John 3:16 to them in Russian. That would make Dad's day. I hope and pray that all those who's lives he touched, even in seemingly infinitesimal ways, will show the fruit of those labors for the Lord in Heaven.
Sometimes Dad would be invited aboard those ships. Now Dad disliked coffee very much. But he'd often be hospitably served an admixture of heavy on sugar & then some milk and coffee. Oh the things we sometimes endure for Christ. Dad would regale us with his adventures at our dinner table.
Once or twice our whole family was invited for a meal aboard. That was pretty exciting for us kids; at least, I thought so. Mom was so nervous though that one of us might fall overboard.
There were times when Dad brought some of those sailors home for meals. That was fun, especially when they were used to chopsticks and had to fumble instead, with a fork. I remember being highly amused. Yes, it likely wasn't very kind or polite of me but this was all very thrilling for a young-ish child.
The one time Dad brought a couple of Korean seamen home and he happened to produce a set of chopsticks for each of the men. Wouldn't you know it, Mom had made a fruit salad and had put some miniature marshmallows in the toss. Those little babies became mighty slippery in the fruit juice. Do you think those chopsticks could pluck a marshmallow out of the fruit dish?! And here we are not to be rude and laugh. But I just couldn't help it. In the end the man gave up, put his chopsticks down, grabbed a fork exclaiming in broken English, "Fork is better!" So it all ended merrily as they thought it amusing too.
Those two men were Oh and Li. They would often come with us to meeting/church. Their ship was in port for repairs for quite a length of time so they had some freedom to come and go. There was one gospel song we used to sing that had a line, "Only a sinner, saved by grace" but I remember my siblings and I got a kick out of changing the "only" to "Oh and Li". Told you we were naughty; sometimes!
Dad having grown up in Hawaii, was used to a multi-cultural mix of peoples so I guess he must have felt at home among all the wealth of cultures coming into the docks. It sure introduced his children to a great cross-section of peoples and added to our geography knowledge of the world when Dad would point out where Korea, Russia, the Solomon Islands or some other foreign lands were located. It's a wonder more of his children didn't marry outside of our own people group!
Throughout our growing up years Dad often weaved the verse from 2 Corinthians 6:14
"Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers"
into his bits of wisdom.
He coupled that with the saying,
"If you never date an unbeliever, you'll never marry an unbeliever."
Of course, I never liked hearing that wisdom and advice. Surprisingly I listened to it. Many's the time I had the battle between my mind and my heart especially when the non-Christian guys were so nice and I really liked them. It was torture in the mind but the Lord did bless the sacrifice and obedience to His Word and the wisdom passed down from Dad.
I grew up, got married to a believer and moved to the other side of the world having married a gentleman not of my own people group. Dad and Mom came to visit. Dad had a job to do and that was to varnish our new dining room table. He varnished that table with about three coats of varnish. That stood the test of time's wear and tear and now, only after almost 28 years, is that varnish beginning to chip off. When a job is worth doing, it's worth doing well. Dad got at it, got it done and done well. I appreciate that but again I believe I took that for granted.
Eventually, Dad was struck with Alzheimer's Disease. He lost much of his memory and his inhibitions and was not all that easy to handle. My sister and Mom took the huge brunt of all that and his consequential behavior. I only arrived into the middle of this fray at the tail end; the last four months of Dad's life on Earth.
And now the tears come. It was shocking. It had been almost six years since seeing Dad last. Dad didn't know who I was, although his nickname for me sort of rang a bell. He was suspicious of me, who was this person who acted like she was someone 'close' to him?!
One day he did seem to know that the nickname was a nickname and asked, "Is that your real name?" That was amazing. Many weeks into those last four months he did call me "Eunice". Wow, but the fog did descend again.
There were times when my sister and I would visit Dad in his assisted living residence and we'd sing some of the songs and hymns we grew up singing and that had been dear to Dad's heart. Some rang bells with his memory and he'd sing along remembering some words and even, surprisingly for him who couldn't usually carry a tune in a bucket, remembered the tunes and he'd garble along with us.
One of the last songs he was able to sing along with us and which we eventually sang at Dad's funeral, was, Oh Haste Away My Brethren Dear with the chorus, that goes like this:
"Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, Oh, that will be joyful to meet to part not more. To meet to part no more on Canaan's happy shore, and then sing hallelujah with the saints that have gone before."
That was pretty special for us. It was rather significant for Dad in that he was always waiting to go to be with the Lord.
While Dad was still a bit more mobile with his walker, he'd collect Bibles from around and about the facility he lived in, bring them to his room and stack them on the table beside his chair. It was rather funny to us. He said he was getting ready for a meeting and needed to get the Bibles in. That made sense.
When we were down to Dad's last days when he could no longer get out of bed and he was coughing and coughing non-stop and was so very, very tired, I was holding his hand one day and just sitting there. At one point I let go of his hand. But somewhere in the depths of the exhaustion and mental fog, he wanted connection and his hand went searching for mine. I felt a surge of pleasure in that. That he wanted connection and I was privileged that day to be there in that brief nugget of time.
I thank the Lord for those last days of time with Dad.
Dad got his sweet release. The elder from my sister's assembly/church read us Psalm 116:16-18, esp vs 16 (ESV) after Dad was gone.
"O Lord, I am your servant...You have loosed my bonds."
This so encapsulates Dad's experience. He was so trapped by Alzheimer's Disease in such fog and confusion of mind and enfeebling of body it was anguish to observe him. But oh the joyful release to be loosed from the bonds of his earthly corruptible body!
Freedom.
What must it be to dwell above with Christ! So happy for him now.
"Good-bye, Dad...til we meet again in joyful lucidity with incorruptible bodies and minds!"
I look forward to meeting Dad again in that "Canaan-land" to come.
Perhaps today!
The End, No!
The New Beginning...
~ERC April 2018~
Thanks for writing this up! It was a nice read and interesting to hear all those stories about Grandpa and how you grew up!
ReplyDeletePaula
Thanks and you are welcome, Paula. It's nice to discover interesting tidbits about relatives we don't always know well and to have them documented even in small ways such as this.
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