Today is Father’s Day, and I’m thinking of my dad as a minister of thirty years. He knew how to take a Bible passage and make it understandable to all of his congregations. Once a congregation understood how caring and knowledgeable my dad was, the membership of his congregations always grew. Along with my mother, the duo became a powerhouse of Christian love and grace. My brother and I were always a part of their successful ministerial career. My dad’s ability to move congregations to the messages of the Bible still resonates with me as I seek to be a Christian in my daily activities and interactions with people.
However, my mother died when I was twelve years old; my dad lost his anchor. In my earlier years, he was a loving father, and he cherished his family time. In my teenage years, he withdrew from both my brother and I. We were still a family, but the love that keeps a family close was put on the back burner. My dad spent more and more time away from home for church responsibilities and less time with us as a family.
Although my dad was available for school events and short vacations, he seemed to hide behind his church responsibilities. I took care of the parsonage, and my brother took care of the outside things. The “sweet times”, the memories, that bind families together became less and less. My brother and I went off to college and then good careers, but I often wonder what we would have become if my mother had lived into our teen years. She was the “loving glue” that made our family a wonderful place to be a part of and the strength behind my dad’s career.
Having said these things, I loved my father, probably more than most teenagers and for different reasons. I know he loved me, and he did try to be at school events that really mattered to me. He fully supported my musical developments. He did try to dis-connect from his responsibilities when he was on vacation, and we did more fun things when he could just relax.
As a teenager, I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me date; now, I see he was only trying to protect me. Instead of admitting to me that he really didn’t like dealing with “female things,” he asked one of his sisters to take care of those things. Now, I realize those “things” were too delicate for him and embarrassed him. What really bothered me was that he tried to control the friends I had and the one woman, my former doctor’s wife, who I could talk to about everything. When I got married, he realized I needed my friends and in particular, my dear mentor. I needed a mother.
After all these years, I have forgiven those little things and have chosen to remember the dad I had as a little girl. I remember his smile, love, and tender care. I have tired to emulate the love of my parents in my own relationships. I remember the man who came home, put his coat, hat, and briefcase in his office, and immediately sought me out for a hug and a kiss. I cherish my memories of Christmas mornings when he would get down on the floor and play with my brother and I. I remember that he would take a comb to my long hair after I was playing outside all day and that I would climb up into his lap to have a story read to me. I remember our walks on the beach during family vacations and how we could always cover my dad up on the beach with plenty of sand. I remember how my dad could weave a story about the Bible and completely enthrall his congregations. Because of him, I became the Christian I am today.
Sadly, I regret not being by his side when he passed away. I wish I could have told him the things of my heart. He died of a massive heart attack around 3:00 A.M. in the morning in his apartment, with no one to hold his hand. I can only say that he is with God and believe that God approved of His Word being spoken by him. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” (James 1: 17) My dad was a gift from God and a person that I will always cherish. I love you dad; rest in the arms of God and know that you are missed.
Anna Hartt
