Dad is With Jesus

Seven years ago, when Brian and I moved out to the family farm, we thought ahead to the days when we’d be taking care of my mom and dad, who lived next door to the house we bought.

At that time my dad was in his late eighties, healthy, sharp, and strong.

Life ends, though.

Death is really a curse, but it is unavoidable (except for the Rapture, Enoch, and Elijah), and we must all reckon with the possibility.

A few months back I asked my dad: “Would you rather be raptured, or just go to be with Jesus?”

“It makes no difference to me!” he cheerfully replied.

Dad was a faithful man. He died on Tuesday.

On Monday he ate well, enjoyed a beautiful CD of spiritual music, listened to Irwin Lutzer, and moved around with his walker.

He brushed his teeth, walked over to his bed and had another stroke. This was the end. He passed away the next morning.

I say this to let you know how quickly and how mercifully the Lord took my dad to be with Him, how thankful I am for my dear dad, his long life, his wonderful kindness and generosity.

God blessed him.

Dad was born in Princeton, Minnesota just before the great depression. Times were really hard. His oldest sister was 20, and about to get married when he was born. He was the youngest of six children.

An older brother served in WWII, but dad had health issues, so he went to college instead. He became a teacher. He taught speech and history at the University of Minnesota Agricultural School up north in Crookston. He did that for ten years, married my mom (an RN) and had three kids.

He never really liked teaching, so he left it to come back to the family concrete business. He started building silos all across the state at dairy farms. You know those towers next to barns with checkered board design around the top? Those were their silos. The family business, which he ran with another of his older brothers, went well for two decades.

Good things come to an end sooner or later, and the farm crisis in the 80’s shut that business down.

Dad was such a good business man that he navigated that change as best he could. It wasn’t easy. Things were hard. I was attending Wheaton College, which was expensive, and he asked me to consider the University of Minnesota, which was cheap. I transferred. Times were hard. Life decisions.

Dad loved good preaching. He lived his faith. He was generous, helpful, a good counselor, and a great friend. He had a few lifetime friendships with people, and many, many people became friends with him along the way.

He was sweet and calm, content and trusting, quiet and very smart.

Sometimes we are known by our children. He was Jud’s dad, Bart’s dad, my dad. Each of us has him to thank for his steady presence in our lives.

When Jud was killed in a terrible accident with his wife, Mary, my dad grieved quietly. His faith dictated his measured and appropriate response. Terrible things were accepted with God’s grace. When his son in law died while hiking on the Appalachian Trail he was a tremendous source of comfort to the widow left behind, me.

He reminded me that time would keep marching on. That life goes on.

And that is what I think as I experienced his passing this week. I imagined that he would feel like he was in heaven for about 10 minutes before the rest of us all show up with the rapture….it would seem like that to him as he takes in the glory and the love of those who met him there.

Time is a creation of God, and I’d like to think that it flows differently in different dimensions. Dad is up there waiting, rejoicing, whole, well, complete, and praising God. It will seem like a brief moment.

This is our hope.

This is Christ’s power in us.

God is good.

We do not grieve without hope.