My dad was a quiet man; not weak, just quiet. We had his funeral yesterday, June 28, 2012 at 1 p.m. He was 84.
He trusted Jesus at the funeral of his best friend, Gene Niles, about 40 years ago. I remember the day when he walked to the front during the public invitation, knelt down and became a believer.
It was one of the few times he spontaneously embraced me. The only person he persistently expressed affection to was mom and he did it a lot. I’m not complaining. We never doubted dad’s love.
One summer morning, when I was a teenager and dad was finishing the chores in the milk room, (the place we kept all the milking equipment). I heard dad sing. It was early yet and I was just waking up. From across the driveway I heard a god-awful baritone voice belting out, “Amazing Grace…”
He sang like no one could hear. But I did. Now that I think about it, he was probably singing to God.
I checked with family and friends; no one ever heard dad sing, ever. And, I never mentioned it to him.
He was a regular at church but during the singing his lips never moved. You might have thought he didn’t love Jesus or that he had no passion.
Truth is the quiet man from Maine – the man I call dad – was passionate about grace. Over the years, with typical tenacity, he studied grace. We talked about it, from time to time. He didn’t run around like a cheerleader; he lived it. Grace touched him and set him free.
The same passion he brought to his work he brought to Jesus. Even though he worked harder than anyone I ever knew, he always faithfully served. Grace changed him.
I’ll never forget the day I heard dad sing “Amazing Grace …”