Spending time with Dad
So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I would approach my next “sermon” posting. I thought for a time about simply opening my Bible, and posting on the first verse I came to. I considered posting the lyrics to my favorite hymn, and I went ahead and did that, but I still feel drawn to write more. I thought it would be nice to introduce you all to my Dad.
First, some background information. The man I call my Dad was not my biological father, he was in fact my maternal grandmother’s second husband. You’ll notice I refer to him in the past tense, that’s because he passed away in 1998. I first met him in 1980, when I was six, at the time he was Grandpa Wilkinson. It was in 1987 that he became Dad. My mother remarried, and she and my new step father apparently needed time to establish themselves without the burden of two teenagers, so we moved in with Gram and Dad, and took his last name.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dad lately, largely due to the fact that one of my summer time hobbies this year has been mowing the lawn at church. In our small town of West Hartford, Vermont, Dad and I spent the first three of my teenage years cutting the grass at the cemetery, church, and library. The work never seemed like a chore (or at least I don’t remember it as such), it was a time when I was able to win the admiration of a man I held in the highest esteem…I was often rewarded with a can of Pepsi, and a sandwich from the local general store, but more than that…I often made Dad proud.
So what was it about Dad that’s made him such a powerful force in my life even eleven years after his death? So many things. I’ll start with who Dad was to the rest of the world. As I said, our town was small…and I mean small, about 500 residents when I lived there, perhaps as much as a thousand if we counted all the side roads and people who lived on the extreme outskirts, but the bulk of “downtown” could not have comprised of more than 500. Dad had lived in West Hartford his entire life, he lived in the house we shared from the time he was four, until his death at fifty-four, he had been born just a couple miles away.
The house was a symbol of Dad himself, it was incredibly modest. The living space consisted of four rooms on the first floor and two on the second. The foot print of the house measured eighteen by twenty-two feet, counting the wood shed. We were a little cramped sometimes, but it must have been so much worse when Dad was growing up…he had three sisters, I had only the one. Obviously Dad and his family were not known for great wealth.
Dad was a massive man, not real tall, but years of hard work had left him with strong arms, by the time we moved in, years of marriage had left him with a large belly as well, but that never slowed him down. He worked for several years at a grocery warehouse, loading trucks…the walk was ten miles each way, and to my knowledge he never missed a day of work. Everyone in town knew who he was, and always knew who to ask for help when it came time to bring in the hay, or firewood for the season. He was known as a strong, honest, good hearted man, one who took care of his parents in their old age, and then made regular weekly payments to the funeral home when they died. There was not a person who knew Dad that did not respect him.
So that brings us to who Dad was to me. Dad was very much my savior. Those who have heard or read the stories of my childhood know that life with my mother was, in a word, brutal. Dad took me in, gave me a last name I could carry with pride…he loved me, when at times it seemed the rest of the world could do without me. He taught me the joy and pain of a hard days work. He helped me to take humble pride in what I had done. He taught me to be happy with who I was, with what I had. He lived the life described in a song by Cheryl Crow… “it’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got”.
In many ways Dad was my Jesus in the flesh…his ministry in my life lasted only three years, but his influence lasted forever. No matter how far away I had moved, both physically and in the way of life I lived in my late teens and early twenties…he still had words of love and pride for me the last time I spoke with him…he never gave up on me. It was not until later in life, when I began my own family that I really began to realize how much he really meant to me, and how much he did for me, my relation with Jesus has not been much different. Yeah, I know how much of a stretch it is for me to compare any living person to Jesus, and Dad himself would never have allowed it, but to me…they don’t make ‘em much closer.
Like I say, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dad lately. Mostly when I’m mowing the lawn, but often times it’s also when I’m unwinding on the porch before turning in at the end of the night. I think of him when I see my children…I just know he’d be proud. Every now and then I’ll hear a song like “Daddy’s Hands” (perhaps by Loretta Lynn), and it can bring me to tears. At almost every major turn in my family’s life I feel him near, and I sometimes have to wipe a tear away.
So that’s my “sermon”, no lesson to be learned, no scripture to read and analyze, just you and I…spending some time with Dad. If you are moved to do so, perhaps you can think of someone in your life who brings you closer to the spirit…if that person is still living, take time to say thanks, if they’ve passed…do it anyway.
Full Version: Spending time with Dad
QUOTE (William Wilkinson @ Aug 2 2009, 03:52 PM) 
Spending time with Dad
So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I would approach my next “sermon” posting. I thought for a time about simply opening my Bible, and posting on the first verse I came to. I considered posting the lyrics to my favorite hymn, and I went ahead and did that, but I still feel drawn to write more. I thought it would be nice to introduce you all to my Dad.
First, some background information. The man I call my Dad was not my biological father, he was in fact my maternal grandmother’s second husband. You’ll notice I refer to him in the past tense, that’s because he passed away in 1998. I first met him in 1980, when I was six, at the time he was Grandpa Wilkinson. It was in 1987 that he became Dad. My mother remarried, and she and my new step father apparently needed time to establish themselves without the burden of two teenagers, so we moved in with Gram and Dad, and took his last name.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dad lately, largely due to the fact that one of my summer time hobbies this year has been mowing the lawn at church. In our small town of West Hartford, Vermont, Dad and I spent the first three of my teenage years cutting the grass at the cemetery, church, and library. The work never seemed like a chore (or at least I don’t remember it as such), it was a time when I was able to win the admiration of a man I held in the highest esteem…I was often rewarded with a can of Pepsi, and a sandwich from the local general store, but more than that…I often made Dad proud.
So what was it about Dad that’s made him such a powerful force in my life even eleven years after his death? So many things. I’ll start with who Dad was to the rest of the world. As I said, our town was small…and I mean small, about 500 residents when I lived there, perhaps as much as a thousand if we counted all the side roads and people who lived on the extreme outskirts, but the bulk of “downtown” could not have comprised of more than 500. Dad had lived in West Hartford his entire life, he lived in the house we shared from the time he was four, until his death at fifty-four, he had been born just a couple miles away.
The house was a symbol of Dad himself, it was incredibly modest. The living space consisted of four rooms on the first floor and two on the second. The foot print of the house measured eighteen by twenty-two feet, counting the wood shed. We were a little cramped sometimes, but it must have been so much worse when Dad was growing up…he had three sisters, I had only the one. Obviously Dad and his family were not known for great wealth.
Dad was a massive man, not real tall, but years of hard work had left him with strong arms, by the time we moved in, years of marriage had left him with a large belly as well, but that never slowed him down. He worked for several years at a grocery warehouse, loading trucks…the walk was ten miles each way, and to my knowledge he never missed a day of work. Everyone in town knew who he was, and always knew who to ask for help when it came time to bring in the hay, or firewood for the season. He was known as a strong, honest, good hearted man, one who took care of his parents in their old age, and then made regular weekly payments to the funeral home when they died. There was not a person who knew Dad that did not respect him.
So that brings us to who Dad was to me. Dad was very much my savior. Those who have heard or read the stories of my childhood know that life with my mother was, in a word, brutal. Dad took me in, gave me a last name I could carry with pride…he loved me, when at times it seemed the rest of the world could do without me. He taught me the joy and pain of a hard days work. He helped me to take humble pride in what I had done. He taught me to be happy with who I was, with what I had. He lived the life described in a song by Cheryl Crow… “it’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got”.
In many ways Dad was my Jesus in the flesh…his ministry in my life lasted only three years, but his influence lasted forever. No matter how far away I had moved, both physically and in the way of life I lived in my late teens and early twenties…he still had words of love and pride for me the last time I spoke with him…he never gave up on me. It was not until later in life, when I began my own family that I really began to realize how much he really meant to me, and how much he did for me, my relation with Jesus has not been much different. Yeah, I know how much of a stretch it is for me to compare any living person to Jesus, and Dad himself would never have allowed it, but to me…they don’t make ‘em much closer.
Like I say, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dad lately. Mostly when I’m mowing the lawn, but often times it’s also when I’m unwinding on the porch before turning in at the end of the night. I think of him when I see my children…I just know he’d be proud. Every now and then I’ll hear a song like “Daddy’s Hands” (perhaps by Loretta Lynn), and it can bring me to tears. At almost every major turn in my family’s life I feel him near, and I sometimes have to wipe a tear away.
So that’s my “sermon”, no lesson to be learned, no scripture to read and analyze, just you and I…spending some time with Dad. If you are moved to do so, perhaps you can think of someone in your life who brings you closer to the spirit…if that person is still living, take time to say thanks, if they’ve passed…do it anyway.
So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I would approach my next “sermon” posting. I thought for a time about simply opening my Bible, and posting on the first verse I came to. I considered posting the lyrics to my favorite hymn, and I went ahead and did that, but I still feel drawn to write more. I thought it would be nice to introduce you all to my Dad.
First, some background information. The man I call my Dad was not my biological father, he was in fact my maternal grandmother’s second husband. You’ll notice I refer to him in the past tense, that’s because he passed away in 1998. I first met him in 1980, when I was six, at the time he was Grandpa Wilkinson. It was in 1987 that he became Dad. My mother remarried, and she and my new step father apparently needed time to establish themselves without the burden of two teenagers, so we moved in with Gram and Dad, and took his last name.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dad lately, largely due to the fact that one of my summer time hobbies this year has been mowing the lawn at church. In our small town of West Hartford, Vermont, Dad and I spent the first three of my teenage years cutting the grass at the cemetery, church, and library. The work never seemed like a chore (or at least I don’t remember it as such), it was a time when I was able to win the admiration of a man I held in the highest esteem…I was often rewarded with a can of Pepsi, and a sandwich from the local general store, but more than that…I often made Dad proud.
So what was it about Dad that’s made him such a powerful force in my life even eleven years after his death? So many things. I’ll start with who Dad was to the rest of the world. As I said, our town was small…and I mean small, about 500 residents when I lived there, perhaps as much as a thousand if we counted all the side roads and people who lived on the extreme outskirts, but the bulk of “downtown” could not have comprised of more than 500. Dad had lived in West Hartford his entire life, he lived in the house we shared from the time he was four, until his death at fifty-four, he had been born just a couple miles away.
The house was a symbol of Dad himself, it was incredibly modest. The living space consisted of four rooms on the first floor and two on the second. The foot print of the house measured eighteen by twenty-two feet, counting the wood shed. We were a little cramped sometimes, but it must have been so much worse when Dad was growing up…he had three sisters, I had only the one. Obviously Dad and his family were not known for great wealth.
Dad was a massive man, not real tall, but years of hard work had left him with strong arms, by the time we moved in, years of marriage had left him with a large belly as well, but that never slowed him down. He worked for several years at a grocery warehouse, loading trucks…the walk was ten miles each way, and to my knowledge he never missed a day of work. Everyone in town knew who he was, and always knew who to ask for help when it came time to bring in the hay, or firewood for the season. He was known as a strong, honest, good hearted man, one who took care of his parents in their old age, and then made regular weekly payments to the funeral home when they died. There was not a person who knew Dad that did not respect him.
So that brings us to who Dad was to me. Dad was very much my savior. Those who have heard or read the stories of my childhood know that life with my mother was, in a word, brutal. Dad took me in, gave me a last name I could carry with pride…he loved me, when at times it seemed the rest of the world could do without me. He taught me the joy and pain of a hard days work. He helped me to take humble pride in what I had done. He taught me to be happy with who I was, with what I had. He lived the life described in a song by Cheryl Crow… “it’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got”.
In many ways Dad was my Jesus in the flesh…his ministry in my life lasted only three years, but his influence lasted forever. No matter how far away I had moved, both physically and in the way of life I lived in my late teens and early twenties…he still had words of love and pride for me the last time I spoke with him…he never gave up on me. It was not until later in life, when I began my own family that I really began to realize how much he really meant to me, and how much he did for me, my relation with Jesus has not been much different. Yeah, I know how much of a stretch it is for me to compare any living person to Jesus, and Dad himself would never have allowed it, but to me…they don’t make ‘em much closer.
Like I say, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dad lately. Mostly when I’m mowing the lawn, but often times it’s also when I’m unwinding on the porch before turning in at the end of the night. I think of him when I see my children…I just know he’d be proud. Every now and then I’ll hear a song like “Daddy’s Hands” (perhaps by Loretta Lynn), and it can bring me to tears. At almost every major turn in my family’s life I feel him near, and I sometimes have to wipe a tear away.
So that’s my “sermon”, no lesson to be learned, no scripture to read and analyze, just you and I…spending some time with Dad. If you are moved to do so, perhaps you can think of someone in your life who brings you closer to the spirit…if that person is still living, take time to say thanks, if they’ve passed…do it anyway.
That’s spooky, When I seen that title because I thought about writing a sermon with that title. Although mine would have been a bit different because my Dad is still alive however he lives in a rehabilitation nursing home dying of cancer. I went to visit him again on Saturday.
I have been doing what I can to help my Dad find peace in his life and in his sole. Dad said I do better than his counselors there.
You’re right about real Dads being more than just someone who impregnated your mother. (You will find True Fatherhood in the Heart) I say that about Ministers too.
Your Dad sounds like a great man who brought a spark of life in this world. That a young age to pass on. I know you miss him like I miss my brother who passed in 1997.
Thanks for sharing your story and introducing your Dad.. Sincerely Reverend Penny.
QUOTE (Penny J Ragan @ Aug 3 2009, 12:02 AM)
That’s spooky, When I seen that title because I thought about writing a sermon with that title. Although mine would have been a bit different because my Dad is still alive however he lives in a rehabilitation nursing home dying of cancer. I went to visit him again on Saturday.
I have been doing what I can to help my Dad find peace in his life and in his sole. Dad said I do better than his counselors there.
You’re right about real Dads being more than just someone who impregnated your mother. (You will find True Fatherhood in the Heart) I say that about Ministers too.
Your Dad sounds like a great man who brought a spark of life in this world. That a young age to pass on. I know you miss him like I miss my brother who passed in 1997.
Thanks for sharing your story and introducing your Dad.. Sincerely Reverend Penny.
I have been doing what I can to help my Dad find peace in his life and in his sole. Dad said I do better than his counselors there.
You’re right about real Dads being more than just someone who impregnated your mother. (You will find True Fatherhood in the Heart) I say that about Ministers too.
Your Dad sounds like a great man who brought a spark of life in this world. That a young age to pass on. I know you miss him like I miss my brother who passed in 1997.
Thanks for sharing your story and introducing your Dad.. Sincerely Reverend Penny.
If you'ld like to Rev. Penny, you may feel free to add your posting on to this thread...it would be great to get to know your Dad as well. It must be hard to watch your Dad suffer through his illness, but I'm sure you know that God has this whole thing under control. I will keep both you and your Dad in my prayers.
May God hold you strong in His service,
William
It is good that you had that kind of figure in your life, you have been blessed.
Dear William,
Thank you for sharing your very warm and beautiful story; however, I disagree that there was no lesson to be taken from it. In truth, when we have loved ones who have passed on, it is considered normal to grieve for a time our loss of them. But as your inspiring story reminds us, that loss can be minimized when we recognize spirit is eternal, and as a result, our loved ones are always around if we seek them. When you really think about it, it is the spirit of the loved one that made them the person you knew, and not the body anyway. We can have amputations, paralysis through stroke or trauma, we can go blind, loose our hearing, and even have surgeries to remove damages internally, yet we remain who we are in spite of our bodies no longer being whole. You cannot say the same about the spirit. Thank you for reminding us about that lesson. I am sure it will bring comfort to those who experience the loss of a loved one and perceive it permanent.
As per your encouragement to add to this thread, I too had someone in my life who I always viewed as proof of God’s existence and love. She was my Aunt Florence, and though she was very busy with 8 children of her own, (I lost count of the grand and great-grand children), she always found time for everyone, including me. Aunt Florence had a very old upbringing in a large family, and was born just before the depression. Her life later was no picnic either with a large family of her own, and a husband who would not support his family, and in fact only added more suffering to her already overburdened shoulders. Besides his drinking habits, he was also known for his temper, and extra-marital activities. With 8 hungry and demanding children, including a set of twins, she managed to keep a spotless house, work, and literally have meals prepared around the clock. I know of these things not because she unburdened herself to me, but rather by testimony of the other relatives who pitied her. The woman I knew always smiled, always laughed, and as far as I knew, didn’t have a care in the world. She was the first to lend a hand to anyone who needed her, and she always came to your aid with her amazing wisdom. She had a way with words I have always appreciated. It was never you should do this or you should do that, but by the time her simple words were conveyed, you found yourself with the answer you were sure she never directly gave. If you were bright enough to pick up what she had taught you, you may thank her, but she would only sit there and smile at you, as though she didn’t even know what you were talking about.
There were occasions where I had some insight to compare her to the sent angels I had heard about. Those that God had placed in this world for us through His love. I have little doubt she was one of them. Though I try to emulate her limitless love, and seemingly effortless work on behalf of others, I find myself attempting the impossible. Though I know I fail at her level of selflessness, I also know she is proud of my mere attempt and of me. She didn’t judge, she only loved; how much better a spirit can you get than that?
God’s blessings,
Rev. Campbell.
Thank you for sharing your very warm and beautiful story; however, I disagree that there was no lesson to be taken from it. In truth, when we have loved ones who have passed on, it is considered normal to grieve for a time our loss of them. But as your inspiring story reminds us, that loss can be minimized when we recognize spirit is eternal, and as a result, our loved ones are always around if we seek them. When you really think about it, it is the spirit of the loved one that made them the person you knew, and not the body anyway. We can have amputations, paralysis through stroke or trauma, we can go blind, loose our hearing, and even have surgeries to remove damages internally, yet we remain who we are in spite of our bodies no longer being whole. You cannot say the same about the spirit. Thank you for reminding us about that lesson. I am sure it will bring comfort to those who experience the loss of a loved one and perceive it permanent.
As per your encouragement to add to this thread, I too had someone in my life who I always viewed as proof of God’s existence and love. She was my Aunt Florence, and though she was very busy with 8 children of her own, (I lost count of the grand and great-grand children), she always found time for everyone, including me. Aunt Florence had a very old upbringing in a large family, and was born just before the depression. Her life later was no picnic either with a large family of her own, and a husband who would not support his family, and in fact only added more suffering to her already overburdened shoulders. Besides his drinking habits, he was also known for his temper, and extra-marital activities. With 8 hungry and demanding children, including a set of twins, she managed to keep a spotless house, work, and literally have meals prepared around the clock. I know of these things not because she unburdened herself to me, but rather by testimony of the other relatives who pitied her. The woman I knew always smiled, always laughed, and as far as I knew, didn’t have a care in the world. She was the first to lend a hand to anyone who needed her, and she always came to your aid with her amazing wisdom. She had a way with words I have always appreciated. It was never you should do this or you should do that, but by the time her simple words were conveyed, you found yourself with the answer you were sure she never directly gave. If you were bright enough to pick up what she had taught you, you may thank her, but she would only sit there and smile at you, as though she didn’t even know what you were talking about.
There were occasions where I had some insight to compare her to the sent angels I had heard about. Those that God had placed in this world for us through His love. I have little doubt she was one of them. Though I try to emulate her limitless love, and seemingly effortless work on behalf of others, I find myself attempting the impossible. Though I know I fail at her level of selflessness, I also know she is proud of my mere attempt and of me. She didn’t judge, she only loved; how much better a spirit can you get than that?
God’s blessings,
Rev. Campbell.
Thank you, Pathmender, for adding the story of your Aunt Florence...she sounds like a wonderfull woman (I see now where you've picked up some of your qualities). I agree that there was infact a lesson or two to be taken from my original post...though it was not my original intention. I suppose for me spending time with Dad has always brought with it a little lesson. Just remembering who he was continually reminds me of who I want to be.
I hope others will follow suit, and introduce us to those who have made thier lives better...and those that make this world a better place. It could make this a very interesting thread.
Much love everybody,
William
I hope others will follow suit, and introduce us to those who have made thier lives better...and those that make this world a better place. It could make this a very interesting thread.
Much love everybody,
William
QUOTE (William Wilkinson @ Aug 3 2009, 06:56 AM)
If you'ld like to Rev. Penny, you may feel free to add your posting on to this thread...it would be great to get to know your Dad as well. It must be hard to watch your Dad suffer through his illness, but I'm sure you know that God has this whole thing under control. I will keep both you and your Dad in my prayers.
May God hold you strong in His service,
William
May God hold you strong in His service,
William
I never got around to writing it,
I know when I go to visit my Dad I see the shell of the man who raised me. Sitting before me I find a weak old man slumped over with barley a voice to speak with. Dad once had a mighty voice that filled the room. My Dad once stood tall and proud with a broad chest and a stern look on his face.
Before his fingers and hands became ravished with arthritis he played a guitar. I remember many family times with Dad playing his guitar with us singing along. We sang songs like “In the jungle”, “I’m a truck driven man”, “This old house”, and a couple my Dad made up like “I use to be the king of the Harris Family”. And “If you Know my Lord”.
Dad use to take us kids fishing, bowling and to the park. Dad like cartoons, and wonder woman. He loved peanuts with Charlie Brown, Snoopy and Lucy. He loved Dogs.
When I see him now at the age of 69 I see the result of the life he lived with alcohol, cigarettes, stress, and unforgiveness. Dad did many great things however he did some harmful things that took him down. He could have been someone great, he could have been someone who done wondrous things, he could have been but he allowed temptation to overrule him.
Now he sits in his urinated filled dippers with his weakened voice crying out for someone to bring him another diaper. It breaks my heart to see my Dad. To know what could have been.
All I can do now is help him to find inner peace and happiness before the day he passes away.
People ask me how I can forgive Dad for some things he has done. I will tell you yes he did some horrible things he also did some great things. He’s My Dad.
I am in the process of writing a book there is a chapter I wrote about my Dad would anyone be interested in reading it I can put it on this site. Sincerely Reverend Penny.
I still live at home so I'm very lucky enough to see the greatness ( and the not so great) sides of my dad everyday.
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