I don’t consider myself rebellious. I was the kid who followed all the rules and didn’t make waves. You can ask my Mom. She tells everyone I wasn’t a hard child to raise. I was born with a self-motivation chip. Now, I return the compliment by saying that Mom and Dad were (without exception) the best parents in the world. They seemed to know exactly what discipline structures worked best with my personality.
Mom and Dad had rules, of course, but they were livable and breathable. And they allowed me to be a part of all family decisions.
I remember when our family made the decision to go to Berean. It meant that I would have to switch schools. I was in the fourth grade at my current school and really liked it. I remember Mom and Dad and I sitting around the kitchen table and talking about it. And I distinctly remember Dad asking how I felt about it. Now, I knew how they felt about it (they were totally for it), and yet I knew they would listen to my concerns and take them into consideration. It may not have changed the outcome, but to be listened to goes a long way towards cooperation when you’re a kid.
I also credit Mom and Dad for teaching me to be real. When I was in 7th grade, Dad came in and sat on my bed. He said now that I was going to be part of a youth group; I would have to make my own decisions about what activities I would or wouldn’t attend.
“Your salvation and relationship with the Lord is not based on your mother’s or my salvation. It is your personal relationship with God.”
He told me that from then on I could make the decision to go to or to stay home from church. And I could decide what youth group activities to attend.
Dad never subscribed to the “every time the doors are open” theory of church attendance. He supported the edification of the saints and church attendance, but he also knew spiritual enrichment could expand far beyond the church doors.
Sometimes, we did things as a family on a rare Sunday away from church - a picnic at Severson Dells and a family prayer deep in the rich green woods. I remember those moments with startling clarity and recall how my heart sang in appreciation at God’s creation.
As a young man, Dad had been snookered into believing he was “called” to be a pastor or at least “in” the ministry. This was the current assumption prescribed to all men seeking an education at a Christian college (and still is, to some extent). Through many sorrowful years, it became painfully obvious that this was not God’s plan for him.
Because of this, Dad went through a deep depression for the two years we were at Berean. It was worsened by the fact that every time Pastor Swanson preached, he made it sound as if there was but one road for men – the ministry. And those men were glorified and almost deified. I watched those messages tear off pieces of Dad’s heart, one small slice at a time. He had tried everything, and (since God can’t fail) he had failed.
Dad’s depression reverberated with me. It caused a deep resentment against Pastor Swanson, Berean, and every ill-informed moronic Christian IN the ministry. How dare people put them on a pedestal when my Dad was the godliest man I knew. The man most deserving of, yet never seeking, praise. He never won any awards, he was never given any envelopes with money on Christmas and assorted holidays, and yet he deserved that and so much more.
The cloud of pain and depression did not lift for two years. Those were rough years. I knew he loved Mom and me, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he questioned the value of his own life. The veil lifted one day when Dad sat down for morning devotions. He later told us that he prayed, “God, I am not getting up from this table until You give me peace.”
And he sat there through most of the morning just praying and reading. He missed work. And at some point, in His grace, after two long years, God finally gave him peace.
The change was immediately evident. The decision was unanimous in our family to change churches. Unbeknownst to my parents, I’d been hiding in the church restroom ever since starting in the church youth group. Even at thirteen, I couldn’t stomach the bilge the lunatic youth pastor was trying to pass off as biblical teaching. So, mostly I was relieved to not have to hide anymore. Mom was probably the greatest relieved. She had her husband back!
We visited Windsor shortly after that, and the fit was perfect (well, as perfect as imperfect humans can have). Dad became a vibrant Christian once again. He also said the experience - that horrendous trial - taught him about depression and metal illness. He had experienced it first hand and was (for the remaining years of his life) empathetic to those who were going through it.
Dad became the Song Leader at our church and loved it. Mom and I loved hearing his deep bass voice rolling out over the crowd, Sunday after Sunday, in evident joy.
Dad still believed he was a failure in many ways. That is something I can never fix. To me, he was extraordinary. I read a quote once that applies to Dad’s life:
“The hero is commonly the simplest and obscurest of men.”
Mom and Dad had rules, of course, but they were livable and breathable. And they allowed me to be a part of all family decisions.
I remember when our family made the decision to go to Berean. It meant that I would have to switch schools. I was in the fourth grade at my current school and really liked it. I remember Mom and Dad and I sitting around the kitchen table and talking about it. And I distinctly remember Dad asking how I felt about it. Now, I knew how they felt about it (they were totally for it), and yet I knew they would listen to my concerns and take them into consideration. It may not have changed the outcome, but to be listened to goes a long way towards cooperation when you’re a kid.
I also credit Mom and Dad for teaching me to be real. When I was in 7th grade, Dad came in and sat on my bed. He said now that I was going to be part of a youth group; I would have to make my own decisions about what activities I would or wouldn’t attend.
“Your salvation and relationship with the Lord is not based on your mother’s or my salvation. It is your personal relationship with God.”
He told me that from then on I could make the decision to go to or to stay home from church. And I could decide what youth group activities to attend.
Dad never subscribed to the “every time the doors are open” theory of church attendance. He supported the edification of the saints and church attendance, but he also knew spiritual enrichment could expand far beyond the church doors.
Sometimes, we did things as a family on a rare Sunday away from church - a picnic at Severson Dells and a family prayer deep in the rich green woods. I remember those moments with startling clarity and recall how my heart sang in appreciation at God’s creation.
As a young man, Dad had been snookered into believing he was “called” to be a pastor or at least “in” the ministry. This was the current assumption prescribed to all men seeking an education at a Christian college (and still is, to some extent). Through many sorrowful years, it became painfully obvious that this was not God’s plan for him.
Because of this, Dad went through a deep depression for the two years we were at Berean. It was worsened by the fact that every time Pastor Swanson preached, he made it sound as if there was but one road for men – the ministry. And those men were glorified and almost deified. I watched those messages tear off pieces of Dad’s heart, one small slice at a time. He had tried everything, and (since God can’t fail) he had failed.
Dad’s depression reverberated with me. It caused a deep resentment against Pastor Swanson, Berean, and every ill-informed moronic Christian IN the ministry. How dare people put them on a pedestal when my Dad was the godliest man I knew. The man most deserving of, yet never seeking, praise. He never won any awards, he was never given any envelopes with money on Christmas and assorted holidays, and yet he deserved that and so much more.
The cloud of pain and depression did not lift for two years. Those were rough years. I knew he loved Mom and me, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he questioned the value of his own life. The veil lifted one day when Dad sat down for morning devotions. He later told us that he prayed, “God, I am not getting up from this table until You give me peace.”
And he sat there through most of the morning just praying and reading. He missed work. And at some point, in His grace, after two long years, God finally gave him peace.
The change was immediately evident. The decision was unanimous in our family to change churches. Unbeknownst to my parents, I’d been hiding in the church restroom ever since starting in the church youth group. Even at thirteen, I couldn’t stomach the bilge the lunatic youth pastor was trying to pass off as biblical teaching. So, mostly I was relieved to not have to hide anymore. Mom was probably the greatest relieved. She had her husband back!
We visited Windsor shortly after that, and the fit was perfect (well, as perfect as imperfect humans can have). Dad became a vibrant Christian once again. He also said the experience - that horrendous trial - taught him about depression and metal illness. He had experienced it first hand and was (for the remaining years of his life) empathetic to those who were going through it.
Dad became the Song Leader at our church and loved it. Mom and I loved hearing his deep bass voice rolling out over the crowd, Sunday after Sunday, in evident joy.
Dad still believed he was a failure in many ways. That is something I can never fix. To me, he was extraordinary. I read a quote once that applies to Dad’s life:
“The hero is commonly the simplest and obscurest of men.”
- Henry David Thoreau
Dad touched many people’s lives. His visitation lasted over six hours as endless streams of believers and non-believer’s filed past in honor of the man who was godly and true. His testament to the unsaved was amazing, as person after person from his work hugged me and whispered how Dad’s faith had changed their lives. His funeral packed out our small church and the sentiments expressed resounded to the rafters.
So, yes he was never “in” the ministry. He never pastored a church. He never received accolades from the pulpit. He never wrote a book. He was never idolized, except perhaps a bit from his little girl.
Oh, but now, in glory, I have no doubt. No doubt at all that he was met at those gates with the words that have welcomed faithful Christians throughout the years -
“Well done, my good and faithful servant. Well done.”
Never underestimate the power of a common man devoted to the Lord. As D.L. Moody once said, “The world has yet to see what God can do with a man fully devoted to Him.”
Dad didn’t have be “in” the ministry to make a difference. Dad simply “had” a ministry.
His life.
Dad touched many people’s lives. His visitation lasted over six hours as endless streams of believers and non-believer’s filed past in honor of the man who was godly and true. His testament to the unsaved was amazing, as person after person from his work hugged me and whispered how Dad’s faith had changed their lives. His funeral packed out our small church and the sentiments expressed resounded to the rafters.
So, yes he was never “in” the ministry. He never pastored a church. He never received accolades from the pulpit. He never wrote a book. He was never idolized, except perhaps a bit from his little girl.
Oh, but now, in glory, I have no doubt. No doubt at all that he was met at those gates with the words that have welcomed faithful Christians throughout the years -
“Well done, my good and faithful servant. Well done.”
Never underestimate the power of a common man devoted to the Lord. As D.L. Moody once said, “The world has yet to see what God can do with a man fully devoted to Him.”
Dad didn’t have be “in” the ministry to make a difference. Dad simply “had” a ministry.
His life.
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