\u201cHallelujah, what a Savior! Hallelujah, what a friend!\u201d<\/em>
I knew those weren\u2019t just words to him. He drank deeply from the truths of Scripture\u2014Jesus was his Savior, and Jesus was his friend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dad battled a rare form of liver cancer for three years. His doctors were puzzled\u2014one even speculated the cancer might have come from a parasite he picked up while doing missions work in Uganda. Nothing was conclusive, but one thing was clear: aggressive treatment was necessary. And if he survived, he made clear that he would return to Africa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One month before Christmas, he was declared cancer-free. I still remember getting the call. I dropped my phone, cupped my hands over my mouth, and screamed for joy. It felt like a miracle. But just a few weeks later, he began to experience severe back pain. At first, he saw a chiropractor, but as the pain worsened, he went back to the doctor. Two days after Christmas, scans revealed the cancer had spread to his spine. Two months later, he was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was in my early twenties, and much of that season is etched into my memory. About a week before he died, a kind ICU nurse allowed me to bring my baby daughter into his room. Dad reached past the tangle of cords and tubes to hold her. She sat calmly in his lap while he whispered, \u201cYou\u2019re going to have so much fun with her this spring.\u201d I choked back tears. I didn\u2019t respond. We just sat quietly as he soaked in the coos of his only grandchild. When I left the room, I said, \u201cI\u2019ll see ya again, Dad.<\/em>\u201d I meant it with all my heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Three days before he died, my husband called to tell me something strange\u2014Dad was trying desperately to get out of bed. He told my husband, \u201cThere are people on the sixth floor who need to hear about Jesus.\u201d I rushed to the hospital, not entirely sure this wasn\u2019t just typical Dad behavior; he was<\/em> a true evangelist, after all. Two days before his death, he became nearly unconscious, but he stirred when my younger sisters arrived home from college and held his hand. The day before he died, we gathered around his bed and sang hymns, and on Sunday, he went to be with Jesus. I watched the heart monitor slow, then stop, and I heard my mom whisper in his ear, \u201cDo you see Jesus?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n These memories remain vivid and dear. But more than the way he died, it\u2019s the way he lived that shaped me most. Like all of us, Dad had weaknesses. He struggled with sin. But when I close my eyes and remember him, it\u2019s not his imperfections I see. I remember the lessons he taught me\u2014lessons that continue to echo in my heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dad constantly reminded us that life was short\u2014and to enjoy it while we had it. For him, life was a gift, and he delighted in its simple pleasures. Every afternoon, he\u2019d eat a bowl of vanilla ice cream\u2014not one or two, but always three heaping scoops, drenched in chocolate syrup. He often stood while eating, chatting with us about our day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He couldn\u2019t hide his enthusiasm for the St. Louis Cardinals. If he couldn\u2019t attend a game, he listened on the radio, and you\u2019d hear him cheering from outside the house when someone hit a home run. He loved sunsets on the beach and filming us as kids running through the waves. As we got older, he kept filming\u2014our awkward tween phases, teenage eye rolls, and all. He\u2019d just smile when I put my hand in front of the camera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He even filmed the pets\u2014hours of riveting footage of our cat… sitting, or our dog… walking. And every summer, Dad did handstands in the ocean, defying the waves as long as his body allowed. He even insisted we videotape them. After all, life was too short not<\/em> to celebrate joy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was perhaps the most profound thing I learned from him\u2014not through lectures or lessons, but by his example. Dad loved<\/em> worship. He approached Sunday mornings with the excitement of a kid heading to Disneyland, and afterward, he\u2019d relive every detail\u2014talking about the music, the moment when the congregation sang with gusto, or how a certain lyric gave him goosebumps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If I said, \u201cGood sermon, Dad,\u201d he\u2019d always respond, \u201cThanks. Why?\u201d\u2014eager to talk about it more. He sang with conviction. He preached with passion. The Word of God lived deep in his soul, and he longed for others to experience the joy of knowing Jesus. Even in his final days, he took joy in planning his own funeral. \u201cMake it joyful!\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He loved Jesus fiercely, and he talked about Him freely. But more than that, he showed me what it meant to walk closely with Christ. It wasn\u2019t through his sermons or public prayers\u2014it was in the quiet places.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I saw it when I peeked through a cracked door and found him kneeling in prayer. I heard it when he whispered a prayer after a hard phone call. I felt it in his joy when he shared how he had prayed with an unbeliever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Even in his last weeks, his love for Jesus shone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m grateful beyond words for dad’s example\u2014for how he lived, how he struggled, how he rejoiced, and how he died. Most of all, I\u2019m thankful he pointed me to my heavenly Father. And because of that, I can say with confidence and joy:<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ll see you again, Dad.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\nHe taught me to enjoy life.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
He taught me to cherish worship.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
He taught me to love Jesus.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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