My dad is a bear of a man. :) He always has been. Long before he met my mom, he had a reputation for his size and strength. He lived a life outside of what you'd expect for an eventual preacher. That is, he and his brothers ran around with what people then called 'the wrong crowd'. They enjoyed parties and the lifestyle that came with it.
He was also what you would call a 'concessionaire'. He worked for a friend's company. They traveled around to state fairs, making and selling taffy. Standing heavy 500-pound barrels of syrup was nothing to my dad. This man of immense strength knew of nothing he couldn't do, once he had decided to.
At some point, the partying and drugs didn't do it anymore. He said that he would look around the room into the eyes of his friends. Everyone was smiling but nobody's eyes reflected true joy or any sort of happiness. It was clear in each of their faces that there was sadness behind their eyes.
About a week later, my dad and his brothers left a bar in the wee hours and decided to visit friends. These two men had recently gotten saved and kept in contact with my dad and uncles. They had offered a standing invitation to visit anytime. That night, it seemed like a funny idea to wake them up. Only one brother was serious about talking with them. They took a vote, and my dad and his little brother agreed to visit, just to mess with them.
As it happens, their mother had fallen to her knees that very night, crying out to God, "Lord, I cannot get them out of drugs and alcohol. You're going to have to!" God filled her with peace, and she went bed without any further unrest.
The friends were welcoming and talked all night about the changes they had seen in their own lives. It really stuck with my dad and uncles. The friends then urged them to attend a revival service at a local church. All three of them went, listening intently to the preacher. My dad and his brothers found God that night, confessing their sin and promising their lives to Christ.
He was also what you would call a 'concessionaire'. He worked for a friend's company. They traveled around to state fairs, making and selling taffy. Standing heavy 500-pound barrels of syrup was nothing to my dad. This man of immense strength knew of nothing he couldn't do, once he had decided to.
At some point, the partying and drugs didn't do it anymore. He said that he would look around the room into the eyes of his friends. Everyone was smiling but nobody's eyes reflected true joy or any sort of happiness. It was clear in each of their faces that there was sadness behind their eyes.
About a week later, my dad and his brothers left a bar in the wee hours and decided to visit friends. These two men had recently gotten saved and kept in contact with my dad and uncles. They had offered a standing invitation to visit anytime. That night, it seemed like a funny idea to wake them up. Only one brother was serious about talking with them. They took a vote, and my dad and his little brother agreed to visit, just to mess with them.
As it happens, their mother had fallen to her knees that very night, crying out to God, "Lord, I cannot get them out of drugs and alcohol. You're going to have to!" God filled her with peace, and she went bed without any further unrest.
The friends were welcoming and talked all night about the changes they had seen in their own lives. It really stuck with my dad and uncles. The friends then urged them to attend a revival service at a local church. All three of them went, listening intently to the preacher. My dad and his brothers found God that night, confessing their sin and promising their lives to Christ.
Dad cut his hair short (up to his shoulders), began attending church, praying, and reading the Word. It wasn't too long before he went to Bible college, where he met my mother and surrendered to preach. (Perhaps not in that order?)
His brothers, too, had joined that same church where they had gotten saved. Together, the three of them straightened up their lives. It is no surprise that all three of them attended the same college. I even have small clips of them singing with the Bible college choir. <3 <3 <3 My dad knows something about God and how real He is because God literally changed his entire life.
_______________________________________
Fast-forward to the 80's and 90's where I am growing up a preacher's daughter. To this day, people talk about how 'strict' our upbringing was. It always makes me laugh inside. The truth is, there were a lot of rules. However, it never *felt* strict. Ours was a home that rang with love and laughter day in and day out.
My mom was absolutely born to be a mother; she is the greatest that ever lived! My dad, too, has an uproarious sense of humor! lol For all of the rules I admit we had, we were so love-bathed that it honestly didn't seem like anything abnormal.
One part of being a preacher's kid is pastor's fellowships. If you or your family is in the ministry, you know exactly what these are. A pastor can get discouraged over time if he is not tending to his own needs. People hold you to an impossibly high standard, forgetting that you are no less human than the rest of the world. They can be cruel and ugly without a moment's thought about your personal feelings.
Once a month, pastors gather together on a Tuesday (in our case) to fellowship, preach, and pray together. There are always several key note preachers. This can be a short day, where breakfast is served and a few preachers take turns, followed by lunch. It can also be a full day, with sermons before and after lunch into the evening. However it goes, it is a loud, encouraging day that gives these people the strength and energy to go through another month on their own. Several times a year, the fellowship is even larger, taking place on a regional and national level.
Now, in my denomination, female pastors are pretty rare. Every pastor belongs to an independent church, so even though they gathered to encourage one another, no formal organization existed. You might have called it a 'boys club', of sorts. Wives came along sometimes but not always. Children came along even less frequently. Being homeschoolers by then, my sisters and I went to a lot of preachers fellowships. (Seriously, SO many!) I always really loved the experience.
You see, when that many men gather in one auditorium to sing, the result is utterly astonishing. The room reverberates with the noise of praise! It is energetic, uplifting, and inspiring!
No matter which church, which state, how small or large the crowd, my sisters and I could *always* pick out my dad. It didn't matter where we were sitting. :) He has this deep, echoing voice. It is masculine, guttural, and booming! His voice is an audible testimony to the profundity within. It reflects who he is so perfectly. Simply put, NOBODY has a voice like my dad! <3 <3 <3
_______________________________
ALS has stolen so much from us. It has stolen my dad's strength, although not his strength of character. It has stolen his mobility but not his ability to move people. It has stolen his independence of person but not his independence of spirit. It has stolen his physical steadiness but not the Everlasting Rock on whom he leans. It is stealing the smile from his face but not his heart. It has changed his gait. It has stolen even his ability to simply 'live' a normal daily life. ALS is a monster. It is the disease you do not wish upon anyone.
_______________________________
There are some songs which are simply iconic to my dad's voice. I can hear him booming out, "GLORY, I'M SAVED!!", "Deeper Than the Stain Has Gone", "Blessed Assurance", and many others.
Last night, I was playing Mario with the girls and singing aloud. I *needed* to sing. It allows me to get some of that stress out of my heart. For a minute there, I was really belting it out. haha
Last night, I was playing Mario with the girls and singing aloud. I *needed* to sing. It allows me to get some of that stress out of my heart. For a minute there, I was really belting it out. haha
My sweet little Koala complained, "You are singing too loud, Mom!" That made me laugh. I explained to her that I have very healthy lungs, which came directly from her Papa! :) I began to boom out a song in my very best Papa impression:
"GLORY, I'M SAVED!
GLOOOOORRRY, I'M SAAAAAAVVVVVEEEEDDDD!"
GLOOOOORRRY, I'M SAAAAAAVVVVVEEEEDDDD!"
It was then that the wind was knocked completely out of me. It sucked out as though I'd been hit square in the chest with a car. I went into the silent, gasping ugly cry, followed by the soul-deep wail of pain that has become all-too familiar. I had to leave the room for a while and try to figure out how to collect myself. It was everything I could do not to throw up repeatedly.
"I will never hear my daddy sing again!!!"
Lord help us, ALS has stolen my dad's voice. :'( The worst part is, I already knew this. We have all noticed how quiet he has gotten. He has to work excessively hard to speak at an almost-normal pitch. In fact, he describes this as yelling. :( I so hate that for him, but I did know that his voice was gone in that context.
Somehow... somehow, it had not hit me that I would never hear him sing again. I will never again sit in an auditorium, rich with the voices of a sea of men, and pick out my own dad's voice in the bunch. I won't recognize his "Amen!", his laugh (so distinct), or his cough across the room. I won't get these things, not because he has died, but because this horrible disease has stolen them from him.
________________________________
I cannot let ALS have his voice, though. I just can't. Every time I talk about him, every time I relate a story of his (like this, his testimony), every time I merely think of him, my dad's voice still echoes on. It is booming out there today, in the words we speak. I will hear it every time I realize that my kids have healthy lungs. ;) I *will* still hear him in crowded auditoriums. I will hear him in any and all church buildings. I will hear him at family functions. I will picture him seated there, singing with all of us, as he has done so many times in the past. I will hear his voice cross the divide between us, to the day I die.
God, forgive me for taking this voice for granted. I praise You for the times I got to listen to my dad sing. I praise You for making me the sentimental type of person who really leaned in and listened to him every. single. time. These things have seared his voice forever in my heart and my soul.
God, forgive me for taking this voice for granted. I praise You for the times I got to listen to my dad sing. I praise You for making me the sentimental type of person who really leaned in and listened to him every. single. time. These things have seared his voice forever in my heart and my soul.
No. ALS will rob us of so much,
but it will not rob me of the
precious voice of my incomparable dad!!
My dad and his brothers singing with their college choir.
This one cuts off suddenly. I cannot help that, as I copied them from an old tape.
We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on my dad's behalf. Please consider sharing it on social media.
