I am the oldest child, had the first grandchildren, and have the only boys, in my family. Trust me when I say they were boys. Running around outside, playing on grandpa’s tractor when visiting up home. Catching fireflies in the summer to put in a jar next to their bed overnight. And, walking around with anything that their imagination may conjure up as a battle weapon, playing army. When things got a little wild, and they would be scolded, my father would immediately say, “leave them be, they’re just little boys.” I can’t tell you how many times I heard that over their childhood, during a visit. My youngest son always went to the farmhouse sun porch for two vital tools when we arrived; his uncle’s fishing hat, and grandma’s vacuum sweeper attachment. With these 2 items, he was off to run outside and look for enemy combatives, or wander around the main floor of the house on patrol.

I still laugh at the day my father’s words came back at him from a different vantage point.  My husband wanted to drive up for fall fishing in the upper peninsula of Michigan, and thought we could have a long weekend away, alone.  My parents were happy to oblige when I asked if we could leave a “parcel” in their care for a couple days. Once settled in our hotel, I phoned home to check in and was met on the other side of the line by my father. “You know what your son did today?” Fearing the worst, I hesitantly asked what. “I shut my eyes for just a minute in my chair, and he came up and wrapped me in the forehead with that vacuum attachment, asking ‘anybody home?’ I think I have a lump on my head!” It still makes me giggle to imagine the scene in play. My response, “dad, he’s just a little boy you know.” He laughed about this every time we came to visit… the memory never got old for him.

My father had a rough go of things for the past few years with his health. Just when you thought things were coasting well, a surprise bump came in the road.  He really didn’t complain about any of it, except our favorite line, “I can’t taste anything.” Couple cookies or 5 from the fresh batch mom made in the kitchen, “are they good?” “I don’t know, I can’t taste anything.” His recent bumps in the road, however, were just more than his tired body could take, and he left this world to our surprise on the evening of May 6. He had had a tough morning, and spent a little time at the ER, but talking to my mother that evening, he seemed fine again… ready to do more battle. Following our phone call, they had dinner. After that he got out his bible, and devotionals, and went through his evening readings. From there he got up and decided to play a game of solitaire on his computer. However, he no sooner got himself situated, and my mother heard a thump. Looking up she saw he was slumped over with his head resting on the monitor. Gone. Not a sound prior to this, no calling out her name, just silence.  The attending physician at the hospital he was transported told her to take comfort knowing that he didn’t feel a thing… he passed immediately. It was a comfort to know he didn’t suffer, and it was a greater comfort to me in learning he had gotten in his evening reading before going “home.”

Recently I finished the book The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom, and have told anyone who will listen how wonderful it is. I had planned to take a long weekend to visit my parents the week my father passed, and wanted to see if he would like to read the book. Ms. Ten Boom’s descriptions, and imagery are amazing in adding depth to this heroic story of her life. I explain to people what she and her sister went through at the concentration camps, especially Ravensbruck, and the faith they continued to share during this horrific time in history. My faith seems like a piece of dust in comparison to theirs, in all their choices to help those in need, and their own suffering in prison and camps. Would I be so selfless to my fellow brothers and sisters, would I be so brave?

My first morning home, coffee in hand, I found myself looking at my dad’s bibles and devotionals. What had he read before he left this world? Was he mulling the words around in his mind as he got ready to play solitaire? I took his books, and decided to read for myself what he had studied. It was his pamphlet Daily Bread that showed the devotional ‘Impossible Forgiveness,’ and begins by describing a crumpled prayer found in the rubble of none other than Ravensbruck, asking God to forgive the guards. Imagine the horrific walk to the chambers, and a soul having enough peace to ask our Lord to forgive their oppressors. This story then blends into the loving substitution we were given by Christ Jesus, and the well known prayer he called out from the cross. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

My soul smiled at what I read, it was wonderful. But, when I opened up the suggested scripture reading of Luke 23:26-56, my heart ached to find all my dad’s bookmarks in place where he finished reading Christ’s walk to Calvary. How amazing! What a gracious God we have to point dad’s reading to Luke 23:43 “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise,” and, Luke 23:46, “Jesus called out with a loud voice, ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.’ When he had said this, he breathed his last breath.”  Talk about warming up before his walk into eternity.

You know, driving among the processional to lay him to rest, I had the song ‘I’ll Fly Away’ come on my heart. My mother and I driving right behind the hearse, I couldn’t stop from humming the tune. The graveside ceremony was simply beautiful, and perfect for a man who wouldn’t want a ton of attention placed on him. A man who would rather deflect the spotlight unto others. Leaving the cemetery, the simple tune came again into my heart. It was so soothing to my soul, like a lullaby. Over the past couple weeks, the tune continues to come and go, and I sing it to myself. It will now and forever reflect to me, the beauty in all our sadness of saying goodbye. I found myself looking at Youtube for videos of people singing this tune, and found myself closing them as soon as they started up… nope, not this one, or this one. Then, I came upon a video of a precious baby girl, named Ruby, singing the tune with her mama. Yes, this is what my father would have found joy in watching… the innocence and beauty of a child. Thank you, Ruby!

I find myself imagining what my dad is doing, where he is living, who he is laughing and hugging. From the moment I was told the words, “he’s gone,” I knew he was home.  When I say prayers before sleep, I now throw out, “good night, dad, I love you.” The other night after doing this, I felt a gentle tingle on the side of my cheek. Some may say it was a spasm, a nerve twitching in my cheek. But, I choose to believe I was blessed with an “I love you, too.”

“Some glad mornin’ when this life is over, I’ll fly away. To a home on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away.” How glorious it will be to see his smile again, and ask, “anybody home?”

– Blessings