We packed in a scurry of rushing. We had stayed by invitation at Peniel Bible Conference, an institution with which Dad had worked, a summer camp I had attended as a young girl. We had been housed in the lodge, a rustic building deep in the heart of the Adirondacks where we rattled about like peas in a pod, being the only occupants during our stay.
The living room area offered the comforts of a fireplace which we had used liberally, both for warmth and for the calmness that crackling fires provide. The smell of wood smoke complimented the dazzling whiteness of the snow blowing off the roof, the glint of sun on dangling icicles. The solitude had been most welcomed.
The director shared with me that the last men's conference that Dad had led had been an exceptional time of dividing the word of God, of meditation and reflection, of growth and learning. How like Dad, who relished theological discussion, loved a good debate, enjoyed hashing out differences.
The memorial service was held at Dad's church, Redeemer Reformed Presbyterian Church in Queensbury, NY. It would be the final gathering for our family as we celebrated Dad's life. The service was very typical of Dad's style - the hymns ones he relished, the Scriptures passages he preferred. Both the former and the present pastor spoke, one likened Dad to a New Testament prophet Simeon, the other to an Old Testament prophet. Kind and thoughtful words. Encouragement to think of Dad being in heaven, in his element talking to Luther and Calvin and others whose works he had always appreciated.
Afterwards, a simple repast of cold cuts, cheeses and fruits, and Mom's favorite dessert, Ghiradeli brownies. We pop back to Mom's (how odd to call the A frame just Mom's instead of Mom and Dad's) to change for the drive home and to say our farewells to anyone still waiting to leave for the airport.
It was a good celebration, a good closure. But now, the real work begins, the work of adjusting to life without his smile, his sagacity, his solidness. Therein lies the real challenge.
1 comment:
I've so enjoyed reading about your dad. I have fond memories of time spent in a Reformed Presbyterian church in Indianapolis when I was young. My father actually helped to get the church started. But that's a long story for another time. Your father would have loved our pastor, Roy Blackwood. He too enjoyed theological discussions. Nothing was too big or too trivial to be a topic of debate. But no matter how intense it got, he never lost the twinkle in his eye. God bless you as you adjust to not having your dad in this world.
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