Note: A couple of items that are linked together. The poem was written more than a decade ago. The article? In recent years. - Glenn
I talked to my dad recently. It was a
time of remembering. The double car garage built in 1975 for around
$3,000. Times when we painted houses together. Times when we
organized family stuff. The time when an wayward pig nearly caused me
to roll my first pickup.
This phone call conversation was
intended to wish my dad a happy birthday, but it became more. It had
been five years since a major surgery. Fifty-four years since he and
mom said their “I do's” (she went on ahead a few years back).
He'd just celebrated 35 years with the county transportation
department. The conversation obviously centered around the passing of
years.
When I was growing up, my dad would be
the first one out of bed. He would read his Bible and pray from 4-6
am. I didn't think this unusual. Didn't all dads do that?
It was my grandma's example that my dad
followed. By Dad's own admission he only got up early because that's
what his mom did. At some point the example became a habit, and the
habit became a lifestyle, and the lifestyle become a new example.
Dad told me that there had been a lady
who visited with his mom when he was young. His mother had not grown
up in a Christian home. This is why the unknown lady was so important
to our family story. At some point my grandmother believed and was
saved.
In her imperfect way my grandmother
shared the faith that was being nurtured within. My dad accepted
Jesus and his journey with Jesus started earlier than his mom's.
My faith journey started earlier than
his, but God used Dad's faith to influence my interest. The faith of
my father was nurtured by his mother. Her faith was the result of a
stranger's introduction to Jesus.
Today my own children are the
recipients of an imperfect legacy that faithfully relies on the power
of a good God. My dad told me he hopes the legacy goes on, “Forever.”
We each have generational curses and
blessings that we pass on. Sometimes we inadvertently pass along
baggage to our children they were never meant to carry. Sometimes
they continue to carry that baggage to their grave. Sometimes we have
blessings we can share, but refuse to do so. We may want our children
to earn the blessing, hope for the blessing, and understand we
believe we control the blessing.
We withhold what we could easily give
and give what we should intentionally withhold.
Like anyone else I can look honestly at
my dad and wish he were more of this or less of that, but he did
provide blessings when he could. He withheld pain whenever he could.
Some issues he just didn't know how to handle.
I'm not perfect so I can't expect him
to be either. What remains is for me to take the best of my father's
legacy and pass it on, break away from behaviors that weren't always
helpful, and rely on God to fill in all the gaps, before, between,
and beyond.
It was a great conversation with Dad. I
like to have them often.
God is the author and finisher of each
of our stories. Maybe it's time for you to let Him take control of
the pen and help define your legacy not by where you came from, but
because of who He's making you to be.
The Faith Legacy
Glenn Hascall
She was up before dawn
Reading candlelit page
Oft times she was cold
As a prayer battle raged
Her youngest boy, Gene
Observed his dear mother
Rising alone in the dark
For one reason and no other.
A spiritual-war-ravaged Bible
Lay spread on the table
Hiding God’s Word in her heart
As long as she was able
She never once asked
For her boy to adhere
To her morning ritual
No punishment - no fear
But the boy is now 70
And each day before dawn
He is filling his mind
As he has for so long
Treating God’s Word as precious
In the quiet of the day
Meeting God in prayer
With so much to say
Like grandma in times past
And like Dad just this morn
I too search God’s Word
Since the day I was re-born
I’m a recipient it seems
Of a wondrous faith legacy
And I’ll be a willing example
So, hopefully, my children see
And perhaps someday they’ll say
He was up before dawn
A lamp lit the page
Sometimes he was weary
As a prayer battle raged
He treated God’s Word as precious
In the quiet of the day
Meeting God in prayer
His life had so much to say.
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