As the chemo drugs drip...drip...drip into Dad's system, I listen to the husband of my uncle's fourth ex-wife regale my dad with remembrances of their drinking days as trucking buddies:
"...and then he got up and busted the bottle over my head..."
The room bursts into laughter at this now-humorous memory. Dad, struggling for breath as his laughing fights with his cancer for the air in his lungs, puffs out a reminder that I'm a "preacher". Everything gets quiet for just about two seconds; then the whole room explodes as this news just makes them laugh harder and louder.I'm laughing, too, now; there's no disrespect intended at all; in fact, quite the opposite.
The joy of old friends notwithstanding, I've spent the whole day trying to get some alone-time with Dad. I want to talk to him about the doctor's view of his prognosis, about how much help he wants from machines and medicines, but mostly, I want to talk to him about being ready to meet God. All day long he's either been too drowsy or too sick or too uncomfortable. Now the room is just too crowded.
So I relax and listen to this rip-roaring tapdance down memory lane.My father spent his whole life driving trucks, drinking beer, playing pool and testing his manhood with give-and-take bar brawls fueled by one or two or three drinks too many.In the old days, these barroom combatants licked their wounds, picked each other up and settled their differences with another round---sometimes it was another round of boxing, but usually it was another round of beers.
Simple people living simple lives by simple rules.
Suddenly, aboutforty minutes into this mass visit,themillwrightclears his throat and pauses to be sure he's got the attention of everyone in the room. He puts his hands on the knees of his bib overalls and gets serious. "No more drinking and bar fights for me now, Howard. Those days are behind me. Now I have a different reason to live."
"I want to tell you about my Lord and Savior."
You could have knocked me over with a feather. All the laughter stopped, and only the beeping of a heart monitor broke the silence. He continued, "For some time now I've been living life for a different reason, and that's what Edie and I drove over two hours to tell you about."
He proceeded to do just that, over my father's surprisingly mild protests. If there's a sweeter, gentler way to present the Gospel, I've never heard it.
He closed with this statement: "I don't want to offend nobody, least of all you Howard. And I won't mention it again unless you ask. But I'm not talking about dying and where you go then; I'm talking about living like you've never lived before." With that, he patted his wife's knee, winked at me and said his goodbyes. My dad listened and watched...
When the "roll is called up yonder", there's a millwright from Kansas who will probably be found at the front of the line, hearing directly from Jesus about how pleased He is to receive him into His Kingdom. Determined to tell his old drinking buddy about his Savior, he refused to let crowds or timing or strangers or anything else get in his way. When he felt like the bond of their past knit them again, he cleared his throat and "said his piece." It was a simple testimony from a man and woman living a simple life, reminding me again that simple isn't stupid; it's just direct and unpretentious.
Just like Jesus.
