REMEMBERING MY DAD

Remembering my dad…

My father first heard the Gospel when he was in his 70’s. He did not respond favorably because he did not like the conflict and division it caused within the family. My father was born in Italy where almost everyone is Roman Catholic. He told me he had never before heard the things that we were telling him from the Bible. Even so, he took the Bible we gave him and began reading. I don’t know how far he got but I do remember that he said 1st and 2nd Timothy were “perfect”. I’m not exactly sure what he meant, but it was definitely encouraging to hear him say that. I also remember that he liked the hymn “How Great Thou Art”, a hymn he learned when my husband and I did Sunday services at the nursing home.

My father had an autoimmune disease that left him with bloody blisters on his body. When we prayed for healing the Lord mercifully healed him. The nurse’s aid who took care of him was a Christian woman, and she said his skin had become smooth like baby skin! He also had a stroke that confined him to a wheelchair, and Parkinson, and later dementia. He would vacillate on what he believed and that was discouraging. My father never said the words I wanted so badly to hear… “Don’t worry about me, I’m saved, and I will go and be with the Lord when I die. I’ll see you again on the other side.” He never said that. Oh, how I wanted him to say that, but he didn’t. The Lord gave me such an intense love for my Dad in his latter years. It was truly a work of the Holy Spirit in my heart. I remember holding his warm hand and being glad he was still alive but also sadly knowing that soon he would be gone. My father heard God’s Word until his last unconscious dying hours. On a Sunday night in March 2010, a few short hours before my 93 year old father entered eternity, my husband was quoting Scripture to him. And that’s how it ended.

John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

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As I sat with my father and observed how feeble he had become my mind went back to earlier days when we were younger. Those days were not trouble free, but there was time left to live out life. More importantly, there was time left to seek the Lord. As I sat there and pondered these things, the words “days of wine and roses” came to my mind. I looked up the meaning and I found they described a period of happiness and prosperity. Thinking on these things, I wrote this poem shorty before my father died. I recited this poem at my father’s funeral.

DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES

The days of wine and roses,
They have been called by the world,
But we as Christians know that,
Just like flowers they unfold.

The days are just a vapor,
Oh, if we had only known,
So fanciful and passing,
In vanity they were sown.

The days of wine and roses,
Cannot have them back again,
And even if we could have,
Would we choose as we did then?

Lord please cleanse these our vessels,
With new wine and with your blood,
Please change our hearts forever,
By your Spirit’s cleansing flood.

The days of wine and roses,
Seemed to us a sweet sweet song,
But like the flowers fading,
The wind blows and they are gone.

The only wine of value,
Is the shedding of Christ’s blood,
The only rose enduring,
Rose of Sharon, our beloved.

Cathy White 2010 ©