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by Jim TullochMy father was a tough old bird. Gruff, unaffectionate, sarcastic—a lot like Archie Bunker, really. I rarely recall him asking me to do something without barking the command.
For 20 years Dad fought a grueling battle with rheumatoid arthritis leaving him with gnarled hands, an artificial hip, and worn out shoulders, knees, elbows and feet. Like that old beater fo a car you keep fixing and repairing to keep on the road, Dad endured numerous operations to keep him going. But now as he sat on the edge of his nursing home bed a sad loneliness filled his pale blue eyes. The car just couldn’t be fixed anymore.
He stared long and wistfully out the window. He didn’t want to be here. This room would be his new home, his final home before he…died. He knew it. I knew it. But neither of us seemed able to speak.
Finally, he broke the silence. “I’m just not worth anything anymore,” he said quietly, “not worth anything…” His voice trailed off. I had never heard him bare his soul, until then.
Dad’s roughness developed early in life. The son of a poor Scottish farmer who homesteaded near Yorkton, Saskatchewan in 1920, Dad as no stranger to hard work and responsibility. With his brother and three sisters, Dad worked the farm, which never yielded more than a subsistence income. In the middle of the Great Depression, when Dad was only 17, his father passed away, succumbing to the same disease that would ravage him years later.
Needing to support the family, he moved to Ontario, landing a job at a dairy farm. A few years and a couple of jobs later he volunteered to fight for his country when World War II broke out. Then five foot nine, 157 pounds, with strong arms and massive wrists, he had no reason to doubt his acceptance. A mysterious dark area on his lung changed that however.
Tired of farming, rejected by the army, Dad finally found his niche at a dairy in the little town of Cooksville where he learned the craft of ice-cream making. And during the next 19 years he turned it into an art. People came from all over to sample his fare. Ironically it was the job he loved that did him in.
Long term exposure to the cold dampness of the dairy, doctors suggested, contributed to the onset of his arthritis.
One morning he awoke in such pain he couldn’t move. He didn’t show up for work that day. It soon became obvious to Dad and his long-time employer that he could no longer do the job. He was 49. The next few years he spent more time in the hospital than he did at home. After receiving an artificial hip joint, which enabled him to walk better, Dad, now 55, actually returned to work but not at the dairy. He became a boiler engineer at a chemical plant, the sole worker on the graveyard shift. He hung on for three years.
The strain of his illness took a toll on his marriage too. Constant yelling and arguing filled the home. One day, shortly after getting out of the hospital he decided it was time to leave. And he did. For four years he managed to survive, living in low-rent apartments and ordering “meals on wheels.” One day, while talking on the phone to my brother Gord, Dad fell off his chair and couldn’t get up. Gord rushed to the apartment where he found him lying on the floor. It was obvious he no longer could live alone. He needed full-time care. When word came that a bed was available at the nursing home, we had to admit there was no other option. I was assigned to move him in.
Now, here we were in his room, Dad, me and my wife, Kim. “I’m just not worth anything anymore.” His words stung my heart. Before I could reply, my wife caught both of our attention.
“Don’t you say that, Dad!” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “Jim loves you, I love you and most of all, God loves you. In fact, you’re worth so much in His eyes, He sent His Son to earth to die, to pay the penalty for your sins, so you could know Him and when you die, spend eternity with Him in heaven.” Not religious in any sense, in fact, one who derided me for my faith in God, Dad uncharacteristically hung on every word Kim spoke. “Dad, wouldn’t you like to ask Jesus into your heart?”
Dad nodded his head. “Yes, I would,” he said softly. Kim turned to me and I explained to Dad how he could have a relationship with God and how that relationship would give him hope not just for today but forever. Together we prayed a simple prayer and when we finished I looked into Dad’s eyes. They sparkled. A broad, toothless smile spread across his rough-hewn face. Now, nearing the end of his life he had finally discovered the One who puts life all together, who gives it meaning and purpose.
A number of years have passed since that special moment in the nursing home. Dad is now enjoying the comforts and rewards of heaven. No pain and a new body. What a deal! I can hardly wait to see him. And who knows, maybe there’s ice cream in heaven. And if there is, I know who’ll be making it.
Is there someone in your life who needs the hope of heaven?
Effective witnessing is simply sharing the gospel in the power of the Holy Spirit and trusting God for the results. Where do you get this power? All believers in Jesus are indwelt by the Holy Spirit. But not all are experiencing all He has has to offer. You can pray right now and ask to be filled (controlled and empowered) by the Spirit:
Dear Father, I need You. I acknowledge that I have sinned against You by directing my own life. I thank You that You have forgiven my sins through Christ's death on the cross for me. I now invite Christ to again take His place on the throne of my life. Fill me with the Holy Spirit as You commanded me to be filled, and as You promised in Your Word that You would do if I asked in faith. I pray this in the name of Jesus. As an expression of my faith, I thank You for directing my life and for filling me with the Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you prayed this prayer, we encourage you to let us know.
If you would like to read more about how the Holy Spirit can give you power for living, visit "Have you made the wonderful discovery of the Spirit-filled life?"
