Ninety-Nine and Counting

About two weeks ago would have been my father’s 99th birthday. I say it would have been, because he passed away in the Spring of 2013, at the age of 94. My dad was also named Richard Eddy, though he usually went by the nickname, Dick. I could not have chosen a better person to be named after (other than Jesus, but that just isn’t done in Anglo cultural tradition). Neither did they name me after Martin Luther, because, well, my parents were Methodists, not Lutheran. I think they would have found “Marty Eddy” a little awkward, too. They could have named me after the founder of Methodism, John Wesley, but the last guy to be named after him was John Wesley Hardin, and he turned out to be a vicious, gun-slinging outlaw. So they had to settle with naming me after my dad – though I used to fantasize that I was really named after England’s King Richard the Lionhearted (refer to my Anglo background).

It’s common for a child to esteem, or even idolize, his or her parents. They seem so much bigger than life, they know and can do so much, and their loving commitment to their family can make us very proud of them (“My dad can lick your dad!”). In my case it was easy: my dad did know a lot, was strong and wiry, spent his off-work time doing things with or for the family, and was a faithful Christian gentleman who humbly worked as a YMCA director for 40 years and served as a lay leader in every church to which he belonged. He and my mom were married for 57 years until the day he laid her to rest, after caring for her in her final months at home. Yeah, I loved and admired my dad, and followed in his footsteps in my faith, in my college choice (his Alma Mater), and in my first career as a YMCA youth director.

It would be easy to go on and on about my dad, but I can best describe him by relating a few special incidents that illustrate his character. My purpose is not to put him up on a pedestal or even to idolize him, but to share some thoughts about how faith in Christ can impact how we live. So, here goes . . .

1. There was the baseball incident. As youth director of the Racine, Wisconsin YMCA, my dad was responsible for the youth sports leagues the Y sponsored. So it was that when he drove me to one of my games, and learned the umpire hadn’t shown up, he stepped up to the plate – no, actually, to behind the pitcher’s mound since he had no protective face mask with him – to call the game. It was I who stepped up to the plate. The pitcher wound up and threw: “Strike 1” as I swung and missed! The pitcher threw again, but this time the ball came right at me. I instinctively backed away, my bat and hands held horizontally in front of me. The ball clipped my knuckles (a knuckle ball?), then grazed my chin, and finally bounced off my collar bone. I got up, dusted off, and was halfway to first base when I heard my dad call out, “Strike 2!” Everyone, even the other team, looked at him in shocked surprise. He explained, “I heard the ball hit the bat. That makes it a foul ball and therefore, strike 2.” I went back to the plate, and proceeded to miss again for my third strike. I still couldn’t believe that my own dad had called a strike when no one in the world would have questioned him sending me to first base. But as time went on, I came to appreciate that call, and even praised it at his retirement dinner. It’s true that no one would have questioned him sending me to the base, but my dad was certain he heard the ball hit the bat, and that made it a strike. He had to do what was right, even at a cost to his own son (me!). That show of integrity stuck with me much longer than any bump in my meager sporting life. He always felt bad for that call, but I assured him it was right, especially when I later learned that if a pitch hits a hand that is holding a bat, it technically is a foul ball. So dad was right all along . . . and he taught me something about integrity in the process!
2. There was Indian Guides. Back when it was cool to honor Indians by dressing up and learning about them (before cries of “cultural appropriation”), my dad and I were members of several Y-Indian Guide tribes. We were in the program for six years – twice as long as usual – because my dad was the Y staff member who led the program at the Y’s where he served. So I got to go with him to the meetings, on canoe trips, and on camp-outs. I enjoyed being Running Deer to dad’s Walking Deer, partly for the cultural interest, but also because the program helped fulfill the purpose of its founders: to help dads and sons spend time together and develop life-long bonds of love and respect. I was “Pals Forever with my Dad,” and was honored by him that he spent what could have been free time, with me.
3. There were the haircuts. Some of the special times we spent together were under the guise of him cutting my hair. He did it to save money (and probably to make sure I didn’t let my hair get too long!), but to me those times we spent together were very enjoyable. He would put on some old 78 rpm records and we’d listen while he trimmed – usually some humorous songs, but sometimes a patriotic tune like “The Ballad of Rodger Young.” We sang “O My Darling Clementine” and “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain” together, and listened to Burl Ives sing about the “Big Rock-Candy Mountain.” (Yes, I am dating myself.) We would talk while his often-malfunctioning electric trimmer clipped away, but mostly I enjoyed his made-up stories. People talk about “quality time” but I think “quantity time” is just as important, if not more. Though he never charged me for the haircuts, there was a price to be paid: all the way through high school I always had a crew cut.
4. There was the “off to college” incident. It was the day my family prepared to take me to college. As my dad and I loaded up the family car with my essentials, he took me aside for a little fatherly advice. He basically said two things. First, he said, “I’ve had 18 years to teach you about what’s right and wrong, and how to live. If you don’t know by now, nothing I say today will make a difference. But I trust you will do what is right.” It was nice to hear his vote of confidence. But, then he said something that really stuck with me. It went like this: “As you face situations in your life ahead, you’ll want to know what God would have you do. We want to hear his direction loud and clear, but I’ve found God usually works more quietly in leading us.  When Elijah encountered God, it wasn’t in the wind and the fire and the earthquake that God spoke to him, but rather in a ‘still, small voice.’ Son, listen for God to guide you with that still, small voice.” I always appreciated his advice, and found over the years that God often directed in quiet, intimate ways that I would have missed had I looked only for the spectacular.
   
5. There was the 50th Anniversary surprise. Our family gathered in greater Chicago for my parents’ 50th Anniversary celebration. That was where they had met and married and first lived (and where I was born). Many of my mother’s family still lived there, so it was an appropriate venue for the event. We ate a nice dinner, and then the family shared stories and congratulated the folks on their accomplishment. During that time, a man – a stranger – walked in on the party, and asked to say something. As I said, none of us knew him, but it was obvious he had somehow learned about the party and had felt the need to address us. He said he had come to thank my dad for teaching Sunday School some 50 years earlier. He said that it was during one of those classes that my dad prayed with his students, and this man had given himself to Jesus Christ during that prayer. He had always wanted to thank my dad for leading him to Christ, and would be eternally grateful for it. I don’t remember any of the other testimonials or gifts given to my parents that day, but that man’s joy and gratitude, I will never forget.

Like I said, I could go on for hours talking about my dad. He was very special in many ways, but his greatest legacy for me is my faith in Christ. I saw the difference it made in his life of humble service and faithful family leadership, and heard it in the words of faith he shared with me. There was no hypocrisy, only faith lived out with a dependence on the Lord for strength now and eternal life to come.

Why did I title this post, “Ninety-Nine and Counting,” when my dad passed away at the age of 94? I did so because I believe he is with the Lord in whom he deeply believed and for whom he lived. And like the song, “10,000 Reasons,” (which I played at his funeral service), he will be alive with the Lord for “10,000 years and then forevermore.” So 99 years is just a warm up for the main event. Thanks to my dad for all his loving service, and to our Lord, Jesus Christ for giving me the dad I had and for reconciling us to our heavenly Father above.

About now, you’re ready to ask, “Okay, Rich, we get it about your father. But what about your mother?” Well, she would have been 100 this past Spring. But that’s another story. . .

And now may the Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you, the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace. Amen.

Read: 1 Kings 19:9-13 (“Still, small voice” in the KJV = “sound of a low whisper” in the ESV)