Sometimes we forget past blessings – The Toy Box

Last week, I came across a written note that my Dad sent to me. Written were the words—sometimes, we forget our past blessings. And I connected in my mind those words with the toy box Dad built for David.

When I was growing up on the farm we had an old granary. This granary was not like most. It was built out of wood, was rectangular in shape, and had a slanted half roof. The wood was painted red. The same color as the barn. I never thought of it as a granary. It wasn't round, it wasn't made out of tin or metal, it wasn't a silo: it was instead a red wooden, rectangular granary built on limestone rock foundation with open space below. My drawing from memory of it below:

I always thought it was a weird looking granary. Certainly nothing to tell any of the other boys at school about. It was more to me like an embarrassment. A wooden, rectangular shed used as a granary. It certainly didn't have much capacity. Because to enter it, there was a regular size door with a piece of wood about 2 feet tall to hold the grain back.

I recall that we had a small tubular auger, yellowish in color. I remember scooping grain that was poured on the ground into the auger feeding tube as the auger transported grains of wheat or of milo into a port, a window-type hole, which was created for this type of thing. After completing the auger task, the port would be sealed shut with a solid wood gate latched back into place.

I discovered while researching the Web that wood granaries were set on some sort of foundation that raised the building off the ground and provided ventilation underneath. Until the 1930s, farm granaries were of wood-frame construction.  I never knew when I was a young that granaries had been constructed of wood and not always out of metal. Here is a picture of wood granary that looks very similar to the one on the farm:

In the early 90s, Dad had the granary torn down and replaced by a large Quonset hut. He salvaged some of that granary wood and made a toy box – David’s toy box. Now, many decades later, I have a new found love of the old granary. It is the only piece of the farm that is in my house. Below are some pictures of it. The granary still remains a part of our family through the toy box: a past blessing not forgotten.

What a Wonderful Christmas 2016

Three months ago, it was December 25, 2016. Christmas Day. There were three gifts - touching, very thoughful gifts. It's time to share those gifts and to remember.

Our dryer went kaput. I had become quite adept with indoor clothes line hanging and drying methods. But it was a slow process.  David and Dani bought their mother and I a gift. They bought a dryer.

So - we were a normal laundry household again. Well, until the washing machine went kaput two months later. But that was replaced and we are good to go for house laundry!

The next two gifts made me well up some tears.

David sent a picture that Dani took to a photo lab.  The picture was transformed into a large canvas picture. The picture is of David, Dad, Mom, and me. The canvas picture is a beauty and hangs below the picture of the Lord's Supper in our dining room. The large canvas is so special to me after Dad died last May; it is a reminder of a joyful moment to look at each morning.

Dani asked for something that Dad signed - his signature. I thought she wanted to have a signature to copy to keep as a memento. And she did!  She had a sunflower tattoo placed on her arm with Dad's signature above it.  Wow - what a loving testament to Dad and his love for all!

Christmas 2016 was a beautiful, shining light remembering Dad and helping our household. My wife and I are very blessed with two wonderful, passionate children.

Remembering Dad on this Father's Day Weekend

On May 21st, my Dad died.

This was not an easy blog post to write less than a month later, but this is Father’s Day weekend.  I wrote this post as a remembrance in this moment of my life.

Dani wrote beautiful, moving words in her eulogy for Dad’s funeral – here is a snippet:

My grandfather was the most genuine, down-to-earth, and caring man in the universe, and even that is an understatement. Every moment spent with him, I was astounded by his kindness, his selflessness, and his passion. He never cared about anything halfway--when he loved something, he put his heart and soul into that love.

Indeed, Dad never did anything halfway, including sharing his love. I was blessed to be immersed into that world.
 
One day during the summer between my high school sophomore and junior years, Dad and I played a few sets of tennis on the courts next to Smith Center High School.  Tennis was a good recreational sport and we loved competition and it was good father/son time.  I tried to perfect my serve with a slow, curving first serve bounce. He was always patient as I had more cord serves than actual good ones.  On this particular day, after packing up our gear, Dad asked me a question out of the blue.

Was I ok with the move to Smith Center?

I was a little taken back – I had already completed two years of high school at SC.  But he knew the move was a shock to the ordinary.  My 16-year old reply was that the move was the best thing that ever happened to me.  And today, I’m a proud alum of Smith Center High.

But back to that move that shocked the ordinary.

Before Smith Center, Dad had lived his entire life on a farm that his grandfather purchased. It was in a remote location and was not close to anyone or anyplace. My family lived in that same house; a house that my great-grandfather built from quarried limestone.

After I was born, Dad rededicated his life to God and church. He increasingly moved onward to church leadership positions. He had a call to the ministry. But he was full of self-doubt. His disability gave him this doubt. His speech impediment stopped him. But a miracle happened from the pulpit – from the pulpit he could speak with the power of love, or during a funeral with the power to overcome grief, preaching from the heart because he was all in with the passion of love. What a witness he was for miracles.

When I was 14, Dad and our family left the farm behind. I became a PK. Our lives changed. A move that shocked the ordinary.

David posted a moving FB post on May 21 about Dad. Here is a snippet:

The world has lost a great man. He was strong and kind hearted. He helped me build strength and character, and helped shape what I hold to be my personal values that have shaped who I have become as a person.

Values – I could write a lot about the values learned from Dad. I delivered a short eulogy about one of those values at Dad’s graveside service.

After his funeral at the local church, the funeral procession drove several miles out of town to a country cemetery. A cemetery surrounded by nothing but miles of open land in any direction. I’ve never been comfortable being around caskets.  But standing less than two feet from Dad’s casket, I spoke about the value of family and what it meant to Dad.

Dad supported, led, and organized annual family reunions for many years on both sides of my family.  He enjoyed going to family outings and celebrating holidays with family.  And after his retirement from the ministry, he spent 15 years as a caretaker for that country cemetery – a cemetery where his parents were buried, and his brothers, and his sister and her husband, and his grandmother and grandfather, and uncles, and many more.  I talked about the connection of that cemetery and how it will be a part of our lives forever: a connection to Dad and to family.

I miss Dad. I can’t call him on the phone just to talk about life. That’s difficult for anyone who has lost a loved one.

I will end this post from a dream I had. There was a song made popular by Ronnie Milsap in the 70s. The song was played at a lot of weddings because of love. Well, funerals are about love too.

As I envisioned Dad meeting his Lord on that Saturday, these words from that song were rolling in my dream:
What a difference you’ve made in my life
What a difference you’ve made in my life
You’re my sunshine day and night
Oh, what a difference you’ve made – in my life.

My Statements at Mt. Vernon Cemetery

This is that final visual moment before the body is lowered into the earth and becomes one with the land.

This cemetery has a special family connection.

Dad wanted this place to look its best - so much so that he toiled to load and unload equipment to be a groundskeeper here for many years. Dad's family was placed into the earth here. Dad's parents as well as his brothers and sister and his grandmother Dora. And his grandfather John Hunter who migrated from Missouri to this part of Kansas.

As we lower Dad to his final resting place, I can imagine the wind whistling through here as it keeps a constant lookout over our land of remembrance. This cemetery will forever be a continuous connection in our lives as a place where we remember our Dad, Grandpa, Husband, and friend.