Loss is funny. Well, not funny ha ha, but funny strange. One moment, I’m going about life in this place and the next minute BAM! Father’s Day. I was enjoying setting up ways for the kids to show Chris just what a great Daddy he is to them -- special food, pictures, game playing, etc. -- when it hit me. Chris mentioned calling his Dad to wish him a Happy Father’s Day and I realized I didn’t have anyone to call. I’m really thankful for my Father-in-law and did enjoy that call and am so glad that he is in our life. But we couldn’t turn around and call my Dad. He’s with Jesus.
My Dad has been with Jesus for a long time -- long before his death. I can remember when he first really started living with God as the center of his life. Life was great with our family -- 2 parents who loved us, a safe home, lots of relatives close by. But when Dad gave his life to Jesus, it got better. At first I was annoyed when we had to listen to sermons on talk radio instead of the hits station. I didn’t like how every moment of our lives turned into an object lesson. I can remember one dinner where we were discussing the kind of potatoes we liked and Dad used the opportunity to point out sin issues in the family. Geesh! But, my Dad was on a journey toward becoming more like Christ. Some days he succeeded and others he didn’t. Much like a daughter of his I know pretty well.
Almost anyone who knew my Dad could quote his famous phrase. When asked how he was doing, he ALWAYS responded, “better than I deserve.” Even when he was painfully dying of lung cancer. The thing was, he’d wrestled with that phrase and knew it was true. Without Jesus, he was hopeless and deserved death. With Jesus, even in death he had eternal life. He often said he could tell so much about a person just by the way they responded to his answer.
My Dad had very little tact. Sometimes he would make pointed comments that were almost cringeworthy. I often would talk with him after a particularly tactless interchange and remind him that he might hurt people’s feelings if he spoke like that -- or that grace in speaking was also important. He’d respond, “Well, I guess you might be right, but love covers over a multitude of sins. I love that person.” Funny thing was, I knew almost no one that didn’t respect and appreciate my Dad’s wisdom -- even when it was extra-salty. Maybe I’m too worried about offending.
Dad also had an uncanny way of getting past the fluff and right to the heart of motives. It would be infuriating when he’d call me out about a wrong motive I had. I’d spend the next half hour arguing he was wrong, walk away, and spend the next hour thinking about how he was right. Grrr!!!! He read people well enough that he knew who my future spouse was before I did. I got a call from my older sister about 2 weeks after I started dating Chris. “Who is this guy your dating that Dad says your going to marry?” “What????” “Dad’s been telling the whole family he’s met your future husband.” “You tell Dad to shut up!!!!”
As we got ready to go to Asia, Dad was our biggest cheerleader. He had listened intently to our hearts about knowing we were supposed to go. He trusted God with our safety and health and children. Even when we found out he had cancer before we left, he told Chris, “Don’t just stay here and wait for me to die. Get over there.” We have plenty of other people who love and encourage us about being here, but no one was as vocal or as persistent as my Father. We miss that!
While he was getting sicker, we’d try to Skype with him -- until the pain got too much and we couldn’t talk long. I remember asking him what we could specifically pray for him about. He said, “Pray that I don’t embarrass God.” I think he knew that he wasn’t going to get well long before the rest of us had lost hope in a miracle. He knew how hard and painful it was going to be. And, I know that he didn’t embarrass God by how he suffered and died. For years, God molded his humility and endurance -- through losing his farm, raising us and our God-siblings, supporting my sister as a single Mom, his work in the local jail. He became milder and stronger all at the same time. God’s strength was showing through his weakness.
The last conversation I had with Dad went like this: “I love you, Daddy.” “You have a Heavenly Father who is a better Daddy to you than I could ever be. I trusted you to Him a long time ago and I continue to trust Him with you.” Yep, that about covers it.
So, I miss him. I miss his wisdom. I miss his quirks. I miss his voice on the other end of the line. So sure, confident, and humble. I know that it’s okay to miss him. I know it’s okay for these tears to be coming. But, I had him. I can’t escape the fact that I got the chance to be raised by that man. To watch him love my Mom so wonderfully. To watch him work for our family and our faith so tirelessly. I got that example.
Now tears are flowing for a different reason. I’m crying for the kids whose Daddy died before they met him. For the ones who have a few fleeting memories. Or even harder, the ones whose Dad is alive, but never loved them, or hurt them, or misused them, or left them. And I realize what a gift I had -- and still have. I have those words, those lessons, those joys and sorrows to keep me company. They remind me of the gift.
I have always loved sharing my Dad with my friends. He usually had some goofy jokes, or object lessons, or challenges or encouragement to impart. He was quick to adopt people into the family. So, for those of you out there who didn’t have what I had, I want to tell you what my Daddy told me -- and would tell you if he was here. “You have a Heavenly Father who is a better Daddy than ANYONE could ever be.” May you never forget how much He loves you!
One of the last pics I have of Jim Twidell and still one of my favorites! He wore that scarf we brought him almost every day. It kept his head warm after he'd lost his hair and weight. I sure wish he could have worn it while visiting us over here . . . He would have gotten a lot of stares :) It would have made him laugh -- he has a good laugh.
My Dad has been with Jesus for a long time -- long before his death. I can remember when he first really started living with God as the center of his life. Life was great with our family -- 2 parents who loved us, a safe home, lots of relatives close by. But when Dad gave his life to Jesus, it got better. At first I was annoyed when we had to listen to sermons on talk radio instead of the hits station. I didn’t like how every moment of our lives turned into an object lesson. I can remember one dinner where we were discussing the kind of potatoes we liked and Dad used the opportunity to point out sin issues in the family. Geesh! But, my Dad was on a journey toward becoming more like Christ. Some days he succeeded and others he didn’t. Much like a daughter of his I know pretty well.
Almost anyone who knew my Dad could quote his famous phrase. When asked how he was doing, he ALWAYS responded, “better than I deserve.” Even when he was painfully dying of lung cancer. The thing was, he’d wrestled with that phrase and knew it was true. Without Jesus, he was hopeless and deserved death. With Jesus, even in death he had eternal life. He often said he could tell so much about a person just by the way they responded to his answer.
My Dad had very little tact. Sometimes he would make pointed comments that were almost cringeworthy. I often would talk with him after a particularly tactless interchange and remind him that he might hurt people’s feelings if he spoke like that -- or that grace in speaking was also important. He’d respond, “Well, I guess you might be right, but love covers over a multitude of sins. I love that person.” Funny thing was, I knew almost no one that didn’t respect and appreciate my Dad’s wisdom -- even when it was extra-salty. Maybe I’m too worried about offending.
Dad also had an uncanny way of getting past the fluff and right to the heart of motives. It would be infuriating when he’d call me out about a wrong motive I had. I’d spend the next half hour arguing he was wrong, walk away, and spend the next hour thinking about how he was right. Grrr!!!! He read people well enough that he knew who my future spouse was before I did. I got a call from my older sister about 2 weeks after I started dating Chris. “Who is this guy your dating that Dad says your going to marry?” “What????” “Dad’s been telling the whole family he’s met your future husband.” “You tell Dad to shut up!!!!”
As we got ready to go to Asia, Dad was our biggest cheerleader. He had listened intently to our hearts about knowing we were supposed to go. He trusted God with our safety and health and children. Even when we found out he had cancer before we left, he told Chris, “Don’t just stay here and wait for me to die. Get over there.” We have plenty of other people who love and encourage us about being here, but no one was as vocal or as persistent as my Father. We miss that!
While he was getting sicker, we’d try to Skype with him -- until the pain got too much and we couldn’t talk long. I remember asking him what we could specifically pray for him about. He said, “Pray that I don’t embarrass God.” I think he knew that he wasn’t going to get well long before the rest of us had lost hope in a miracle. He knew how hard and painful it was going to be. And, I know that he didn’t embarrass God by how he suffered and died. For years, God molded his humility and endurance -- through losing his farm, raising us and our God-siblings, supporting my sister as a single Mom, his work in the local jail. He became milder and stronger all at the same time. God’s strength was showing through his weakness.
The last conversation I had with Dad went like this: “I love you, Daddy.” “You have a Heavenly Father who is a better Daddy to you than I could ever be. I trusted you to Him a long time ago and I continue to trust Him with you.” Yep, that about covers it.
So, I miss him. I miss his wisdom. I miss his quirks. I miss his voice on the other end of the line. So sure, confident, and humble. I know that it’s okay to miss him. I know it’s okay for these tears to be coming. But, I had him. I can’t escape the fact that I got the chance to be raised by that man. To watch him love my Mom so wonderfully. To watch him work for our family and our faith so tirelessly. I got that example.
Now tears are flowing for a different reason. I’m crying for the kids whose Daddy died before they met him. For the ones who have a few fleeting memories. Or even harder, the ones whose Dad is alive, but never loved them, or hurt them, or misused them, or left them. And I realize what a gift I had -- and still have. I have those words, those lessons, those joys and sorrows to keep me company. They remind me of the gift.
I have always loved sharing my Dad with my friends. He usually had some goofy jokes, or object lessons, or challenges or encouragement to impart. He was quick to adopt people into the family. So, for those of you out there who didn’t have what I had, I want to tell you what my Daddy told me -- and would tell you if he was here. “You have a Heavenly Father who is a better Daddy than ANYONE could ever be.” May you never forget how much He loves you!
One of the last pics I have of Jim Twidell and still one of my favorites! He wore that scarf we brought him almost every day. It kept his head warm after he'd lost his hair and weight. I sure wish he could have worn it while visiting us over here . . . He would have gotten a lot of stares :) It would have made him laugh -- he has a good laugh.
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