He died April 29, 2017, at the age of 87. He lived for Christ, for kingdom and for family.
He was a man.
Dad pastored for 67 years, so I was raised a preacher’s kid, but I didn’t have anything to complain about. He wasn’t one of those famous preachers – he was a small church pastor in small towns all over Oklahoma, Utah and Arizona. A champion. A huge influence on entire communities. He served because it mattered, because he was called, not for fame or ambition. It was as pure as it gets.
He and my mom did an amazing job with my brother, Matt and me. It was an amazing upbringing. The memories – wow! I remember Matt and I hanging onto his back as he dove into the deep end of the Motel 6 pools on vacations showing us how to “go deep” in the water. We played sports, fixed cars (and rebuilt a few), and drove all over the nation in those legendary 1960’s vacation trips.
He put Matt and I in an inner-tube (google it) and pulled us around in the rare Oklahoma snow behind his Ford. I still think he kicked a football as high as anyone I’ve ever seen. He had a wicked right cross (he boxed in the Navy) and once nearly knocked me out accidentally. I was 10 years old and he was sparring with me on his knees, showing how it was done. When I regained composure and asked, “what happened?” he replied, “you dropped your guard. Don’t do that.” Very effective lesson.
Some of you may be horrified to hear that – others will nod knowingly. It’s dad stuff, done in love. It seemed to work pretty well. We turned out fine.
When we weren’t doing stuff like that, I simply watched him. I watched him carve out a hour each morning to slip away to a side porch in our house to pray and read the Bible. I watched him cry for us and sometimes because of us. I watched him restrain his words and his temper when I would test his limits as a teenager. I watched him love my mom, and make her feel like she was the most special woman in the world. I watched him talk people “off the ledge” of doing disastrous things, and I watched him lead people to Jesus. I watched him deal with angry people without losing his own temper. He was a man.
As I grew older, Dad become more of a mentor. He taught me things no one else would take the time to do it. He was the biggest backer of both my brother and I, and I think deep down, we knew it. He BELIEVED in us. When we were separated by distance we got the regular phone calls. “How’s the job? How’s the weather? How’s the car running?” It was dad/kid conversation – it was staying in touch.
I could write a book. Maybe I should. I know that not everyone has had a great dad experience, and I know some who had the worst – but they are determined to change that by being incredible dads themselves. It’s worth it guys. Be a man like you want to be known to have been.
When dad died, we all knew what we’d lost. There were the great times we wished we’d had some more of, and words we all wished we’d said, but death doesn’t wait around like we think it will. He’s gone on to his considerable heavenly reward. We have great memories.
And an enormous example.
My dad was a man. He was THE man. Happy Father’s Day, dad.
Thoughts from John Meador and insights from God's Word.