thesoulpurposedotorg

My Father was a veteran but minimized it’s importance because he never saw military action having joined the Navy and sailed off to the Philippines as the war was ending. Just today, I learned from my mother that he had joined the Navy rather than another branch because the Post Master in his hometown told him to saying: “in the Navy you will always have a dry bed to sleep in, good food and less chance of dying.” He joined before his 18th birthday by lying about his age (the only lie I ever knew him to tell – truly). He couldn’t swim but I don’t remember how he got around that one. I’m glad my father didn’t see action. He had such a tender heart, I don’t think he would have survived.
As a minister. I often did funeral’s for veterans. There were always other vets present. Many times, one would seek me out after the graveside service with tears streaming down their cheeks. In some form or other, I would be asked, “Do you really believe God can forgive me for what I did in the war?” My heart would break at the years of hell that had plagued them with these questions. I always assured them that God had long ago forgiven these horrors and that their tears were God’s tears.
My Dad didn’t see action but he did participate in the integration of the Navy. His memories of those days informed his commitment to move past and lead past stereotypes and prejudice. That in itself is an enduring and yet to be won war.

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I have fond memories of sitting at the dinner table with my parents and brothers at precisely 6 pm every night but Sunday. Dad would have arrived home from the hard physical labor of his job as a residential electrician and foreman. He would have finished his ritual wash-up with “Goop” (I wonder if they still make that?) at the kitchen sink, washed out his thermos and set it out to soak clean, showered and changed into some atrocious looking but comfortable outfit. Looking back on it, I imagine he was totally exhausted. Most nights my brothers would kick each other under the table or try to tease me to make me cry (which I faked doing quite effectively). Mom would try to get us to talk about our days without much success but we are all better for her efforts. At some point in the meal, Dad would be “out of the loop” of our conversations and Tom foolery. He would be staring off into space, probably thinking through some problem at work, figuring out how to get something done faster and better, or how to save the company some money, how to beat his time on the previous job or how to motivate a younger worker without telling them off. Or perhaps he was thinking about side jobs to supplement the family income. “Dick! Dick? ” Mom would say as Dad apparently didn’t hear a word any of us were saying. Then one of us kids would wave our hand in front of his eyes and he would slowly turn and relax his lips into an ” O” like a zombie, stare blankly then shake his head in such a way that his lips would sake back and forth and we would all collapse on hysterics.

After dinner while we all cleaned up, Dad would retreat to his olive green lazy boy and cogitate some more. His work was his pride if not always his joy. He raised us all, children and grandchildren alike, to be hard workers, honest and proud of whatever work we did. One of the many things that bugged him in life were people who did not understand that their work was a reflection of their faith. Until the day he died, Dad’s work was the same for him as worship. What a great way to live!

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My father was passionate about economic justice, and the belief that all people are worthly. His two political heros were Tommy Dougas (the greatest Canadian other than my husband in his eyes) and Harry Truman. About 6 months before he died, he was on one of his many expositions about Harry Truman. At one point I turned to Mom and said “I suppose we will miss these lectures when he is gone.” She rolled her eyes as only she can do and said “I suppose we will.” Yes, we do.

On the other hand, over the years Dad would have coffee or breakfast on a weekly basis at The Seven Dwarfs with many men with whom he disagreed. He didn’t give up on them. He volunteered at the hospital in transport and always sought to treat each patient with love and respect, and to go the extra mile for their benefit.

It seems that when he wasn’t lecturing “the choir” about his viewpoints, he was actually practicing peace with those with whom he disagreed. Perhaps it was his humility that empowered him to do this, or perhaps it was his way of showing compassion to those he thought had trouble being compassionate. Certainly he was practicing being Christ to them. Or maybe he just liked teasing them and joking around with the owner of Seven Dwarfs! I know for certain he engendered their love and respect. What a peaceful world this would be if we could all do the same.

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