Changing Places, letting go and saying good-bye continued 2009

Life Journey Continued 2009

There is a saying that life goes on. And it does. Life continues. Even after we lose a loved one. The sun still shines. We wake up. We keep our routine. We go to work. We eat. We laugh. We remember. We cry. We miss our special one.

There was a promise I made to Mom on that last day even though she probably didn't hear me. I whispered in her ear that I would take care of Dad. But I knew what my heart had promised and I kept my word. I focused on taking care of Dad. I had to be clever to make sure he didn't know how much I was really caring for him. He had continued the facade and still fancied himself to be fiercely independent. What we didn't bargain for was the awkwardness of the role reversal that naturally occurs with the passage of time. For the most part, we gently adjusted and made our peace with this ultimate life change.

There were other numerous life changes that Dad experienced over the last few years. We were amazed at how well Dad had adjusted, considering his own health issues that had greatly aged him. He tirelessly cared for an invalid wife for 10 years, resigned from his beloved life work as the founder of an aviation ministry, lived with untreated prostate cancer, recovered from heart surgery, hip replacement, put the log home slash dream home that he built on the market, and eventually relocated to our area which meant leaving friends, familiar routines, roads and residence behind. His greatest adjustment was becoming a widower.

There was a new way of life. Dad was living in a new home with familiar furnishings which were lovingly arranged but never had the personal touch of the decorator of the family, Mom. Dad loved his home but was not accustomed to being alone. His hope to share it with Mom wasn't realized. We tried to build a new life for Dad. We filled his schedule with keyboard concerts at local nursing homes, shared our friends and included him in all family activities. Dad, a man who spent a lifetime living a strict schedule, became spontaneous and responded affirmatively to our last minute invitations to eat out, go to the park, a ball game, an occasional movie or visits in the homes of his grandchildren. We planned special events like taking a Tennessee River lunch cruise, the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey circus and the Disney on Ice show. We kept regular routines he could count on like Monday Night Taco night at Amigos, weekend plans or a monthly Manwich and Music night hosted in his home when he would entertain our friends with his keyboard repertoire.

There were neglected health issues. We began a round of doctor appointments; an eye doctor for double cataract surgery, a heart doctor, an urologist to monitor his prostate cancer, and a general physician to monitor his Coumadin dosages. Dad always protested he was fine and didn't need anything.

There were bumps in the journey. Just two months after we lost Mom, Dad was diagnosed with bone cancer. The untreated prostate cancer had spread. Although we bravely faced this new obstacle with optimism, we were concerned. Upon hearing the diagnosis, I specifically asked the Lord to please not allow Dad to suffer from the pain of bone cancer.

There were mistakes. He paid his first $120.00 telephone bill online but accidentally keyed in the check amount for $12,000.00. Imagine our shock that the telephone company accepted it and applied it to his account. It was a fiasco trying to get an immediate refund check issued back to a strained bank balance.

There were mishaps. On Father’s Day, Dad missed the last step as he was on his way to Sunday school. He split his head open above his eye and wound up in the ER for stitches. The bruising bled from his eye to his neck. He looked like he'd been in a fight and was the obvious loser. He chuckled over the whole episode and kept on going, bruises and all. In the ER that day, a scan revealed an aneurysm that resulted in an additional procedure at a later date.

There were lasting effects from the procedure that attempted to treat the aneurysm. Though we had the best physician available to accomplish this task, five hours of effort yielded no success. The effects of anesthesia were even more frightening. Within hours of bringing Dad home from the ICU where he was monitored overnight, he could not void. We took him to the ER in excruciating pain. He endured delay in receiving relief because the waiting room was full of patients. It was more than I could endure to see my 80 year old father almost passed out from pain, waiting for the relief a catheter could provide. Normally an undemanding person, I became aggressive trying to secure help for Dad. I asked if he could be catheterized in a hallway with a sheet held in front of him for privacy. Finally, he received help. A complication occurred when his bladder went into spasm which resulted in more pain. After Dad received pain medication and was resting in a drug induced sleep, we were informed he was to be sent home. At three in the morning, Dad was transferred home by ambulance, catheter and all. It seemed absurd. Our personal physician and friend made house calls to help us wean Dad off the catheter. Dad also exhibited a change in his interaction with us. His sister and I were fearful Dad had retreated and would not be the same. He did not initiate conversation and responded to us with slow, deliberate one word answers. In a couple of days, he slowly walked over to the keyboard and labored to play a tune. Each effort yielded better results. Thankfully, Dad was back. But there remained a marked change. We lost ground we never recovered. His thinking was never as sharp. His memory was never as clear.

There was a vulnerability to advertisements for health cures, companionship, useless products and empty promises of prosperity through various offers. These offers flooded his mailbox online and offline. We made calls requesting removal of his name from mailing and call lists; we sporadically snatched up his junk mail whenever possible, and eventually figured out his email password so we could eliminate unscrupulous solicitors who take advantage of the naivety of the elderly. We limited verbally voicing our concerns about these matters to Dad unless absolutely necessary. It was a challenge to maintain his dignity and sense of independence.

There were incidents. One incident I can relive in my mind like it was yesterday. It all came about because I'd called the fire department to ask if it was a potential fire hazard to have a parked vehicle emitting gas fumes sharing garage space with a gas water heater pilot light. The fire department was located near Dad's neighborhood so they graciously offered to come over to evaluate the situation in person. Dad remarked it was thoughtful for me to call to inquire and welcomed their visit. Three fire department persons arrived shortly to help us.

There was a gathering in the garage to assess the situation concerning Dad's parked classic car, the Studebaker Avanti. The garage doors had been open for over an hour so the strong smell of gasoline had somewhat dissipated. The request was made for the Avanti to be moved out of the garage so the contents on the drip pan underneath the vehicle could be examined. Dad had already pulled his other vehicle, a Lincoln to the end of the driveway. Dad got the keys and started the Avanti. The fire department staff was standing in the front of the parked Avanti. I was closer to the opening of the garage door. As soon as Dad backed the Avanti out of the garage, the four of us looked expectantly towards the garage floor. We centered our attention on the drip pan. My concentration was disrupted when I realized Dad was bringing the car back into the garage. What was he thinking? We hadn't had time to assess the amount of gasoline leakage. The Avanti passed me. Dad was looking ahead. The Avanti continued deeper into the garage. The other three individuals were puzzled by Dad's re-entry. The Avanti kept coming. Suddenly it was apparent Dad was not going to stop. One of the personnel literally jumped out of the way to avoid being pinned between the car and the wall. The Avanti's front fender on the passenger side crunched into the garage wall. The fiberglass fender popped up like a macabre jack-in-the-box. I couldn't believe my eyes. Dad had just rammed his immaculate, pristine vehicle into the garage!

There was a transfer of my attention as I focused now primarily on Dad. What was he doing? He began backing out of the garage. That was good move except he kept backing up and almost hit his Lincoln at the end of the driveway. He put the Avanti into forward gear just in time and advanced towards the garage again. He entered the garage. We were on guard, jockeying into position to do what, I don't know. I was yelling at the top of my voice, trying to penetrate through Dad's closed window, "Dad, what are you doing? Dad, what are you doing?" We were literally trying to push the car away from the wall so he would not damage his car again. As we strained against the forward thrust of the Avanti, we were relieved from the persistent pressure when Dad put the car in reverse again. Like an instant replay of a slap stick comedy, the Avanti almost hit the Lincoln again. The movie continued to play as the Avanti rolled forward towards the garage for the third time. I resumed yelling my pointless words at Dad's closed window, while adding the hand motion of cutting my throat. I was so intent on communicating that I didn't realize I was almost getting pinned between the garage door and the car until one of the firemen pulled me away.

There was a sudden a halt to this surreal scenario. The car stopped. Dad opened the car door, unfolded his long legs and dejectedly climbed out of his unattractive newly customized car. The firemen quickly offered to push the Avanti out into the yard next to the driveway. Dad's explanation was there were no brakes. The car hadn't been driven for months and he hadn't checked the brakes before backing up. He got flustered and didn't think of turning the car off. For a man like Dad who is accustomed to presenting himself with great dignity, it was a very humiliating incident.

There was relief when the fire department personnel left. Dad and I retreated to the living room where my sister had been conducting a business matter on the telephone. After we related the horrible mishap to her, she explained why she hadn't come out to see what happened. She was in the middle of a phone call trying to settle one of Dad's mishandled financial issues. The company representative handling the problem actually heard me yelling from the garage. She asked my sister if she needed to go help with an obvious problem. My sister began crying, which is not her norm as she answered, "We are just trying to take care of my Dad and there is always some drama happening. Let's just finish this first." The matter was settled.

There was a happy ending to this story. Dad ended up with a complete new paint job for the Avanti, my fears were confirmed by the fire department that the gas fumes were indeed a fire hazard with the gas water heater and I learned to never stand in Dad's way when he was behind the wheel.

There were opportunities to get to know Dad that my sister and I had never encountered as we grew up. Dad was our greatly admired hero but he was frequently absent because of mission trips or being busy with ministry needs. Mom was the consistent parent on duty. She was more talkative than Dad so we didn't often interact conversationally with him. As a teenager, whenever I found myself alone with Dad, I nervously struggled to think of things to say. Now Dad was part of my daily life. I drove him to appointments, ran errands, shopped, ate out, and we talked constantly. In the short time he lived close by I talked to him more than I did my entire life. It was very enlightening. I learned more about his devotion to the Lord and ministry, his willingness to be involved in the life of others, his life views, his experiences, his stories, his humor, his personality, his temperament, his mind set, his insecurities, his expectations, his misperceptions, his hang-ups, his routines, his perfectionism, his ability to keep on going, his uncomplaining attitude, his stubbornness, his loyalty, and surprising quirks. To my discomfort, we had numerous talks about his intimate personal matters I never envisioned speaking about with my Dad. Nor did I wish to continue to speak about with my Dad. Sometimes I became a counselor to encourage Dad in his adjustments to his new life. Often I started at square one and repeated the same message. Ironically, he said I sounded like a counselor and acknowledged I was giving good counsel and he knew he needed to change his thinking. It was the role reversal in process. I was giving back to him things he had taught and nurtured in my life. And through it all, he still remained my hero.

There were special times of worship with Dad I will always cherish. I had seen Dad in church all my life but never like I saw him in church the last 18 months of his life. The first time Dad visited our church is a vivid memory. The orchestra was playing a lively number as we walked down the aisle to our seats. He was literally almost high stepping it down the aisle. We sat down. Excitedly he said to me rather loudly, "Wow. I've come to the right place!" That was how it was every time for Dad. He was deeply affected each service by the songs and the message. He couldn't understand his emotional reaction that moved him to tears. He tried to talk about it to understand it. I just encouraged him to embrace the special sensitivity that the Lord had laid on his tender heart. I loved seeing Dad respond with his tears, an amen or even raising his hand. It mirrored my own response. We were united in our worship experience. Each Sunday I saved Dad a seat. I watched for him to appear in the doorway to the left of the auditorium platform. He'd always have a colorful jacket with coordinating tie. His steps were slower but he ambled along to take his place next to me. He always asked my approval of his outfit. Did he match everything ok? He was accustomed to having Mom's approving eye to send him out. Then we'd settle in for the blessed experience of meeting the Lord together in our pew. Dad was enthralled with the ministry of the interim pastor, especially a unique study of Revelation. We surprised Dad one Sunday dinner at his granddaughter's home with special guests, the interim pastor and his wife. Dad was delighted to have the one on one time with someone he greatly admired. Dad bonded with the associate pastor and people in his Sunday school class. He became known by name. His approval of the candidate who answered the Lord's call to pastor our church was phenomenal. Every Sunday Dad stood in line after the service to greet the pastor. With both hands Dad gripped the hand of the new pastor towering over him. Dad sincerely offered his own special encouragement as his eyes filled with tears, “That was a tremendous message, Pastor!" Since reading Dad's files of correspondence throughout his ministry, it is obvious he had learned the importance of encouragement from personal experience.

There is not one Sunday that I don't still look towards the door to the left of the auditorium to watch for Dad to appear in his flashy coat and tie. I cry alone now over the choir specials, orchestra numbers or the song service. I miss Dad crying with me.

There was a special vacation. After Mom went to be with the Lord, we planned a first for all of us with Dad. A real vacation at a tourist spot. My sister, brother-in-law, Dad, my husband and myself spent a week in Pigeon Forge. We enjoyed the music at Dollywood. Dad relished each show. Many shows we repeated purely for Dad's enjoyment. Dad even felt the freedom to get up and dance a whirl with my sister. He was game for any suggestion. He had his first helicopter ride, even though it was only a few minutes long. He enjoyed our home cooking in the condo. He loved having our companionship in the evenings. He was sorry when our week ended. We were too.

There were special visits from my sister who lived two hours away. She managed frequent weekend visits even though she maintained a demanding schedule as an elementary school teacher. He frequently called her several times a week as she was on her way to school. He began most of his phone calls with, "How is my dear daughter?" But there was nothing like a visit to his home. My sister spent quality time with Dad. She claimed the spare bedroom as her own special room. She sorted and paid his bills. She made the house smell good with her whirlwind house cleaning efforts, refilled vanilla plug-in deodorizers and her crock pot meals. These were precious times for both of them. Dad hated to see her leave. He always stood on the porch to wave her off as she drove away.

There were special visits from his only sibling, his sister from Illinois. She typically planned a three week visit. They both enjoyed each other’s company immensely. They spent late night hours bent over the keyboard, entertaining each other in song. Giggling like school kids, they shared time together in the world of music. She baked him home cooked meals and cookies to snack on. The hard part of the visit was when it ended. Dad had to adjust to being alone again. But his sister always gave him something to look forward to by setting another visit date.

There were special visits with his great grandchildren. Dad wasn't used to being the center of attention when it came to children. Usually my Mom had that spot and Dad was just an observer. I loved seeing Dad's enjoyment at being the recipient of the hugs and kisses from these little ones. They easily accepted him and treated him special. Dad was impressed with their unique expressive conversations and play. He loved watching his youngest great-grandson develop from birth to seeing his first steps. Dad's face lit up with joy as he watched him teeter across the living room, gaining more steps each time he picked himself up after each fall.

There were even a couple of special visits from former friends and colleagues. I helped by hosting with meals and preparing the home.

There was a special Missionary Flights International Open House in Ft. Pierce, Florida to celebrate the Forty-Fifth Anniversary of ministry. My sister, brother-in-law, my husband, myself, Dad and his sister booked flights and took a weekend trip. It was the grandest of all days for Dad. His life work was now showcased in an immaculate, expansive hanger which housed the DC-3's and the daily operations of the aviation mission outreach. The Lord had blessed MFI in mighty ways. From a one man with a single engine airplane operation meeting missionary needs to the expanded ministry of Missionary Flights today. One man filling the gap has become a full blown ministry filling the gap for hundreds of missionaries on the field. A day of many praises. Dad manned his book table for the signing of his book, "Yours for a Meeting in the Air" He gave his testimony on a live radio broadcast. He spoke to the crowd attending the Open House. The finest moment was at the end of the day when we boarded a DC-3 with the president of MFI as our captain. Dad sat in the jump seat. He was wearing his captain shirt. Dad leaned forward as we taxied to the runway. Dad put his hand on the back of the captain's seat to pull his body to a position where he could see the control panel and the movements of the current captain. This symbolic moment was not lost on me. Key thoughts raced through my mind. This was a snapshot of the elder passing on the baton. The passage of time resulting in the changing of the guard. Dad was now the coach instead of the player. The experienced one takes a backseat to the younger one who will carry the task forward.

There was an annual Missionary Flights Banquet in West Palm Beach, Florida a few weeks after the Ft. Pierce MFI Open House. My husband was the only one who flew down with my Dad since we'd all just made a trip. This was also an important event for my Dad and not to be missed. It was exciting to be involved in the updates of the ministry, see old friends, meet new people and be part of MFI like always. Dad was in his glory on the platform with his 'Sing-a-long with Don' time. He led singing with his usual vim and vigor in spite his frail appearance. His voice resounded with enthusiasm as he gave encouraging testimony between songs. Looking back at the video, it is hard to believe Dad was less than a month from his home going.

There was a distinct physical change in Dad after the trips. He was tired and sleeping more. He had a few incidents of falling. His short term memory that had been failing him for the last few months was becoming worse. His normally ferocious appetite had become poor and he complained of lack of taste. Was it too much for him to have taken two trips in one month? Was he sleeping more during the daytime because he was waking up so much at night to go to the bathroom? Was it the effects of medication? We made a couple of visits to the doctor before we discovered the probable problem. Cancer had spread to his liver.

There was hardly time to adjust to the new diagnosis of liver cancer. Dad fell in his living room the same day. My husband was within arms link of Dad and protected Dad's head from hitting the floor but couldn't completely break his fall. Initially Dad seemed fine. He wanted to sit on the couch with his leg propped across the ottoman on a heating pad. My husband left him and came home to get me. We brought Dad supper. He showed no discomfort. We were prepared to spend the night because we were not sure of his stability. When my husband gently tried to assist Dad in moving, Dad cried out in pain and beads of sweat peppered his forehead. My husband and I looked at each other. Without speaking words, we gave each other a knowing look. The moment we dreaded had arrived. Dad's fall was the beginning of another change in his living arrangement. It was likely his independent days of living alone were over. An ambulance took Dad to the hospital. Dad was racked with the pain of moving onto a stretcher and out the door. No goodbye to Dad's faithful feline friend who was being left behind. No last fleeting look at the home he was departing. Pain consumed the moment.

There was a diagnosis of a fractured left hip. It was discovered Dad's blood was dangerously thin to the point of being life threatening. No surgery would be scheduled until the blood was thickened up. My sister came. His sister came. The risks were discussed with Dad. Dad chose to do surgery. "I can't imagine lying in a bed like this every day for the rest of my life." All kinds of tests, labs and history were gathered. Doctors conferred. Dad waited. Seemed like Dad deteriorated before our eyes as we waited for the surgery. He couldn't manage feeding himself anymore. He quit caring about his hair which was an alarming change. Dad was always fastidious about the appearance of his hair. He even muttered, "What is the use?" when we encouraged him to continue grooming. Dad did perk up when he received personal visits from church friends. Surgery was scheduled for the sixth day since Dad's admission. It had been a long wait.

There was peaceful presence as we faced the precariousness of surgery day. We gathered early to spend time with Dad. The so loved pastor said he would come to pray with Dad before surgery. The door opened. It was the surgical team to take him downstairs to the surgical prepping area. How disappointing. They were early and the pastor wouldn't make it. The surgical team left the room to check with the nursing station. We gathered around the bed. I prayed. My sister prayed. There was no more time for anyone else to pray because the door opened again. I expected to see the surgical team but it was not them. It was the pastor! Not just the pastor but the pastoral team, all three of them! They circled the bed and we joined hands. With tears in his eyes, Dad shared his desire for more earthly days so he could witness to a gentleman he had befriended. It was the gentleman that had painted his Avanti. The pastors prayed for Dad. The Lord had gifted Dad with a beautiful send off to surgery through the love of the pastors and their prayers!

There was a request for one family member to accompany Dad downstairs to the surgical area. I was chosen. I wish I had insisted my sister be allowed to come too. Little did we know this would be our last time with Dad. The nurse insisted Dad's wedding ring he’d worn for fifty-eight years needed to be removed. I thought it was unnecessary since he’d had a heart valve replacement and did not take it off then. But the ring must come off. They had a trick of string and tape that slid it off Dad's finger. His finger was bruised. I told Dad I would wear his ring for him until I could give it back to him. He wondered how he was going to get it back on. The anesthesiologist explained to me that he was using the minimum of gas so it would wear off quicker. The minimum of pain killers would also be used. We should expect some confusion because of his age. When it was time to leave Dad, I kissed his forehead and told him I loved him. I gave him one last look before I left and he said, "I love you."

There was praise for answered prayer. The surgery was a success with no complications. The surgeon expected to have Dad up walking in the evening. We were excited and felt a burden had been lifted.

There was no waking up from the anesthesia. After several hours, we were called to recovery to try to wake Dad up. No response. I noticed how swollen his hands were and was glad they had insisted on taking his wedding ring off. After several hours in recovery, Dad was transferred to SICU. For two days we kept vigil. Our first visits were encouraging. Dad would moan when we talked to him. I told him his cat was lonely for him and he needed to wake up and get better. Dad moaned like he was saying, "Aw." But after that small encouragement, Dad's condition worsened. His heart beat was too fast and his blood pressure too high. We were asked what type of heroics we wanted. We were not prepared to make these decisions. I don't know if anyone is ever prepared. We requested everything be done possible except for chest compressions. We knew his fragile bones would break under that type of pressure. After a day, it was recommended we try the ventilator for 24 hours to give Dad's body a chance to rest. An EEG was scheduled for the next day. It was our final puzzle piece to evaluate Dad's condition to see if there was any hope of recovery.

There were no hopeful findings. The report was not good. The flush of the liver to eliminate the accumulation of the chloride was not successful. The EEG showed damage in the brain from the excess chloride from the liver. Dad was not going to wake up. His condition was irreversible. Nothing more could be done. Just like in Mom’s case, we were being told we were standing in Dad’s way. Dad would stay in SICU, be taken off the vent and we would be able to be with him. Our nurse, Andrew who had been such a gentle comforter to us brought us back to the unit. We were surprised to see Dad was still on the vent. We thought it was going to be taken out before we came back. From the SICU window, we could see my husband who had been called off work arriving. He was trying to find a parking place for his truck and trailer rig in the hospital parking lot. The vent was removed. I was shocked to notice Dad’s lower teeth were missing. Before I could process how that happened, I realized Dad's heart was struggling. It only beat a few moments and we knew he was leaving us. His sister, my sister and I began singing, "I'll fly away." He was home with the Lord so quickly! I closed Dad's eyes. My husband arrived just a few minutes later. If we’d known Dad would leave us so fast, we would have waited until he reached the unit. Hard to believe Dad was absent from his body and present with the Lord. The Lord answered my prayer. Dad never suffered from the pain of bone cancer. He went to sleep and woke up with the Lord. Dad's gain but our loss.

There will be seasons of loss in the journey of life. I had the loss of independence for six months when I was encased in a turtle shell to heal my broken back because of a head on collision with a drunk driver. I grieved the loss of my hair while going through chemotherapy treatment. I cope daily with the aftermath of that treatment which affected the loss of endurance in my knees. I felt at loss in knowing how to manage the needs of elderly parents who were living too far away. When the task of their relocation and fifty eight years of accumulation of possessions began, I feared I had lost any resemblance of my own life. I adjusted to the loss of my 'good' daughter role when I became Mom's caregiver and therapy police. I struggled as I became more Dads’ parent than his daughter. I've suffered the loss of a closely knit, united family when a beloved daughter chose to turn from the Lord and her husband. Now our family events seem to always have a missing person which accentuates our loss of things that are right. The loss of a devoted pet in the midst of great sorrow robbed me of another source of comfort and affection. Losses produce grieving. Grieving is a process. It is a continuing happening. A momentary heart tug. A jolt of realization to correct our lapse of reality. Loss is a change that keeps us off balance as we adjust. And hope that the pain of loss lessens with time.

There were optimistic plans to spend years with my parents close by that will not come to pass. The home that held those hopes is now just an empty house filled with left behind belongings. I still wear my father's wedding ring that I promised I would return to him. I cannot remove the ring because it has become a comforting connection. Our home is filling with parental possessions that have become very dear. My husband and I feel the loss of Dad daily since he was well interwoven in our life. As old as we are, my sister and I feel orphaned. We did not expect to lose both our parents within one year. Our best cheerleaders are gone. Our personal prayer warriors are not accessible. The best readers of my written work are not here to encourage me with their biased praise.

There is more grieving ahead. The bittersweet task of sorting through papers that reveal glimpses of a life well lived, well remembered and is no longer. Preserving history to pass on as family heritage. Disbursing mementos to the right family member or friend. Piecing out a lifetime of possessions, one by one.

There is a blessed hope of being reunited with our loved ones. The Lord has prepared a place for those who love him. No more suffering, No more tears. No more pain. No more disappointment. No more discouragement. No more hurt. Heaven has become more personal to me since my parents have gone to be with the Lord. Just as I was privileged to witness their home going, I KNOW they will be waiting for our home coming when the time comes. Why should we dread that day? We know the King! What a blessed day that will be!



























No More Night:
Sung by David Phelps
Words & music by Walt Harrah

The timeless theme, Earth and Heaven will pass away.
It’s not a dream, God will make all things new that day.
Gone is the curse from which I stumbled and fell.
Evil is banished to eternal hell.

No more night. No more pain.
No more tears. Never crying again.
And praises to the great "I AM."
We will live in the light of the risen Lamb.

See all around, now the nations bow down to sing.
The only sound is the praises to Christ, our King.
Slowly the names from the book are read.
I know the King, so there’s no need to dread.

No more night. No more pain.
No more tears. Never crying again.
And pr aisles to the great "I AM."
We will live in the light of the risen Lamb.

See over there, there’s a mansion, oh, that’s prepared just for me,
Where I will live with my savior eternally.

No more night. No more pain.
No more tears. Never crying again.
And praises to the great "I AM."
We will live in the light of the risen Lamb.

All praises to the great "I AM."
We're gonna live in the light of the risen Lamb.

Good-bye for now, Dad

My Tribute to Dad, My Hero
April 27, 2009
Read at Dad's Celebration Service

Just a little over a year ago, we celebrated the home going of Mom with a tribute of songs and spoken memories. And today we celebrate the home going of Dad. Standing here now, it is difficult to express all the thought going through my mind as I reflect on the life of my very own hero, my Dad.
Growing up as a child, I was quite in awe of Dad. His six foot four stature made him seem like a giant. I always looked up to Dad not just because he was tall but because he was such a unique Dad. His life experiences were so varied….he became a pilot as a teenager, drove a cab, drove a bus, learned to use a printing press from his Dad, became an evangelist, an ordained minister, Youth For Christ director, a missionary pilot, drove a truck pulling mobile homes state to state to supplement our income, founded Missionary Flights International, loved being a song leader, played the accordion and keyboard, sang in a quartet and personally built a log home in the Ocala National Forest where our parents retired. Dad was a great story teller and entertained us with his exciting ‘airplane’ stories. For years we said, “Dad, you’ve got to write those stories down so we will always have them.” Thankfully, Dad did write those stories down and became an author of a very interesting book, titled “Yours for a Meeting in the Air.”
Dad was very tenderhearted. He loved animals, particularly cats. Dad shed many tears over the woes of his feline friends though the years. Dad couldn’t kill any living thing, even an unwelcome snake in our yard sale here in Chattanooga years ago. He captured the snake in a container and drove through the tunnel to let it out on the other side. Over the years, Dad fed birds, squirrels, foxes, raccoons, cranes and any stray animal that came around.
Dad was a trooper! The last ten years he was a devoted caretaker to Mom, struggled to adjust to his retirement from his life work with Missionary Flights International, relocated out of state and out of his life, became a widower after 58 years of marriage, sold the beloved log ho0me he built, was diagnosed a year ago with bone cancer, an aneurysm and had numerous ups and downs with his blood thinner. But he kept on going without complaint. He bought a GPS and acclimated himself to getting around the Chattanooga area. Dad was always willing to join us for whatever we were doing….like Monday night Tacos, the circus, Dollywood, Disney On Ice, eating out, a ball game, riding the carousal at Coolege Park, family activities with grand kids and great grand kids. It was amazing to see Dad so adaptable and spontaneous.
Dad was very sentimental. He loved and prayed for his family every day. He loved traditions. He loved marking milestones. He loved the hugs from his great grandchildren. Dad was a servant who spent his life serving the Lord.
Dad looked forward to Sunday. It was a blessing to sit beside Dad during worship service as he was always deeply touched with emotion. This was unlike his usual reserve that I’d observed my entire life. Dad himself often marveled over this new response and didn’t quite know how to deal with it. I told him it was a good thing and to be thankful for this new spiritual sensitivity in worship. Dad loved music! He ALWAYS loved the orchestra and choir numbers. The first time he visited Brainerd Baptist, the orchestra was playing a lively number as we walked down the aisle to our seats. I thought Dad was about to dance in the aisle. His eyes lit up! He exclaimed to me after we sat in the pew, “Wow! I’ve come to the right place.” He loved his Sunday school class. He loved Dr. Land. He loved Pastor Robby. He loved learning from the Word. One Sunday dinner, our family was eating together and Dad said, “Well, that message was JUST for me!” Several of us took turns saying, “No, it was for me.” Our difference in age ranged from the 30’s to the 80’s but it didn’t matter because we are all learning individually and coming together as a family.
I sure will miss the phone calls that began with, “How is my dear daughter Nancy? “ I will miss hearing him play his keyboard at home or at the nursing home concerts. I loved watching his feet tap out the rhythm as he played. I loved his snappy way of dressing and how he’d usually ask me what I thought of his outfits. I will miss his laugh. His sentimental ways. I am going to miss looking out for him. Our family has another missing place. But we know it is for a short season. We know we will be reunited someday in heaven.
Standing by his hospital bed with my hand on his chest, I felt his heart stop beating. Good-by for now Dad. But it won’t be for long. There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears. There will be a day when the burdens of this place, will be no more, and we’ll see Jesus face to face. As Dad always signed his letters, “Yours for a meeting in the air.”

25 Random Things About Me

1. I accepted the Lord as my personal Savior at a very young age. I received assurance of my salvation in college. I am thankful for my Christian heritage and the unique opportunity to grow up in a family that was in an unusual ministry. Since my Dad was a missionary pilot, traveling by private plane was a normal event for us. My faith is simple. God said it. I believe it. I trust the Lord in the little things of life and that helps me in the big things that happen. I've learned that in trials, it is always a matter of choosing to become better or bitter. I have witnessed the completed work of the Lord through repentance, restoration and reconciliation in the life's of dear friends. Heaven has become more personal to me since my Mom went to be with the Lord.
"My God He was, My God He is, My God is always going to be."

2. I was the new girl at six different schools in six years. I did not like being the new girl because I am really a shy person.

3. I stuck my hand in a hand dug tunnel of a sand pit we'd played in the day before and touched the head of a snake.

4. I had an electrifying experience when I was cranking a metal handle to close a window with one hand, while touching a lamp that had a short with the other hand and standing barefoot in a puddle of water on the floor.

5. I rode an untamed donkey. Yes, he bucked me off! A few years later, I thought horse back riding would be less painful. The horse almost killed me by heading into the trees. I didn't think to duck, hit a tree limb with my forehead and was knocked off.

6. I saw John F. Kennedy, Queen Elizabeth , Prince Phillip and Ronald Reagan.

7. My secret desire is I wish I could have been a singer. But I've never been comfortable about being center stage anyway. I played 'Mary' in a Christmas program in fourth grade and was so nervous that I was sick all night.

8. I am a matchy-matchy person to a fault. Like matching a colored straw to whatever color my drinking glass is or color coordinating cupcake papers in a row in the muffin pan. WHY???

9. I love toys, strawberry licorice and gummy worms, Mexican food, my laptop, my red, blue and yellow kitchen, my car, earrings and ankle bracelets, crocs all year around, lunches with friends, laughing, chick flicks, cozy slippers, concerts, peppermint ice cream, Bible study, Praise and Worship on Sunday a.m., cute paper towels to MATCH my kitchen, daisies, my yellow duck I sleep with, pants more than dresses, blue ink pens, pretty stationary, Spring and Fall, hot air balloons, Aigner purses, piggy tailed little girls, E-bay, HGTV and pictures of family

10. I have always been a cat lover but IF I had a dog, I would have a golden retriever. After seeing 'Annie' at the Little Theater, I fell in love with Sandy. Such a majestic dog! I gravitate towards any golden retriever that comes within my sight.

11. I am a five year breast cancer survivor.

12. I have a daisy tattoo above my ankle, thanks to the encouragement of my youngest daughter to celebrate the end of cancer treatment, 50 lb. loss, and my birthday.

13. In my twenties, I dyed my hair often. I've been all colors from frosted, to blonde, to black and then to auburn red. At age 59, I don't dye my hair at all and have just a few sprigs of gray. I used to say I didn't just have a bad hair day but I had a bad hair life. I don't complain anymore. A bad hair day is better than a 'no hair day'. When I was bald, I had the arrogance to inform the Lord that the least He could do was to give me better hair than He did the first time. He graciously answered my prayer.

14. I put off grocery shopping until one of two things happen, we run out of toilet paper or cat food. The thing I don't like most about grocery shopping is toting groceries in from the car and putting them away cuz I think I have to reorganize my cupboards and refrigerator. Then it becomes a three hour chore.

15. I like to clear my head with full volume music, like Michael W. Smith, Avalon, Santana, Toby Mac, Tina Turner or Michael Jackson's Thriller. Beat it, beat it! I am always gonna love rock music. It revs me up! I also LOVE praise and worship music, especially on Sunday a.m. with the orchestra!

16. My heroes of the faith are my Grandpa Beldin, my Dad, Bill Gustafson, Billy Graham, James Dobson and Warren Wiersbe.

17. I love a motorcycle ride twice a year. A spring ride. An autumn ride.

18. Favorite vacations: Spanish Wells in the Bahamas, Rio de Janerio, Chicago, sailing on the Windy across Lake Michigan, Eiffel Tower on New Years Eve, Switzerland, Disney World, and ALL trips to the beach with family.

19. In college, I was interested in psychology and briefly thought I'd like to be a counselor. But my greater life ambition was just to be a wife and mother. And that is what I became. It proved to be more rewarding then I ever imagined. I am growing old with my college sweetheart. We love and cherish our three beautiful daughters! And now I have the awesome blessing of being a grandma to five wonderful grand kids. As a grandma I get to do it all over again but in a different way. The difference between being mommy and grandma is energy and time. Grandma's can't keep up with the energy level needed 24/7 but we have the time to play. I love being the ice cream in their lives!

20. I can't resist anything my grand kids ask me. The first incidence I remember was when my almost three year old grandson Eli saw a Tinker Bell doll for sale at Blockbuster. He fell in love with her and wanted to take her home. It was decided that it would be more acceptable if Grandma had one at her house. A phone call was made to Grandma across town. "Grandma, Daddy won't buy Tinker Bell. Will you buy her?' Grandma answered, "Yes!" I immediately headed straight to Blockbuster to bring home our soon to be most beloved toy, Tinker Bell. Eli gave her his undivided attention from the minute he came over until he left. He held her in his own unique style, one fist clenched around her legs. One day the unthinkable happened. Her head flew off during play. The horror on Eli's face prompted Grandpa to quickly scramble to fix her. Eventually, Eli's interest in Tinker Bell faded. Her place upon his pillow was transfered to being kept in a dresser drawer with a missing arm, dirty dress, messy haired wobbly head. Occasionally, Eli sees Tinker Bell and the twinkle in his eye reveals a hint of affection for his long ago friend. This is why I love and collect Tinker Bell stuff.

21. Highlights of my life: Having my one and only See' star, my BFF Joan and high school, my BFF Linda and college, marrying my BFF Vance, the births of my daughters, helping each one of my daughters plan their wedding, having three son-in-laws that I love and cherish, being at the moment of birth of four of our grandchildren, hearing the excited voices of grandchildren yelling, "Grandma!" when they see me, driving my new car off the dealership's lot, knowing Mom didn't die alone like she feared, being with our family, especially having our three girls together.

22. Hard times of my life: Worrying about my Dad flying over the ocean in a small plane, leaving home to go to a college where no one knew my name, pregnancy puking for what seemed forever, holding a feverish baby and imagining the worst, sending each of my daughters off to school for the first time, getting a call from the hospital telling me my husband had been in a car accident, driving out of the big windy city leaving our college girl behind, separating out the Christmas tree ornaments of our oldest daughter who was getting married while the melancholy music from the Titanic played in the background, pancreatitis, head on collision with a drunk driver and spending 6 months in a turtle shell for my broken back, being told I had cancer, chemo, radiation, seeing the fear in my daughter's eyes before she taken into Labor/Delivery for an emergency cesarean-section, sorting- packing up-unpacking and sorting again 58 years of our parents household accumulation, adjusting to parenting my parents, seeing my Mom take her last breath, and knowing our youngest daughter is a lamb that has lost her way right now.

23. My sister and I are a team. We often say the same thing at the same time. We've sent the same card. We work well together. We play well together too. We love to laugh. We know how to make something fun out of anything. We've had less then a handful of fights our whole life together.

24. Now that our family is raised and I have more time, I would like to be a writer. But I haven't figured out where that extra time is hiding.

25. I live by ONE DAY AT A TIME, sometimes Plan B is the better plan and Because He Live I can face tomorrow! Seems like tears are too close to the surface these days.