5 A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in His holy
habitation. Psalm 28:5
Back in 1953, my father died from a highway accident. He was turning off of
Highway 32 to go into Lapel, Indiana when two Indiana state highway trucks hit
him from behind. He had his turn signals on and was doing everything right.
Dad was an excellent driver with an excellent safety record on the roads. He
had received a medallion from the company he worked for, the Jewel Tea Company,
that said so. In any case, one of the trucks struck his truck in the rear end
and spun it around and the other truck struck his metro van in the front
essentially folding it up like an accordion so I've been told. I never saw the
truck nor him other than at his funeral following the accident. He lay in St.
John's Hospital for two or three days before he died from gangrene poisoning.
My mother was left a widow at about 35 years of age with six children to raise
on her own.
I had become a Christian just about a year and a half before dad died. My next
older brother, Jim and I had been delivering a paper route and upon nearing our
home on 17th street in Anderson, Indiana, a cousin we called "Bunk" Chapin came
out and told us that dad had died just a little while ago.
We were never close to our dad because he would not let us be. He was a strict
disciplinarian. He not only spanked us for the least infraction of the his
rules, he beat us and sometimes he did so until the blood ran down our backs. I
am not sure he understood the wrong in that and, to us five boys, it was just
the way it was. We have a sister. She was the baby. She was too young to see
that side of dad and I am glad for that.
In spite of the fact that dad was so harsh in the discipline he administered to
us and that he was not as faithful to mom as he should have been, we all loved
him and all of us cried because he died. Here is where God comes in as the God
of the fatherless and the judge of the widows. Mom soon rededicated her life to
Christ following dad's death. I have fond memories of all of us getting into
our 1950 Willy's Jeepster and heading out to church every Sunday morning for
Sunday School and AM and PM worship. We also attended "prayer meeting twice a
week, once at the church and once in a private home.
In all of those years, mom turned to God for help in raising us. We were a
handful for her I am sure. Five boys and one baby girl had to be such a
challenge for her. I can remember the many times that I would come into the
house and find mom stretched out across her bed and crying. Her tears were for
us because she was afraid that we were all going to wind in a penitentiary some
where. She was afraid that she was not doing a sufficiently good job raising
us. She did not know how well she was doing, I am sure, until we had all grown,
married, and moved out of her house.
I write this today because mom died a few days ago. She was ninety-seven years
old and she was still "mom" to all of us. God had given her the grace and the
intelligence and the instincts that she needed to raise her little orphans. I
am a pastor. My oldest brother is a retired pastor. All of my brothers and my
sister believe in the God that guided our mother every day of her life. She was
no failure and to our notion, she was a great success. She hardly had two
nickels to rub together, as they say, but we never felt poor or deprived. She
wouldn't let us. We was never allowed to feel like victims either. AS far as
we knew, we were ok.
God is indeed the Father of the fatherless and the God of the widows. Mom kept
God in front of us all of her life. She never tried to force us to love Him,
she just showed us how to do it. I have the best of both worlds. I have
wonderful memories of this life and a marvelous expectation for the next. Mom
is with God now and one day I will go to where she is. I would never ask God to
send her back here-no, not ever. God has her under His protective wings where
the pains and the disappointments of this world will never bother her again. My
only sorrow is based in the fact that I will never have another conversation
with her in this life but I rejoice in the fact that I can talk to God, her God
and mine, and get from Him the same strength that He gave to her. So can we
all.
God bless and go and have a great day.
habitation. Psalm 28:5
Back in 1953, my father died from a highway accident. He was turning off of
Highway 32 to go into Lapel, Indiana when two Indiana state highway trucks hit
him from behind. He had his turn signals on and was doing everything right.
Dad was an excellent driver with an excellent safety record on the roads. He
had received a medallion from the company he worked for, the Jewel Tea Company,
that said so. In any case, one of the trucks struck his truck in the rear end
and spun it around and the other truck struck his metro van in the front
essentially folding it up like an accordion so I've been told. I never saw the
truck nor him other than at his funeral following the accident. He lay in St.
John's Hospital for two or three days before he died from gangrene poisoning.
My mother was left a widow at about 35 years of age with six children to raise
on her own.
I had become a Christian just about a year and a half before dad died. My next
older brother, Jim and I had been delivering a paper route and upon nearing our
home on 17th street in Anderson, Indiana, a cousin we called "Bunk" Chapin came
out and told us that dad had died just a little while ago.
We were never close to our dad because he would not let us be. He was a strict
disciplinarian. He not only spanked us for the least infraction of the his
rules, he beat us and sometimes he did so until the blood ran down our backs. I
am not sure he understood the wrong in that and, to us five boys, it was just
the way it was. We have a sister. She was the baby. She was too young to see
that side of dad and I am glad for that.
In spite of the fact that dad was so harsh in the discipline he administered to
us and that he was not as faithful to mom as he should have been, we all loved
him and all of us cried because he died. Here is where God comes in as the God
of the fatherless and the judge of the widows. Mom soon rededicated her life to
Christ following dad's death. I have fond memories of all of us getting into
our 1950 Willy's Jeepster and heading out to church every Sunday morning for
Sunday School and AM and PM worship. We also attended "prayer meeting twice a
week, once at the church and once in a private home.
In all of those years, mom turned to God for help in raising us. We were a
handful for her I am sure. Five boys and one baby girl had to be such a
challenge for her. I can remember the many times that I would come into the
house and find mom stretched out across her bed and crying. Her tears were for
us because she was afraid that we were all going to wind in a penitentiary some
where. She was afraid that she was not doing a sufficiently good job raising
us. She did not know how well she was doing, I am sure, until we had all grown,
married, and moved out of her house.
I write this today because mom died a few days ago. She was ninety-seven years
old and she was still "mom" to all of us. God had given her the grace and the
intelligence and the instincts that she needed to raise her little orphans. I
am a pastor. My oldest brother is a retired pastor. All of my brothers and my
sister believe in the God that guided our mother every day of her life. She was
no failure and to our notion, she was a great success. She hardly had two
nickels to rub together, as they say, but we never felt poor or deprived. She
wouldn't let us. We was never allowed to feel like victims either. AS far as
we knew, we were ok.
God is indeed the Father of the fatherless and the God of the widows. Mom kept
God in front of us all of her life. She never tried to force us to love Him,
she just showed us how to do it. I have the best of both worlds. I have
wonderful memories of this life and a marvelous expectation for the next. Mom
is with God now and one day I will go to where she is. I would never ask God to
send her back here-no, not ever. God has her under His protective wings where
the pains and the disappointments of this world will never bother her again. My
only sorrow is based in the fact that I will never have another conversation
with her in this life but I rejoice in the fact that I can talk to God, her God
and mine, and get from Him the same strength that He gave to her. So can we
all.
God bless and go and have a great day.