Dad was born in the
Ozark Mountains of south central Missouri in 1924. Today would have been his birthday. Like many young men of the period, he left
home at an early age and joined the Civilian Conservation Corp. When World War
II broke out Dad served on the Battleship New Jersey. Following the war he was
employed as a lineman for 32 years. He
and Mom were married for almost 60. His retirement years were spent raising
cattle and working the family farm. Dad believed in doing justly, loving mercy
and walking humbly with his God. He
extended that mercy to all God’s creatures great and small and devoted himself
to the stewardship of our land. Even at eighty, Dad easily outworked me. He’d drive a pine post with seemingly effortless
strokes, while I swung and swatted and splintered posts to pieces. He often
whistled as he worked, and on many occasions, when hearing a favorite tune on
the radio, he’d spring into a rousing dance routine I can only describe as a
peculiar combination of Irish jig and Ozark snake stomp. Given time I’ll master
that move myself. I’m entirely certain my
relationship with Dad was a perfect example of what God intended when He first created
fatherhood, and I held his hand as he drew his final breath. We scattered his
ashes up on the hill, just as he’d requested, and I never walk the Ozark Hills
that I don’t miss my dad.
UP
ON THE HILL
Up
on the hill where the pines grow dense;
Where
the fields are green and the sky immense,
Scatter
one day my last remains,
To
be drawn in the earth by the gentle rains.
Gladly
did I tread this place,
With
the gentle breeze upon my face,
A
faithful dog for company,
And
benevolent sun beaming down on me.
Thank
the Lord for the time we had,
When
rest was blessed and toil was glad,
When
joyous hearts rejoiced in truth,
And
we shared our hopes and dreams and youth.
Look
to the heavens bright and blessed.
See
me satisfied, caressed.
Know
at last I’m free from care.
My
dust is here, but my spirit there. SC
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