Remembering Dad

6/18/23

It's Father's Day once again. It's hard to believe it's been two years since I began writing my book, When Old School Meets New School, 7 Keys for Bridging the Gap of Respect. What an incredible journey it has been. It's as if I've been through a long-term crash course on the fundamentals of writing, publishing, and marketing. I have learned so much.

My goal was to have my book published by today to honor Dad. However, I'm not quite there. The book has been through the writing and editing stage, the cover design page, and all the interior graphic art. So technically, I could publish it today. But I'm also creating some additional materials I think will be helpful to go along with the book. And I'd like to present them with my Kickstarter campaign that I'm hoping to launch by the end of the month.

For today, I wanted to share with you a sneak peek of one of the stories in the book that has not been revealed publicly yet. You read that right! I am sharing with you exclusively the first story I wrote on Father's Day two years ago, today. This story turned out to be the final story in my book. Inspired by God, this story took me two hours to write from start to finish. Amazing! I hope you enjoy it. And as always, I'd love to hear from you and what you thought of the story.

Sending love and light,

Lestie

Sing Me Back Home 

It was nearing Dad's final day in his earthly body. The glioblastoma from cancer had taken his voice and most of his physical and mental sharpness. On that particular night, a few of our family members gathered around Dad's bed. My brother, Brandt, and one of Dad's brothers, Uncle David, had flown in for a visit. My mom and I were also there that night. There was a constant ache within our family unit as we were painfully aware Dad's days were growing short.

Dad loved singing and strumming songs on his guitar—and occasionally the fiddle. Before he got too sick, he performed weekly with his brother, Doyar, at the Jimmy Driftwood Barn, a small venue in the Ozarks of Arkansas. Family get-togethers usually found us gathered around in a circle of sorts—pickin', grinnin', and tapping our toes to the music weaving the backdrop of my life.

One of the songs Dad used to sing was a 1960s song about a jailed man on death row, convicted of a crime for which he would lose his life. The words "Sing Me Back Home" echoed through my soul that night with the striking and eerily similar lyrics of my dad’s own ‘prison’ from cancer. Dad's desire, though unspoken, was to hear music again before he went home to his Heavenly Father.

The night was solemn as we gathered around Dad's bed. Our voices were low to allow him to rest. My brother had the guitar on his lap, gently strumming chords, unable to find a song he’d have the emotional strength to play and sing. Dad had taught Brandt to play when he was young. I tried to encourage my brother with some tunes I knew he could play. We started with ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ by John Denver—A song I’d sung with Dad many times over the years.

Dad lay in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the songs we all sang as my brother strummed along. We continued with other favorites from artists like Merle Haggard and Marty Robbins—and hymns like the timeless classics, ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘How Great Thou Art.’ Although the lumps in our throats were keeping the beautiful melodies from coming through as we intended, I know it brought joy to Dad's heart to hear them once again. 

While I was growing up, prayer wasn't the norm in our home. Because of Dad's soured church experience during his early years, he decided formal church was not for him. Nonetheless, God's plan for our family was one of prosperity rather than harm. He gave us a journey of hope—and a future with abundant blessings. With that new perspective, Dad started going back to church. The ripple effect of his influence expanded dramatically through his gift of serving others.

That night, as my family continued singing in melancholic voices, I knew it would become a cherished memory. We decided to call it a night as it was getting quite late. But first, we all held hands together with Dad. Then, Uncle David led us in prayer at Dad's side. We each took turns praying, feeling thanks to our merciful God for allowing us this precious time with Dad . . . and for blessing us with a family full of love and unity.

After we had all taken our turns and started to loosen our handhold, we all heard quiet utterances coming from Dad's mouth while he was still gripping our hands. We looked up to see a peaceful smile on his face. HE WAS PRAYING! Dad had brought our hearts together again, rejoining us in prayer as he spoke his words to the Lord. We could not comprehend his words, but we knew Dad's heart. We knew he loved the Lord and was confessing those truths. There was not a dry eye in the room. We closed in prayer with a unanimous "Amen" when Dad’s prayer ended. Our hearts were overjoyed to hear him pray out loud one more time.

Dad's authenticity shone through that heavy-hearted night with such brilliance. His peace illuminated the somber room. Even in the most challenging moments of his life, his heart was centered on worshipping and communicating with the One who loved him most.