I have many fond memories of my father—memories accumulated over the 43 years we shared this earth. I have fond memories based on my first twenty-one years when I lived in his home and saw him nearly every day. I remember him taking me to old Exhibition Stadium to watch the Blue Jays play. I remember going on a road trip together—just the two of us traveling across Georgian Bay and onto Manitoulin Island. I remember getting up early in the morning and finding that he was already awake, already reading his Bible, already spending time with the Lord. I remember this and so much else.
Then I have fond memories based on the next 23 years of life after I had gotten married and moved out, and after he and the family had left Canada to settle in the American South. Our visits became less frequent then, but no less significant. I remember his joy on those rare occasions when the whole family could be together, the entire collection of kids and grandkids under a single roof. I remember looking out from many church pulpits and conference podiums and seeing his face in the crowd. I
To continue...read the full-length post originally published on this site.
