King's Daughter's Kitchen

When my parents died, my sisters packed Mom and Dad’s things. I’m a day-long coffee drinker and a teacher, so it was natural for me to have my parents’ extensive collection of cups from around the world along with storage bins of their books.

When my sisters gave me my items, I opened the bins, but I was too sad to go through them until much later. I spotted the family Bible easily. My baby sister pointed out a gray notebook of Dad’s. She wasn’t sure what was in it. It was church stuff, and the sisters didn’t want it. I closed up the bins and waited awhile.

Later, when I was alone in the house, and the hurt didn’t feel so crushing, I emptied the boxes. I found veils, my grandmother’s, and my mother’s. There was my great grandmother’s handkerchief collection, the Bible Daddy gave Momma on their wedding day, and Dad’s grey notebook. This time, I sat down and read it.

The notebook was full of Daddy’s thoughts about Jesus, sermon notes, scribblings, and verse references he thought were important. There were prayer lists and personal discoveries he made about history and people.

These pages make me cry happy tears. The collected writings are proof that Dad knows my Jesus. Some entries are like personal letters to God, His Father.

These letters give me a glimpse into his private faith walk beyond hearing him greet God each day with,

“Morning, Lord.” and answering himself, “Morning, James.”

While I lived at home, Dad didn’t go with us to church. He kept to himself and listened to old rock and roll on his reel to reel, tinkered in the garage, or watched the Cubs instead. Music like The Rolling Stones, Creedence Clearwater Revival, or Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band would fill the house and keep us from having friends over for Bible study.

Then, Dad went to the doctor. He quit drinking. He stopped being angry.  He started studying his Bible like he was studying for final exams. He became a deacon in their home church and began to teach Children’s hour. Mom sent pictures of him dressed up as Moses with a giant locust swatter. My Dad, my changed dad, lived his belief in Jesus every day. My grown sisters got mad when he told them not to curse in his house. Though they were still married, he remarried my mom in the church and loved her, which was a shock after their years of fighting.

The words in the notebook show my Dad’s heart and character change over time. Dad changed from a man of his own making to a man made for the purpose and glory of God. I will always treasure the pages, the proof of their relationship, proof that Dad didn’t just know of Jesus. He knew Jesus.