The Day My Compass Died

Nothing prepared me for the shock of getting unexpected bad news.

When the phone rang, and I answered it - I could just tell the news was not good. The voice was forced.  The words clipped – on edge.  My senses braced – as I reacted to the nervous “tells”.  An overwhelming sense of dread started to arise – as the message sunk in.  My world tilted.  And, the moment was forever seared in my memory. 

The first time I got such a phone call was in 1981, and it was from my parents.     

  

I was in southern California finishing college, and they were 2000 miles away in Michigan.  Oddly, my mom took the lead with the call.  She said, “Honey, we need to tell you some news about your dad.  We just got back from the doctor, and he says that your dad has cancer. (Pause)  We don’t know a lot yet, but the doctor said it was serious, and that we should let you, and your brother, know.”

 

Thud!  There it was - the bombshell.  Life suddenly veered from the path it was just on – only moments before. After giving me years of godly direction and feedback, my trusted compass was in trouble.  The needle was wavering.

The news came just after Thanksgiving of my senior year in college.  I was single and 27 years old.  In three weeks my dad would turn 53.  There was a riot of emotions.  Questions abounded.  Decisions suddenly started to accelerate at a breath-taking pace.  How bad was it?  What are they doing to treat it?  What do I need to do?  Should I fly home now, or wait till Christmas?  Every decision felt urgent.

Denial became a protective reflex.  “This cannot be happening” screamed in my head.  Grief started to seep into the cracks of my heart.  The only thing that seemed certain was uncertainty. 

And, everything which was previously normal – was not normal any more.

  

Since I only had a few weeks of classes left, and treatment options were still being figured out, we decided that I should finish the fall semester.  In mid-December, after my last exam, I flew to Michigan to be home during Christmas. 

At the time, my parents were ministering as caretakers of a Christian camp near Lake Michigan.  The area was somewhat remote, and winter had arrived.  The nearest oncologist was more than an hour and a half away – when road conditions were good.  Once I was home, we met with the doctor, and learned that the prognosis was around six months.  There was no cure.  Neither chemo-therapy nor radiation was an option.  We were able to take dad back home to camp.   We tried to make him comfortable, but life was changing quickly.  Everything was fluid.

 

The days were intense with decisions.  The quiet nights were filled with worry and scattered prayer.

Because his death did not seem immediate, I had another decision to make.  Do I stay beyond New Year’s Day, or go back to California?  I had a job, and I was enrolled in a three-week intensive class during the January break.  If I wanted to complete my degree by May, I needed to take the class.  We talked it over and decided that I should travel back to California on New Year’s Day.   Then, if needed, I could always head back to Michigan at the end of January.  So, with a numb and heavy heart, I headed back to California.

Meanwhile, in early January, my dad’s health deteriorated rapidly.  Life snowballed.  My parents resigned from their position at the camp.  In 1977, my dad had retired from factory work after 30 years at the age of 49.  He had been living a 10-year dream of being in full-time Christian ministry after he retired.  After four and a half years, God was closing out this chapter.  

My brother helped rent an apartment for my mom and move her back to our home town which was three hours south of the camp. My dad was transported by ambulance, during a snow storm, to the hospital not far from where I grew up.  I booked a flight back early on January 26, 1982.

I arrived at the hospital mid-day.  My dad roused for about 20 minutes.  We had our last conversation.  It felt like he had been holding on until I got there.  We talked about caring for my mom.  I promised him that she would be taken care of.  I read from his Bible.  He was at peace and ready to go home.  I said goodbye.

 

It was around 11:00 pm that evening that I watched him take his last breath, and step into eternity.

Since that day, 38 years have passed since my dad went home. It seems unbelievable that I have now lived life on this earth longer than my dad.  This feels odd.  I have now been married nearly as long as he was.  And, I am at a phase in life where I am now more focused on “passing the baton”, than on “receiving and carrying it myself”.

As I pass milestones in life, I am reminded to pass along the messages that God had embedded in my dad’s heart, as well as those embedded in mine. I am thankful for my dad’s godly example.  His faith was the real deal. It is an honor to be able to “fly in his spiritual jet-stream”.   He passed along a spiritual legacy to me.  In reality the compass didn’t die, it just got passed to me.  Now, it is my challenge to pass it along to others.  I hope this is the same for you, too.

A Dedication: I believe that it is fitting, to dedicate this blog post to my dad – especially on January 26.  Today is the 38^th anniversary of his “birth” into eternity. He is healed, and he is at home in heaven with his Lord and Savior.  He is at peace, and he is whole.

I think he would wholeheartedly agree with the basic premises behind this blog.  They are: God is real.  He is active in our world.  He is in control.  And, He can be trusted.

While I lost a directing force in my life, I still have the true compass.  My dad would be glad that I was forced to truly put my dependence upon God, instead of on him.

Thanks dad for your model of love, commitment, ministry, and service.  Thanks for teaching me to focus on the basics of my faith. I am honored to be your son.  See you soon.

Randy

January 26, 2020

An Interesting Side-Note:  As each year begins, January 26 never slips by unnoticed. January 26 is also my grandma’s birthday (my mom’s mom).  It is my wife, Lisa’s, birthday.  And, January 27 is the date of my spiritual renewal back in 1973.   

For those observing my “Calling Journey”:  Again, while this looks like it could be a valley, it still wasn’t quite. Yes, my grief was intense, and profound.  And, I was aware that life had changed, but the whirlwind pace of a last semester preoccupied me.  Also, since I had been on my own nearly 10 years, my dad’s death did not alter most of my day-to-day activities.

Following graduation, I did take an entire year to work and regroup.  But, for the most part, I can see the season of Natural Promotion propelling me along.  And, in looking back, I can also see that the “wall” of the Valley of Dependence was still coming.  

I hope this helps as you grapple with your own timeline.


Next Time: Just Check the Box!