I Attended My Father's Funeral Today

​“Grandchildren are the crown of the aged, and the glory of children is their fathers.”--Proverbs 17:6
 
I attended my father’s funeral today. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt such a flood of emotions. Having grown up as an only child, I’m sure my attachment to my earthly father filled some of the void normally filled by siblings. The body that once housed this man has been involved in most everything I’ve ever known in this life. He was there—always there—always present—always supportive—always a rock—consistent—and consistently godly. My father was the father everybody else wanted. It’s easy to miss that as a kid, isn’t it? While you’re busy being frustrated at your own parents, you wonder with great admiration as to why all your friends seem to like them so much. It’s only after you’ve grown and matured that you realize you were actually the problem, not them. 
 
My father was the man playing quarterback for both teams in the neighborhood—while playing in my yard—the yard he (and my mother) supplied for me to play in. My father is the one that coached little league. My father is the one that put countless quarters into pitching machines for me to learn to hit a baseball. My father is the one that always accompanied me on guitar when I was learning (or trying to learn) some instrument. My father is the one that taught me how to sing—that is, to sing parts in a quartet. My father is the one that gave me work ethic. My father is the one that taught me to try hard at everything. That is my father. He didn’t ever change significantly.  He was just consistent—and consistently godly. 
 
My father taught me what it meant to be a man—a moral man. My father taught me to speak kindly to my wife. My father taught me to respect people. My father taught me to love my own children with time and money and words.  My father taught me how to resolve conflict rightly. My father taught me how to be friendly to everyone. My father taught me to be kind—even when others weren’t. My father taught me how to be consistent—consistently godly. 
 
My father taught me what it was like to be a faithful church member. We did not miss church—ever.  If the doors were open, we were at church. In the last weeks of his life, he modeled for others how to overcome difficulties to go to church. While must of us find it easy to miss for a headache, he went to church when he truly shouldn’t have been there.  This is the example I’ve had. We planned life around church, not vice versa. And, we didn’t just attend church—we were involved. Dad did whatever he could to help—cut the grass, clean the building, lead the singing, teach Sunday School, etc. He taught me to give God His portion of my money first. Yes, He taught me what it was like to be a good church member.
 
My father taught me what it was like to be a faithful Christian. I went to bed every night of my childhood with my father setting on his end of the couch reading his Bible—every…single…night. He read, he studied, he followed. I’m certain my father was a sinner—the Bible says he was—and my father taught me to believe the Bible. However, he lived the cleanest life before my eyes of any person I’ve ever known on this planet bar none. Not even any pastor I know lived a cleaner life than my father. I never saw him abuse anything or anybody. I never heard him once utter a curse word. I never so much as suspected he was unfaithful to my mother or myself. This man taught me what it is like to live a Christian life. 
 
My father taught me to trust Jesus—for everything. He explained the Gospel to me.  I do not mean he constantly preached to me.  He didn’t.  But, he explained the Gospel to me—he explained what a commitment to Jesus as both Lord and Savior is—and he exemplified it every single day of my life.  My father admitted his sins and trusted Jesus to have paid for those sins.  My father didn’t have confidence in his works—he had confidence in Jesus.  My father didn’t believe the Gospel was some heart-warming story about some good Jewish teacher 2000 years ago, but the reality of a sinless Savior dying for sinners and resurrected from the dead 3 days later. My father taught me this—and lived it before my eyes.  He was consistent.  He was godly.  He was my example. 
 
My father taught me how to face death.  I was there with the first diagnosis of bladder cancer 6 years ago. It just seemed like a thing to him—something that happens. He constantly shared his faith with doctors and nurses. He spoke of God’s grace in his life. I was there when he found out his bladder would have to be removed with the hope that he’d be pronounced cancer-free.  I was there after the surgery when the pathology report came back—and the cancer was not contained. I watched my father explain God’s sovereignty over cancer…and over his life…and over this world.  I was there when the cancer doctor optimistically told Dad he was confident he could help him with treatment…and I was there 2 months later when the doctor said the treatment wasn’t working. Oddly enough, I saw relief on my father’s face—and again he spoke of God’s grace and God’s sovereignty. He continued attending church—whether Wednesday night, a prayer service or Sunday morning.  In fact, seven days before he entered Hospice, he sat in the congregation singing praises to God and listening to me preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  Yes, my father taught me how a child of God faces death.  Even in such a time, he was an example of what it means to firmly believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ. 
 
I am not the man my father was. I am not—and I know it. Losing him hurts me—deeply.  I am saddened to the core of my being. I’ve lost something I cannot replace in this life.  Now, I only have memories.  But, my father taught me not to “grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13).  We grieve—but not like the world.  We grieve—but not “as others do who have no hope.”  We grieve—all the while knowing that “since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep” (1 Thessalonians 4:14).  My father taught me that—and my Heavenly Father has opened my heart to know it’s true.
 
That flood of emotions that hit me this day is unlike anything I have ever known or probably ever will know. Nobody can replace my father—and I’m thankful for that.  That’s a paradox that I cannot explain. I grieve in losing the man that has been such a rock to my own family and me. However, I realize I was blessed to be called Mr. Charles’s son. I cannot imagine anybody having a better man as his father. I know that’s a common thought. But, taking a step back, I honestly cannot fathom a better father, baseball coach, neighborhood QB, church member, Christian and example than my father. I am thankful to God for my life.  I am thankful to God for my father. And, I pray that at the end of my life, I will have made such an impact as this man that I called “Dad”. 
 
Today, I attended the funeral of my earthly hero.  And praise God, I am better off for having known him so intimately. And by God’s grace, I look forward to seeing him again.