Dad

Written and read for my dad’s funeral service on November 15, 2025.

In 2 Timothy, chapter 4, verses 7-8 it reads “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award me on that day- and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”

What does it mean to fight the good fight? I believe it means we step into the game of life, knowing it’s going to knock us down but we stand firm in our footing all the same because we

know that God is with us every in every step and victory will be ours in the end. Like David charging down the valley to fight Goliath, yelling “I am a soldier in the army of the living God” the concept of defeat not even in his perception of reality.

My dad contended with his own lineup of opponents- and indeed he took a few hits. And he may well have been knocked down at times, but he wasn’t out for the count- at least not in my book.

He and I don’t have a straightforward story. But here’s what I do know. We have the power to decide how we think of and remember each other. We can choose kindness or bitterness.

In the second chapter of 2 Timothy it says “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. Don’t have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels. And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful.”

He had a healthy dose of that Irish wit. So healthy in fact that it was verging on indulgent. He taught me how to tell jokes about blind horses, drunk priests and ducks walking into bars.

He instilled in me a love of playing pranks- mostly harmless ones. He took an envelope, and cut a piece of cardboard to fit inside of it, then used two rubber bands to strap a washer tightly to it. He wound it up as tight as they’d go and tuck the fold in. The outside of the envelope read “Caution: Rattle Snake Eggs”. The volatile washer would buzz- harder than you’d think- at the slightest touch. He delighted in bending conversations of common pleasantries towards venomous snakes, to then declare, “well now, I just so happen to have something here...” One time he brought it with him to a gymnastics practice and handed it to one of my coaches. Luckily it wasn’t one of the Russians or we both might have been dead.

There were other types of b-grade mischief we’d get into like hopping fences for good fishing spots and shooting BB guns at Happy Meal toys.

When we went to the movies, because he didn’t carry a handbag, we’d stuff his jacket full of the good snacks. It was so full, I had to cling to the front of him acting to reinforce the zipper,  “Hold on tight kiddo” he’d say and as I did the popcorn crunched between us. It was my first aiding and abetting gig. There were many to follow and we never got caught.

He loved a good bike ride. While I loved the bicycle rides where I could relax in the kiddie seat and nap as he cruised around the lake, it was motocross that really got his heart beating. I was with him at many races getting mud flecked on my face to the thrilling melody of dozens of small engines singing to my ears. A grand orchestra performance to him, just regular loud to the rest of us. But at least at the end of a race I might get a hot chocolate and a tee shirt whereas at the end of a hunting expedition all I got was to hold the head of the dear or the honor of dragging a goose by the neck across a field.

Our shared love of extreme sports merged when I put on gymnastics shows. His favorite trick of mine that I did was a no handed cartwheel. “Yo Kiddo, do one of my favorites!” I took my cue and flipped across the grass. He always looked at the crowd he’d assembled, and lean forward with a laugh, coaxing amazement out of them.

Like a lot of thrill seekers, he had adopted the maxim, “we aren’t here for a long time, we are here for a good time.”  And while we did indeed get a lot of good times-  we didn’t get a long time. I didn’t get to experience life with him like we both wanted.

A seed doesn't get to choose where it is planted. It is instinct for it to lay down roots, and so it does. It reaches down and grabs whatever is near knowing that it’s time to grow. As it sprouts, it may well find that it must reach and bend in search of what it needs, perhaps needing to reach rather far from the place it began life.

No matter where you’ve ended up, there’s always something that feels really good about nourishing your roots.

It’s why I can’t deny that I get a thrill driving fast, music blaring and windows down on a hot summer night. I can’t ignore that I’m addicted to the feeling of flying through the air. I can’t suppress the urge to tell a joke or devise a prank especially if it is just a little naughty. There are times when I like to raise a little hell.

I know where I came from and whose daughter I am.

By faith I know, that every one of us here has a good father in Heaven who loves us unconditionally and every day is making sure that everything in our lives are working together for our good, actively looking for opportunities to be gracious to us. And now, I’ve got another father, at his side who is finally free to see who I am clearly, and free to see what he has in fact given me.

And by faith I know that when someone leaves this earth, knowing that Jesus is their savior, they go on to join the great cloud of witnesses seated in heaven.

So I’m going to live out my days doing everything in my ability to make it a show worth getting front row seats for. Because I know that he will be watching leaning forward and laughing in amazement as I go on to pull off my best tricks yet.