June 27, 2021
The People Who Colored the Way I Think
Several people colored the way I look at life. Some
touched me with lovely pastel colors, calling forth in me a gentleness long
ignored and slow to develop. Others stroked me with vivid colors that created
in me an intense enthusiasm for life. Still others, like my Daddy, stroked me
with bold colors that birthed inside me a driving ambition to make a difference
with my life.
“Daddy”
was what I called my father for 50 years. I never called him “Father.” To me
and my siblings, our parents were Daddy and Mama. In later years, until he
passed away at age 93, Daddy’s name became “Papa” in our family. I rejoiced to
learn that when Jesus prayed, he addressed God as “Abba, Father.” The word
“Abba” was a colloquial term, used by Jewish children, that is best translated
as “Daddy” or “Papa.” Frankly, that melts my heart.
Daddy
painted my life by being the person he was – a pillar of strength – in our
home. He influenced the way I see life by the power of his example – by the way
he lived his own life.
He
was a big, strong man. He worked hard all day, all his life, from sunup until
sundown. There was not a lazy bone in his body. Few things could deter him when
his mind was made up. When the cows needed feed on a winter day, stormy weather
never slowed him down. He would not rest util the work was done.
His
routine seldom wavered. Bedtime was 10:30. He arose at 4:30 every morning,
determined not to “burn daylight.” Even in retirement, in his late eighties, he
got up at 4:30 to drink coffee, prepare breakfast, listen to the weather report
on the radio and read The Upper Room and his Bible.
Growing
up in that environment gave me a strong work ethic. Never sleep late. Get up.
Get at it. Put your hand to the plow and go to work. Keep at it until what
needs to be done is finished. That attitude was engrained in me as a child.
Daddy’s
honesty influenced me. He was a man of his word. He meant what he said and he
expected the same from others. He had no patience with liars.
In my
teen years I discovered that Daddy had a good reputation. I was never ashamed
to be known as his son. In those growing up years I was called “Walter Junior.”
People trusted Daddy and that meant something to me. I felt proud to be his
son. I never heard a person speak ill of Daddy. That gave me a desire to become
an honorable man myself.
Family was important to Daddy. We
ate our meals together at a table that he built, and we never began eating
until he had offered a prayer of thanks. As little children we were being
taught to honor God for His provision.
I have observed some children speak
disrespectfully to their mother, even sometimes implying that she was stupid.
Such contempt nauseates me and Daddy is responsible for my attitude. He did not
tolerate any disrespect for Mama when my siblings and I were growing up. We
learned there was a price to pay for “talking back” to Mama. My sons will tell
you that I followed Daddy’s example by insisting that they treat their mother
with the utmost respect.
Daddy seldom talked about his
faith in God; he just lived it. One of my first books was a book of Bible
stories filled with pictures. Though my interest was more in Tarzan and the
Lone Ranger, Daddy and Mama made sure we also knew about Abraham, Moses and
Jesus. Unless “the ox was in the ditch,” we went to church every Sunday. Alcohol
and tobacco were off limits.
Like
all of us, Daddy was flawed but his strengths outnumbered his weaknesses. In my
middle years I began to realize how his strong example had shaped my attitudes.
Now it gives me great joy to remember fondly the many ways Daddy colored my
life and the rare privilege of having been his son. So, you will not be
surprised to know I pray often that one day my sons will be thankful for
whatever ways my example has colored the way they look at life. + + +