Day 1 – August 3, 2009
6:15am – Stephen drove Dan, W.C. and myself to the Atlanta airport for our 9:45am flight to to San Juan. We had already checked in online, and our arrival at the airport went much better and more quickly. Security was no problem.
10:15am – Lift-off for the flight. The flight was packed with no empty seats. Unfortunately, it was the plight of W.C. and myself to have two rambunctious children seated behind us. They constantly kicked the seats and talked loudly. Attempts at making them sit quietly were futile, due to the mother, who appeared Spanish-speaking only, did not seem to care.
With the annoying of the two children behind us, W.C. and I were exposed to the romantic couple who sat in the two seats in front of us. It was obvious that they “needed a room!” The constant embracing and kissing were activities that should have been reserved for when they landed in San Juan.
As we make the flight, we have passed over the beautiful waters of the Caribbean. As we passed over the Bahamas, I could not help but think of the multitude of souls below us, who have not yet heard a clear presentation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I continued to gaze upon the emerald waters and the small islands of the Bahamas, I was transported back in my memory to July 7, 1984. That was the Saturday morning that Paul Prince flew myself, Kathy and Jonathan from Jacksonville, FL to Freeport, Grand Bahamas to visit with Dad for the day. He was there at an experimental cancer treatment center. He and mom had been there for several weeks already, and had been through the emotional upheavals that such catastrophic treatments bring. They were eager for our arrival. They were housed in a multi-story complex where all of the rooms faced the main street. Paul’s plane was a small, four-seat plane Piper plane. After landing in Freeport, we hailed a Taxi and made our way to the center where mom and dad were. Paul would leave us alone with mom and dad, and he spent the hours touring the island.
Their building was off of the street approximately one-hundred yards, with a single concrete sidewalk leading to the entrance. Apparently, Dad had been eagerly watching out the window for our arrival. There were no cell phones in those days, so all he knew was an approximate time. There is no way of knowing how long he had gazed out of that window with eager anticipation for the arrival of his eldest and youngest sons, and his daughter-in-law. Dad knew he was dying, and each visit was special to him.
The taxis deposited us at the sidewalk leading into the building. We walked through the doorway, across the lobby, and pressed the “Up” button on the elevator. As the elevator descended to the lobby floor, we waited. . .It had been two months since I had seen my dying Dad. Finally, the elevator stopped. . .the pause. . .then, the doors slid slowly open. There. . .Standing in the elevator with his arms stretched out wide, was Dad! An eager father embraced his sons with a hug that cannot be rivaled on this earth. We knew he was dying, he knew his days on this earth were few. This would possibly be the final embrace. (Little did I know that it was our final embrace).
The visit was only a few hours. We had arrived at about 10:00am. We had to leave at 6:00pm to return to Jacksonville. Those few hours were the last hours that I would ever have in conversation with my Dad. . .the man that had raised me, taught me and trained me for life and living for God. My dad, who had once been “strong as an ox,” sat there on the couch in a body that had been emaciated by the deadly progression of pancreatic cancer. It was hard to say “Good-Bye” that afternoon. As the three of us, mom and dad embraced for one final time. We wiped our tears, and walked out the door. That was the second of two times that I had ever seen my dad cry. The first was in August of 1975, as he sat on the couch at home on a Sunday afternoon, as he watched the first of his children get in a car and leave home. (I was headed to Tennessee Temple College in Chattanooga, TN). This day, in the Bahamas, was the second time I had seen dad cry. Obviously, he knew it would be the last of our times together on this earth.
A few weeks later, dad was flown back home and I received news he only had a few hours left. We rapidly packed and made our way from Jacksonville, FL. The nine-hour drive seemed like an eternity. Upon arrival, I received the disheartening news, “Your dad is in a comma.” The pain-killing drugs had induced comatose state in order to relieve the painful suffering that the cancer had inflicted upon my dad. That was late Friday afternoon.
Saturday was a day of relentless vigilance by dad’s bedside. I held his hand and spoke to him. I shared with him again how much I loved him and thanked him for all that he had taught me. Although he was only fifty-one years old, he had the experience and wisdom of an aged senior saint. His walk with God was like few men that I have known. His patience with people, and forgiveness for those who had hurt him, was something to be modeled. Although he had been in a comatose state, it seems the Lord awoke him briefly for a demonstration of his forgiveness. There was a knock on the door, I opened it. . .There stood Billy. . .in my opinion. . .a TRAITOR of the first degree. Billy had been led to Christ by dad many years earlier, when we were at Harmony Baptist in 1966-67. Billy had become dad’s good friend. Billy had hired dad to work for him at the body shop. Billy had been a deacon at the church. Yet, none of that mattered. Billy, and others at the Mount View Baptist Church had turned on dad, after seven years of faithful ministry there. It all started, because it came to light that Billy was a boot-legger, and the church treasure was a lesbian. When dad dismissed them both from their positions, the battle began. Billy was ring-leader for running dad off. Our family was permanently damaged, hurt and scarred.
Now. . .Here was Billy at the door! I wanted to run him off, but mom said “Welcome, Billy.” She took Billy back to the bedside of my dying dad. I partially blamed Billy for dad’s current condition. Yet, as stated earlier, dad briefly awoke from his comatose state. As he saw Billy, dad raised his feeble arms, told Billy to get closer, and he hugged him and said, “Billy, I still love you.” How? How could dad reach into the recesses of his soul and find forgiveness there? What I had to realize was that it was no effort for dad. Forgiveness was not in the recesses of his soul, but it was the filling of his heart. He was a model of the forgiveness of Christ. I have never forgotten that scene that day.
Saturday night was a sleepless night for those of us there. The hours slowly ebbed away and the dawning of the Sunday morning sun began to shine. Likewise, Sunday was another vigilant day of watching dad awake and pass back into a comatose state. It was about mid-afternoon, as I was sitting by his bedside and holding his hand, that his eyes opened quickly. . .he sat up in bed. He was totally lucid. He said, “Gather the family in here and ask Scotty to come in also.” Scotty Letson was a young preacher-boy that dad had been mentoring and training. As the family and Scotty gathered into the room, the door was shut and we all eagerly listened. Dad, although speaking with a feeble voice, spoke with the power of God and the wisdom of saintly Jacob as he too sat on his beside before his sons. Dad said, “I’m getting ready to leave now. God is good. God knows what He is doing. I love you all. Keep serving the Lord. I’ll see you on the other side.” With those finals words, he laid his head on the pillow and slipped back into a comatose state. I would never again hear the voice of my father on this earth. . .But what powerful words they were!
In the dawning hours of Monday morning, August 13,1984, at 7:13am the pall-bearers of Heaven were dispatched to come and usher my dad into the presence of the One who had redeemed his soul. The cancer-ridden, emaciated body was vacated and left deposited on the bed in the bedroom located at 2310 Cleveland Avenue, Decatur, AL. He soul was transported into the realm of the eternal and into the presence of our glorious King!
Dad never pastored a large or well-known church and, yet, he impacted an untold number of lives. His funeral, the next week, was attended by over four-hundred people. Dad had requested that his service be called a “Victory Service!” What a victory it was. After a series of preachers, the service was closed with a resounding rendition of the congregation singing of “Victory in Jesus.” Four people trusted Christ at dad’s home-going service. One of those was his brother, Gene. Gene had been a drunk for many years. Alcohol had done its dastardly work on his body and mind. Yet, Gene’s soul was redeemed that day as he trusted Christ to save him.
Well, this has been a rather long walk down memory lane as we have passed over the Bahamas. Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to put those thoughts into words.
1:48pm – Landed in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Gary Ashley picked us up at the airport, and we stopped at Pizza Hut to have lunch. The flight did not include a meal, so we were hungry and Dan was excited about finding a Pizza Hut.
We spent the afternoon talking with the Ashley family. Their sons, Andrew (10), Caleb (7), Philip (6), and Stephen (4) all were excited to see us. They have a ten-month old daughter, Abigail. It is Philips birthday today and he wanted stuffed baked potatoes for dinner. They were great.
After dinner, we took a ride to the beach, which is only a couple of miles away. Then, back at the house, we sat and talked and prepared for a day of work at the church on Tuesday. We will be painting, plumbing, etc.. I just remembered that I brought work jeans, but not a work shirt for ruining with paint. I guess I’ll sacrifice the red BCWE shirt for the cause.
