A Special Time With Dad


Hdad300ave you ever starting thinking about something and that thought rolled into another thought?  That happened to me, last night before church started.  I was thinking about someone’s father and that caused me to think about my father and a special time that we shared years and years ago.

I was somewhere between ten and twelve years old.  My dad would have been in his early to mid- forties.  We were in Lindsay, Oklahoma and would have been visiting my grandfather, who had a farm, just east of Erin Springs.  The time of the year would have been in the late fall or in the winter, because it was cold.

The time was special because Dad and I were alone.  No other family members were with us.  I have no idea where they were or how we happened to be together, but it was just the two of us.  We had grandpa’s big Plymouth sedan.  But it’s where that big Plymouth ended up that night that made the evening, even more special.

Dad and I went to a revival meeting in a store front building along Highway 19.  The space was, as I remember about fifteen feet by twenty-five feet.  It had just a few chairs and in front of the chairs was a xylophone.  I have since been in a lot of church meetings and I have never ever been in another meeting with a xylophone as the featured instrument.   There might have been a piano, I don’t know, but the xylophone was just four feet away from me.  I couldn’t miss it!

I don’t know who preached the meeting or if we knew anyone else that was there, but Dad and I were at a church meeting.  My dad was not a spiritual man and I knew nothing about the Gospel or spiritual disciplines.  That’s what made this so special to me.

I don’t know what happened to Dad that night, but it seemed like something did.  He was quiet and seemed to be thinking about something as he came out of the building.  He also seemed to be more at peace.

We got into the Plymouth to find the windshield had iced over while we were inside and we didn’t have an ice scrapper.  Grandpa’s farm was maybe three miles away from where we were, so it wouldn’t take long to get home.  Dad decided to wait just a little while for the defroster to start working.

The Plymouth had two ports on the dashboard, about the size of a 32 oz. fountain drink cup opening, for the defroster.  When there were two small spots cleared on the windshield, we started for grandpa’s farm.

I’m sure Dad was looking through the clearing closest to him, but he said to me, “Stevie, you look through your opening and help me drive home.”  And so I did.  I would occasional tell him he was getting close to the yellow line and he would correct his steering.

We would have to cross the Wichita River Bridge on Highway 76, before we got to grandpa’s turnoff.  Just before the bridge, he had crossed the yellow lines and I was able to warn him before we hit the bridge.  After we crossed the bridge, the car had heated up enough to clear the windshield with a sudden blast, so that we made it home without further incident.

I don’t know what God did that night.  I suspect perhaps, a couple of Gospel seeds were planted.  What I do know and appreciate, was it was a special night for me, because of the closeness we felt on that drive home.

Lord, thank you for moments like these.

 

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