Lessons From My Father

Last week marked the 22nd anniversary of my father’s homegoing. In evangelical circles, we tend to use the phrase “homegoing” as opposed to passing or some other more secular term because we firmly believe that our loved one who knew the Lord and had a personal relationship with Him is now “home.”

After all, the Apostle Paul wrote in Philippians 3:20 that “our citizenship is in heaven.” That means that although my dad was a resident of Haddon Heights, the State of New Jersey, and the United States of America when he died, his most important citizenship was in Glory… which is where he is now.

The anniversary of my dad’s passing caused me to reflect on some of the life lessons he taught me, even though he wasn’t purposely teaching me them at the time. Like most kids, I learned more from my dad by watching what he did than what he said, and what he did throughout his 77 years on earth spoke volumes. And so, I thought I would share a few of those lessons publicly in the hope that others will benefit from them like I have.

Unlike President Obama’s self-serving memoirs, “Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance,” my tribute to my dad isn’t being written to further my political ambitions and aspirations. It is simply a look back at a relatively ordinary life that – if you were paying close attention – conveyed some very extraordinary truths.

As I did in my eulogy at his memorial service, I choose to separate my dad’s life into three distinct sections. They weren’t necessarily equal in longevity or impact, but the delineation is clear (at least in my mind).

The first part of my father’s life was highlighted by his service as a soldier in World War II. Shortly after graduating from high school in a small New Jersey town, his country called… and my father answered without hesitation. Little did my dad know that – after a few short stints in Missouri and the Pacific Northwest – he would soon be shipped to the South Pacific.

Arriving in Australia, he barely had time to unpack his bags before he was sent into the thick of battle, first in New Guinea, then in Saipan, and finally in the Philippines. My dad drove a halftrack, which is an armored vehicle that is half tank and half truck, and that made him invaluable during the invasions of Leyte and Luzon, two Philippine islands held by hundreds of thousands of Japanese troops. The fighting was fierce and the casualties on both sides were extremely heavy. For his valor in combat, my dad received two Bronze Stars and was promoted to the rank of Staff Sergeant.

A final note regarding my dad’s military service – the horrors of which he rarely spoke about – was his support for President Truman’s decision to drop atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. “If we had had to invade their homeland,” my dad told me, “the Japanese would have fought to every last man, woman, and child.”

Returning home after the war, my dad worked several different jobs – at a bank, at a car dealership, and at a cemetery. Then he met and married my mom, who is still alive and well despite having been a widow for the past 22 years. My father had been an only child, which he apparently didn’t like, so he and my mother decided to have a big family… and a big family they had. I am the fifth of six children and the youngest of three boys.

Back in the 1950s and 1960s, fathers “brought home the bacon” while mothers stayed home and raised the children… and truthfully, I still see a lot of merit in that arrangement, especially when the children are young. Having eight mouths to feed and six rapidly growing kids to clothe, my dad worked long hours to put food on our table and a roof over our heads. Not once did he complain and not once did he consider applying for public assistance. He believed – as do I – that it is a father’s responsibility to provide for (and protect) his family… period.

Four of the Glading children went to college and my dad somehow covered most of those expenses himself, while my mother managed the family budget, cooked our meals, cleaned our house, washed (and sometimes hand-sewed) our clothes, attended our school functions and extracurricular activities, and tended to our cuts and scrapes.

The third segment of my dad’s life happened when he was in his early 50s. Several of my older siblings were already in college and the rest of us were within a few years of leaving the nest ourselves. And yet, instead of settling into his recliner and taking it easy, my dad embarked on the greatest journey of his life. Simply put, he met Jesus Christ and pretty much started over from scratch, determined to make up for what he considered to be "lost time”.

As much as I admire my dad’s service to America in the jungles of the South Pacific and his tireless efforts to support our growing family, I think I respect his decision to surrender his life to Jesus Christ – at an age when most people are getting ready to retire – most of all. For a supposed “self-made man” to realize and publicly admit that he was a sinner and needed a Savior taught me volumes about humility… and the need to sometimes change directions in mid-life or midstream.

In summary, the three most important lessons that my dad taught me were:

His country called and he said yes…

His family needed him, and he worked his fingers to the bone supporting us…

Jesus knocked on the door of his heart, and my dad invited Him in.