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 ometimes the best sermons are not those that are preached, but those that are lived out in the lives of those we love. This is one of those sermons, lived out in the life of my dad. A Life Well-Livedby Eric Elder Author's note: I'd like to share with you today a tribute I wrote awhile back to my dad. Sometimes the best sermons are not those that are preached, but those that are lived out in the lives of those we love. This is one of those sermons, lived out in the life of my dad. Eric -------------------------- A Tribute to Dad, I love you. I just wanted to tell you that. But even more, I wanted to tell you what’s on my heart so you’ll know what I mean when I say I love you. When I think of you, I think of the farm. And when I think of the farm, I think of you. The two are inseparable. I see you driving the tractor through wide open fields, planting corn and soybeans in the rich, black soil of Illinois. Some men dream of someday having an office with a view. Your office was the view! You could look for miles and see only a handful of other farmhouses on the horizon. What an incredible place to work. Dad, you are a man of the land, through and through. I see now how deeply you feel about farming. It always seemed like a great occupation: fresh air, lots of space, being your own boss, planting and harvesting. But I don’t think I understood how deep the roots went in you. I think about how you grew up on your Dad’s farm, how you watched him hitch up the horses, and how you and your six brothers and sisters picked corn by hand. From almost the day you were born, until now, 72 years later, you have been farming. I want to tell you I’m sorry for the times I questioned your desire to continue farming when your farm, like many other family farms in America, started to become less profitable. I understand now that your desire to farm is not about profitability. It is all about doing what you love doing...what you feel passionate about. You and the farm go together. And Dad, I can’t think of a better playground for a kid than our farm. Trucks and tractors, barns and haymows, plus every pet a child could ask for: dogs and cats, ducks and chickens, horses and even pigs. I know you didn’t raise the pigs as pets, but the rest you cared for every day just for the sake of us kids. (Although there was that one little piglet we brought in the house and tried to nurse back to health with a baby bottle.) Thanks, Dad for all the work you put into the animals and the activities that made the farm so fun for us. And I know I was just one of the many people who loved the farm. Most people probably don’t have enough visitors to have a guest book at their house, but your guest book was filled with names of people from all over the world. I have no idea how you were able to meet people from every state in the U.S. and many other countries as well, and instantly build a friendship with them that would last for years. You would always invite them to stay at the farm with us if they were ever passing through. People would comment how amazed they were when you said, “Come stay with us!” and how sincerely you meant it. I would not be able to count how many hundreds of people took you up on that offer and enjoyed the peace and quiet, the nighttime sky full of stars, and the great meals which were all part of a visit to the farm. One of the things that probably most identifies you as an Elder is your love for games -- whether bridge, canasta, “greedy,” or the all-time Elder favorite: caroms. I though everyone must have played caroms growing up, flicking the caroms across the board into the pocket until their fingers were sore. And the games in the house hardly compared to the ones you set up in the yard for special events at our house. Sometimes it was a graduation, a wedding, a family reunion, or a pig roast. BUt whatever the occasion, you’d have set up a volleyball net, a tetherball pole, horseshoe stakes, a softball diamond, kites to fly, a badminton net, and a ping-pong table in the barn. And of course, you’d hang a rope from the ground to the top of the barn, with a $2 bill or some other incentive at the top to get kids to climb up it. I remember my favorite game you set up for us. You strung a heavy wire cable from the second floor of the barn all the way down to a tree halfway down the lane. Then you put together some handlebars and a pulley so we could hang on for our lives as we sailed a couple hundred feet down the cable before we touched the ground. The best part about a party at the farm has always been the bonfire at night, cooking hot dogs and s’mores, catching fireflies at dusk, and watching the stars come out. Wow, what a perfect night! As I flip through the snapshots of you in my memory, I see you carving a turkey at the table on Thanksgiving. I see you setting a live Christmas tree in its stand. I see you cooking peanut brittle in the kitchen for us and your friends. I see you running the flag up the flagpole every morning and bringing it down every night. I see you kneeling beside a tractor, grease on your hands and some on your face, tightening a bolt or greasing the wheels. I see you laughing so hard until you cried while listening to Bill Cosby on the record player talk about feeding chocolate cake to his kids for breakfast. Dad, your example spoke volumes to me and shaped my life. You worked hard during the week, but I don’t ever remember a Sunday that you worked. And for a farmer whose livelihood depends on the weather, you never let that dictate what you did on Sundays. You honored God by taking a Sabbath rest. I still do, too. You took the family to church every week. I still do, too. You prayed before every meal. I still do, too, whether in public or in private, because it’s so ingrained in me that I don’t feel right if I don’t. You looked up every question I asked in the World Book Encyclopedia or wherever you could find the answer. Now I search for an answer to every question I ask, or others ask me, until I find it, too. You weren’t much for smoking or drinking and neither am I. You loved Mom and stayed with her till she died, as I plan to do with Lana. Thanks for living your life in a way that honors God and honors those around you. One of the most memorable demonstrations of your love to me was the weekend you wanted to surprise me with the piano from your house. You knew I wished I had a better piano than my out-of-tune one and you wanted to do something about it. So you arranged with Lana, while I was gone one weekend, to bring over the family piano from the farm and put it in my house in Gridley. And, at the age of 70, you were going to load it by yourself onto your truck, haul it to our house and up our stairs, then load up my old piano and take it away -- all because you wanted to do something special to surprise me. Dad, that one act demonstrated to me how much you love me more than a thousand “I love you’s” ever could. Now my kids get to visit the farm and ride the hayracks and cook marshmallows over the fire. They explore in the barns and ride with you on the tractors. I pray I can pass on to them what you passed on to me. Our kids call you “Grandpa Bob.” But Dad, you’re more than a grandpa, you’re a grand man. A man of the land. Thanks for everything. And Dad, I hope you know now what I mean when I say I love you. I love you, Dad. -------------------- P.S. from the Author: My dad asked me to read this tribute one day at his memorial service, which I did recently. Some people have told me they love the idea of writing a tribute to their parents, but don't know how to start, or their parents have already passed away. I wanted to let you know about a book that really helped me organize my thoughts and put them down on paper. It's called "The Tribute" by Dennis Rainey. Dennis says that it's even helpful to write a tribute after your parents have passed away as a legacy to their lives for future generations. It's never too late! This book really encouraged me to do it and then helped me to get it done. You can get a copy of the book for as low as $.01 from Amazon.com at this link: To order more inspiring books and resources, including "Nehemiah: Lessons In Rebuilding," please visit: |
