My Dad -- Part 3

As far back as I can remember, my father had to be careful about his health. Any little cold quickly became a deep bronchitis, and I remember that he often had what he called "hard indigestion." These problems were not new, and even as a young man, his health was fragile. Now that my Dad was planning to be a missionary, his family and friends were greatly concerned about how terrible this would be for his health. He had a promising career as an architect, and many of them just could not see any human wisdom at all in leaving North America to go far away to die young of a terrible disease in a foreign country! I'm sure there were many attempts to talk him out of it! (Believe it or not, in his late 20s he was considered to be a little too old to be going as a foreign missionary!)

And my Dad, being the kind of man he was, expected God to give him a verse in his normal everyday Bible reading that would answer that concern and give him clear guidance, and he was not disappointed! This is what he wrote:

"After study and preparation, I considered the advisability of seeking, at my age, a field of service which might be easier on the health than West Africa. I was reading at the time in Jeremiah where the children of Israel were commanded by the Lord to submit to Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, but they sought a way of escape into Egypt. The Lord spoke to them, saying that the sword that they feared in Babylon would take them in Egypt. I said, "Yes, Lord," and set my face steadfastly toward Liberia."

Early in 1941, my Dad was ready to set sail for Liberia. It had been 10 years since Meryl had been born, and she was being cared for by her grandparents, Madeleine's mother and father. It must have been very, very hard to leave her and go so far away, all alone, with very little ability to communicate -- no telephones, no email, none of the immediacy we expect now. I remember meeting Meryl's grandmother when I was a little girl, and I don't remember much about her except that she was elderly and very busy whenever I saw her. But I think about how terribly hard it must have been for her to lose her daughter so young, and I hope that having Meryl was a comfort to her. Meryl's grandparents will forever have my respect for the way they raised their little granddaughter to love and adore her father who had gone so far away.

What had my father been doing in the 10 years between Madeleine's death and the day he got on that ship?

For one thing, he was working. He had completed his 4-year course in architectural drafting and was immediately employed as a draftsman, work he loved. He also began studying at Toronto Baptist Seminary in preparation for going to Africa as a missionary.

I have just one picture to show you today, and that is of my father and his bicycle with the specially made sidecar container on the back. He wanted to win others in his profession to Christ, and so he cycled through Ontario visiting architects' offices, witnessing and leaving "tracts" that he had made. They were emery sticks for sharpening drafting pencils, and he had carefully printed a Scripture verse on one side.My father became a Christian when he was a teenager. He listened as his cousin, Ted, talked to his brothers about the Lord. Then one day he stopped to listen to some men who were preaching on the street corner. After the sermon, one of them asked if he had trusted Jesus as his Savior. My father knew that he believed in Jesus, but he was not sure he was saved, so that man showed him God's promise in the Bible that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but has everlasting life. From then on, he was sure of his salvation.

A few years ago, my mother wrote a special book for her grandchildren in which she tells so many interesting things about her life and my father's, so I am depending heavily on that for writing about my Dad today. Here's something she added to this part of the story:
"Someone has said that opportunities do not come with their ultimate value stamped upon them. That servant of the Lord, whoever he was, didn't know that the teenage boy to whom he was speaking that day would one day be a missionary to Africa."

My father also didn't know the end result of those little emery boards that he rode so many, many miles on his special bicycle to personally deliver...

Then in 1935, he met my mother!

(To be continued...)