"Preach the gospel at all times, if necessary use words." - St. Francis of Assisi

Monday, August 22, 2011

My Dad

“…and God Himself will live with them, and they will be His people. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorry or crying or pain. All these things are GONE forever.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

The promises of God. We all have our favorites and the ones we claim the most. You can buy little books that list the promises. We have bookmarks, wall plaques, highlighted text, email signatures and so on that give us a sense of calm that we know God is in control and watching over us. The above verse isn’t one that I used to think about very much when in discussions about God’s promises to me. But, it is now. Very personally.

This week marks the five-year anniversary of my Dad’s homegoing. People knew him as Bo Cochran, but I know him as Dad, Daddy, Papa and Paw-Daddy (long weird story). Like many fathers and sons, we tussled at times because we are both strong-willed and hard-headed people, but I never doubted his love for me. It was shown by his actions much stronger than any words. Coming home from work and finding a floodlight installed, pulling in the driveway to see my yard cut and trimmed, an occasional paying for my dinner out with the parents, “I think that song you played for the offering today is one of my favorites,” hiring me to work at his company during the summers of high school and introducing me as ‘his boy,’ and so on. Once I wrote an opinion column in the newspaper about him and how much I did love him and he got all weird and mushy-voiced when I asked him if he read it. In Bo-language that was a “yes, I read it and I love you, too.” That was my relationship with my Dad.

I remember him spending hours in the front yard while I tried learning to ride a bicycle. He nailed the first roller skates to a plank for me to use as a skateboard. He brought home a go-cart from work that totally ruined the grass in his backyard…but he never cared. We kids never dared to enter the church sanctuary without waiting on him at the little table in the back hallway. When I joined the church and was too afraid to step out into the aisle, I felt his (extremely) firm hand guiding me from the back until my legs started to work on their own. My dad was always there if I needed him for a push, or a kick.

I don’t think he minded that I became a musician instead of a professional baseball player. He wasn’t particularly pleased when I put away the Butch Wax and let my hair grow long like the Beatles, but he let me….sorta. He didn’t care that I never learned how to change the oil in my car. It didn’t seem to bother him that I was did not have the woodwork and carpentry skills he did. Looking back now, I realize that he was just glad I was me. I think he knew that I was who God made me and it did not good to try and force me into other skills….mainly polishing my shoes. That just never seemed a big deal to me.

So, as I think back on my Dad this week and my life with and without his physical presence in my life, I am glad to claim the promise that he is no longer sick, no longer in any pain, no longer frustrated with his illnesses….those are GONE forever. It is a promise from God that I am glad for and look forward to someday. I hope you can claim this promise yourself.

And for today my friends, this has been the gospel according to Jimmy.


At 1:03 PM, Blogger scatterbrained said...

What a beautiful tribute! .


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