A Father’s Memory

Today is his birthday. If he had lived he would have celebrated 105 years of life on this 16th June. I miss him. I often wish he had known my wife and cradled my children.

I have found myself somewhat sobered several times this year by the thought that I am now one year younger than my father was when he ‘fell asleep’ and left these shores for heavenly ones. This year I actually turn the same age he was when he left us in 1989.

He lived a very full life and spent his last decade passionately telling people in high and in humble society about Jesus.

I often wonder if he and Mum are watching and cheering us on as we continue to join others taking the Gospel to the least and last reached people groups with the Good News of Jesus.

Today, after spending all last week training a group of local Manam islanders in PNG how to translate the Bible orally, we began the first steps towards putting the first book of the Bible—the book of Jonah—in their mother tongue of Manam. The goal: to have the first draft completed by Thursday evening.

I feel that if my dad could see us here, so remote in a place which he never visited, he would be doing an Irish jig of joy right now.

It’s funny how these things are connected in my mind and heart, but they are. A gentleman no longer with us who would be so happy to see where his son has ended up, after that shaky start all the way back in my teens, and when I began a career without salary forty-eight years ago going into all the world to make disciples of all nations.

What a privilege I have to call him my father! His memory and story egg me on.