Comfort and Joy

The Old Second Prairie Creek Baptist Church

Cemetery

South of Terre Haute, Indiana

April 2010

2 Corinthians 1:3 NIV

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort."

My dad died in 1992 at age 57.

I was ten days away from visiting home, finishing the last semester before summer break. Russell was taking his last tests, and John had cleared time for leave so we could make the trip to Cincinnati.

I had talked to dad about the meal he was planning for us. He was trying new recipes and was excited about a dessert he had made for others and wanted me to try.

I remember telling him I'd see him in two weeks.  I didn't realize under what circumstances.

I miss dad at holidays most of all. He was a pianist and had an ear for songs. He could read music, but he could also ad lib and play by ear.

He would play for hours at night when I was young. I can recall falling  asleep to classical pieces such as Tchaikovsky's, The Nutcracker Suite, Aram Khachaturian's Saber Dance, or Saint-Saëns, Carnival of the Animals.

Dad had a great collection of popular sheet music from
different time periods like, "Mairzy Doats," by Milton Drake, written in the 1940's and "K-K-K-Katy," by Geoffrey O'Hara from WWI.  I learned American history by playing through dad's sheet music as I grew up.

He had a vast collection of Rogers and Hammerstein songbooks, and much of my philosophy of life was shaped by their lyrics.

Got a problem in life?  Climb every mountain.

Want to get rid of a boyfriend?  Wash that man right out of your hair.

Good things happen to you that you don't think you deserve? Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.

Suffered because a man done you wrong? You'll never walk alone.

Want to hide your fears?  Whistle a happy tune.

And always remember---The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music, so go sing with the larks on the breeze or the brook as it trips and falls over stones.

Yeah--my dad's life had ups and downs. He was a complex guy. Moody and tempermental--he was a musician at heart, and I haven't met many of them who weren't normally brooding by nature.

Dad filled parties with light and laughter, stories and song. As many faults as he had, he had as many charms. I miss him at holidays.  The piano has been silent too long from his touch.

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Lord, thank you for memories I have of dad.