My patriarchal grandmother was pregnant about the
time of the Wall Street crash in ’29 that ushered in the Great Depression. It
was not a good time to bring children into the world, which is why my dad had a
nine, thirteen and sixteen-year head-start on his siblings. It was a generation
cemented with family tradition and personal responsibility. And it was a time
when children often worked long hours in factories or fields (when work could
be found) to help feed the family. And, if the Great Depression wasn’t enough
of an example to emphasize the need for hard work and commitment to provide for
your family, my grandfather drilled into my dad lessons he learned the hard
way. My grandfather became the sole provider for his three siblings at the age
of eleven. They were in Wales during WWI, and when his father was lost in the
war his mother abandoned the children. She tramped from guy-to-guy and never
saw her offspring again.
Needless to say, by the time Dad married and my
older brother and I made our appearance into this world, providing for your
family was synonymous with manhood in
the mind of my father. But life is unpredictable. And even the hardest workers
get laid-off when the economy sours, too many accounts are lost, or the business
goes bankrupt. And Dad found himself unemployed for the first time in his adult
life. Jobs became scarce, and the longer it lasted the more it chipped away at
Dad’s emotional state. In his eyes he was failing to be a man. He was failing
to provide for his family. And when the cupboards were bare, and my brother and
I (toddlers at the time) cried with empty stomachs, Dad decided to take matters
into his own hands and get money for food by any means necessary.
I was too young at the time to have clear memories
of what happened next. But it became a family story that was repeated so often
no one could forget. My parents argued over the dire situation and, eventually,
Dad went off by himself to brood. When he returned there was a purpose in his
step. He marched straight to his room, disappeared for about a minute, and came
back out carrying a rifle. He had pawned several guns already. This was his
last. But my mother took one look at my dad and knew he wasn’t heading to any
pawn shop.
She tried to stop him, but the effort was futile. She
considered calling the police, but decided against it. Dad was a veteran of the
Korean War. Mom figured that if he was confronted by armed officers it would
only inflame the situation. So she called family; none of which were close
enough to immediately assist, but they all agreed to pray.
Dad recalled driving, but not where he went or how
long it took until he parked outside a grocery store. From the moment he left
home until realizing he was in the parking lot he had vented at God. At some
point during the angry tirade Dad came to the conclusion that if God felt no
obligation to fulfill His promises as a heavenly father, than he no longer felt
obligated to walk a godly path. He told God, “You’re strong enough to watch your
son die on a cross; but I’m not you, and I cannot watch my children suffer
another day with no food for their bellies.” And he reached for his rifle –
only to realize he could no longer move. His limbs refused every mental
command. He was paralyzed. He tried to fight it, but it was useless. Yet in the
midst of the mental turmoil he remembers one clear thought, losing their father will bring more
suffering than empty stomachs. And all internal fighting ceased. He
surrendered. And he cried – and cried some more.
Dad let go of everything that night. For the first
time in his life he admitted he could not do everything, and he gave it all to
God. And immediately following his surrender to God the paralysis disappeared. He
drove home, and upon his arrival he discovered strangers had delivered several
bags of groceries during his absence. And two days later he was offered a job:
a job that would last thirty-years.
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