ME AND DAD
From My Biography
My earliest recollection of my father is when Christmas
would be only a few days or a week away, he would take us little ones on his
knees and sing “Silent Night”. Of course he sang it in German as “Stille Nacht”. Then one of us would ask
him how many nights until Christmas. It was an expression of love to us to
teach us one of his many songs that he loved and wanted us to know. It is not
hard to imagine sitting there perhaps as a 2-3 year old, nestled in his arms as
he sang to us. Actually I don’t remember his voice as much as the fact that we
would excitedly always ask him how long until the Day.
He was enthusiastic about his children, picking them up and
sometimes in a high pitched voice call us “lieb
kindly”, translated loosely as "beloved child". From our earliest days, we
were important to him and he enjoyed being with us when the day’s work was
done, or even when he came in for dinner, or even when we would go out where he
was working. I have more feelings about those encounters then actual incidences
that come to my mind. It seems he would always talk to us, although he would
also be in deep meditation or rehearsing some relationship with some else and
talking to himself barely audibly. He was a sociable person, not content to
just be tight lipped. He was communicating whether the person spoken to was
there or not. Sometimes we would ask him what he said. He was probably
surprised and wondering what we had heard.
Occasionally I made the trip to town with him to do some
shopping for groceries or what ever else we needed. Our horse Bobby was never
in a hurry and would take about an hour to travel the 7 miles to town. As Dad
would go from store to store, I would try to keep up with him. I don’t know if
he was always in a hurry, but he knew where he was going and wanted to get his
business done. He told me some of his business, like going from one grocery
store to another because he knew the price of what he frequently bought,
literally saving a penny here and there. He knew the value of a few cents. I
suppose that thriftiness bid me well when I was in college twenty years later
and had my own sense of economy on what was affordable and where I should buy
my things.
I was also with Dad many times when he wanted us to help him
on the farm. I suppose he both wanted train us and to have our help. I would drive
the horses when we put in hay as the loader brought the hay up behind the wagon
and he or a brother would load the wagon to get the most on without loosing any
on the way to the barn. Later I could do
that job of placing the loose hay around the wagon until we had a high load.
Dad also wanted us around when he “made fence”, either a new fence, or
repairing where the cattle had weakened it. He taught me to use a post hole
digger, and to sight up posts in a straight row.
I remember once as we were working on a fence in the lane
near the barn, he was teaching me a Bible verse, word by word, having one
finger designated for each word- five in the first phrase; German words I can
still repeat 60+ years later. Only years later did I learn where we find it or
what it meant. Scripture was important to him and he also wanted us to know
Scripture. He probably helped us memorize verses for Sunday School also, although I don’t recall just what they were. He read to
the family a chapter of the New Testament every morning and every evening, and
then led in a prayer as we knelt down as a family. Rarely did we go off to bed
before he would lead us in this devotional. He cared for our Spiritual
discipline in Scripture and prayer, setting an example for us as Mom would help
keep it orderly, which was not usually a problem. We realized it was a normal
part of our daily life. He did not explain Scripture; he just read it, usually.
He did not teach us to pray; he was just an example. It was something he
believed in even though it must have taxed him after a day’s work and just
before bed. But he never forgot, nor excused himself. Even when we came home
from Bible study on Wednesday evenings we knelt to pray, perhaps skipping the
reading; after all we had been to Bible study.
Sometimes Dad confided to me things in his heart and memory
that he could have kept to himself; that Mom had some preference for a girl
when I was born; that he had convictions for overseas mission work before
marriage, but it was too big a hurdle to perhaps need to leave the Amish church
and attend to college; and Mom’s anxiety at some time later, perhaps at the
pending birth of a child, the feeling that they had to go to the mission field.
He just wanted to spill some secrets even as I find myself doing at times. To
these deep feelings I was sometimes the confident.
In the 60’s there was an ordination for the ministry at our
church. When I was not even a nominee among 7 others, he comforted me that
perhaps those who voted for the successful candidate would likely have voted
for me. He also gave be a beautiful affirmation of my sense of call. “I would
like nothing more than that you would enter the Christian ministry”, he
confided, something most unorthodox for a humble Amishman to say.
I remember his sadness when we left for Belize in 1986 and
in subsequent times. He always seemed conscious that we might not meet again,
though it was never expressed openly that I recall. I suppose there was usually
a little hug and kiss as had been the practice whenever we parted in younger
years. He was always telling stories of bygone days when we were back for vacations from Belize. Even after his stroke
which hindered his short term memory, he would recall many things of bygone
days. Especially interesting to us was his courtship with several women after
my mother died. He was so candid and detailed I just had to record some of
that at times.
One memory of some sadness remains for me. After he had the
stroke and at times was not so rational, he stayed with us for a week one
summer as we stayed on Marion Street in Elkhart. At first he did not want to go
into the house with us but stayed in the car and on the sidewalk. But when a
black man came along, he was persuaded to come in. Most of the time he was
rational but rather glum, like we were holding him captive against his will. At
one time he said very unkind words about me about how bad I was. I didn’t take it too personal as I understood
his mental state. But it was sad because he was my Dad and he did not feel good
toward me. His last years were marked by some depression, I believe, as he
increasingly had to be dependent on his children and was loosing control of his
life. He outlived his better days by a few years. One worker at the home where
he spent his last weeks remarked, “That was not the Elam that I knew.” Nor the
Dad I once had.
Many times in my memory from my childhood to his old age, it
seems Dad treated me like I was special. Not that I was more special than my
siblings, but that I was someone he cared about and gave particular attention
to. He enjoyed me when I was a child. He lead me the best he could in my
growing up years. He respected me above tradition in my mature years. It was
not hard to forgive him in his fading years and accountability. In his negative
comments on Marion Street, I assured him he was not responsible for his
remarks. He insisted he was, to me only proving my point. Dad is now gone 18 years, but his memory will live in my mind as long as I have it. My life no
doubt is a fulfillment of some of his dreams to serve the Lord locally or
abroad, without the necessity of providing for himself as he sometimes
lamented, detracting from ministry. Yes, Thank you, Lord, for the Dad that helped bring me in this world, led me, and showed me the way I should go. May I
always pursue the path he set before me.
