A Lasting Legacy

Fifteen years ago today my daddy went to heaven.

In some ways it seems like it was just yesterday; in others, it feels like forever.

The first few years I dreaded the anniversary because I knew it would make me sad.  Now, with time as a healer, I find that it has become a day of reflection…a day to look at my dad’s life and ponder the lessons he taught me…a day to celebrate the good man that he was.

I wish you could have known him (and I know many of you did).  He was bigger-than-life to me.  A sweet, sweet man who loved Jesus, his family, practical jokes and all things related to the body of Christ.  He never took a leadership class (he didn’t even have a high school diploma), yet during his lifetime he served, led and encouraged thousands.

He was only seventeen and, a junior in high school, when Pearl Harbor was attacked.  Just a few months earlier his dad had approved his joining the National Guard and within just  a few days of the bombing he was called out to serve his country.

He completed two tours of duty with the Air Force, spending his early adulthood in the South Pacific.  He used to joke that he went in a private and came out a private.  Every time he moved up in rank he would do something wrong (like drive a truck into the ocean) and get demoted. He also learned about alcohol…a not-so-good thing, especially with our family history (there are lots of alcoholics).

 When he came home, he was restless.  He had no clear direction.  He was too old to go back to high school, and not skilled enough to do much of anything  unless you count gambling, fighting and baseball.  (His war buddies used to call him “the battling spud” and said when Lenny got ready to fight, everyone cleared the room.)

Both his parents had died, his mom when he was 16, his dad during his last tour of duty.  He was living with his oldest sister and her family.

In his own words, “I was aimless and headed toward becoming an alcoholic.”

One night, my aunt thought up the idea of having a girlfriend invite dad to a revival service.  The girl asked, and he agreed to come.

Again in his words: “That day I had been all day in the Pool Hall.  I guess I had drunk somewhere between 20 and 24 bottles of beer.  I was in a drunken state.

“That night, it seemed as though the preacher spoke just to me.  I was the chief sinner there.  When they gave the invitation I wanted to go, I just hadn’t. Then an old-timer, Guy Radebaugh, got me by the arm and started tugging me down the aisle.

“Now I was pretty big and I wanted to go or he wouldn’t have been able to pull me.“On that night, I made my way to an altar of prayer and asked Jesus Christ to be my personal Savior.  I’ve never been the same since.”

Daddy went down drunk and got up sober and never again had a desire for any of the things of his former life.

This week, thinking about today as the anniversary of his passing, I decided to jot down a list of some of my dad’s best characteristics…the things I’m grateful that I saw him live out.  It was a long, and many of the things I listed were attributes that he and mom shared together.  But the crux of all of them was devotion to eternal things — things that live far past a lifetime.

He loved Jesus.

We always knew that his first priority was his relationship with Christ. He cultivated it and refused to let anything get in its way. He spent daily time with God and was sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit. He knew how to follow Christ because he had spent so much time learning who Christ was. 

As a young believer, he was selected for a baseball all-star team – a traveling team who had the possibility of being seen by scouts from the big leagues. When he realized that they played on Sundays, he checked his uniform in and said, “I can’t do this. I’m too new at this to not need to be in church.” He understood that for him, growing in faith was more valuable than a baseball game, no matter who saw it.

I watched him make the same choice over and over again throughout his life. No trip or event was worth missing church and the opportunity to worship with the body of believers.

He didn’t do it out of obligation…he did it out of love.  He genuinely loved God and loved the people of God. His devotion was never in question.  He was consistent in his faith walk…the same at home and in public.  His bible was worn, his knees rough from kneeling. He understood that the choices he made had eternal consequences and he lived that way in front of everyone.

He loved his family.

He would fly across the country to get home for a football game on Friday night. He would tell my brother and me how proud he was of us.  He would brag on my mom in front of us.  He didn’t often say “I love you”, but we knew he did and that he would clearly choose us over work or other interests.

He was the same with his extended family. He remembered birthdays and special occasions and was always buying cards, corsages and dinners. (I have to say that most of the Stubbs family was like this. Very close. Together often. Always celebrating something.)

He loved “young people.” 

He had a great love for influencing and teaching future generations. (He would never have said teenagers, always young people.)  As a child I thought it was normal for family vacations to be at Robbers Cave State Park.  Daddy would take his vacation from the glass plant where he worked, and we’d all go to church camp.  There, he and mom would do whatever was needed: register campers, nighttime security, cabin counselor, kitchen help, etc. (His favorite was playing with the youth at the annual preacher vs. boys softball game.  When he’d get up to bat he would point and say, “I’m hitting it over there” and then hit it exactly where he said and usually over the fence.)

He loved working with youth and sharing with them how God could change their lives. He spent hours on end, living out that commitment.

A few weeks ago my husband reminded me of a trip we took to St. Louis as teenagers.  Larry was riding in my parents’ car (in those days, sponsors drove and hauled as many teens as they could squeeze in their car) and had just bought a new 8-track of the group Grand Funk Railroad.  Dad (and mom) let him listen to it over and over the entire trip home and they never complained.

He practiced the “ministry of presence.”

When someone was in trouble, he was there. If a friend was having surgery, he would be at the hospital with the family.  If a teenager was in jail, he would be the first visitor. When someone had a death in the family, even if he didn’t know the deceased, he would attend the funeral because he loved the family member.

He had a great understanding of the power of being present.  Because people knew he was like that, they would call at all hours of the day and night to have him help them.

Because he was with them when they were hurting, they would trust him (and mom) with their other issues, too. It was normal for people to knock on our door at all hours of the day and night and need prayer.

• The woman who had caught her husband in adultery.
• The pregnant mom who was told that the baby she carried was likely dead.
• The family whose child was caught with drug paraphernalia and in jail.
• The teenager who wanted to run away from home. 

I would just open the door, see someone crying, invite them in and holler for my parents.  It was standard practice at our house to see strangers kneeling around the living room praying.

He was generous. 

Time and money were commodities that he gave freely.

• Buying dinner for a young family he would see at the local restaurant.
• Helping pay for a funeral of a friend.
• Feeding the homeless and wanderers who came through town. (One local restaurant that sat near the highway kept a running tab that Dad would pay. “When you have someone who comes in that looks like they can’t pay, feed them on me,” he would tell them.)
• Helping pay college tuition for a needy student. (I still hear stories about this.) 

Daddy especially loved helping out young pastors and their families. It didn’t matter where they lived or what church.  He wanted them to be able to not worry about money.  He would buy their groceries, help the men get suits to preach funerals and weddings, pay for their vacations, and help their church with pianos and equipment.  After his death, we were inundated with cards and letters filled with story after story of his generosity.  (He also loved to give one-dollar bills to children. Kids used to line up when they saw my dad coming. It was such a trademark that my nephew slipped a dollar bill into his Papaw’s pocket before they closed the casket — a sweet remembrance of his generosity.)

At his funeral, one of the pastors shared about this characteristic and said, “I’m even wearing a pair of shoes that Lenard gave me. We wear the same size. When I told him I liked his shoes he took them off and gave them to me.”  (I never heard what shoes daddy wore home.) 

Makes me smile just thinking about it. 

He wasn’t perfect. He would be quick to tell you that he made lots of mistakes. But in my little-girl eyes, he looked perfect to me.

He lived big and loved tall.  And even fifteen years later, leaves a lasting legacy for my family and me to follow.

He was a good man. I’m proud to say I was Lenard’s daughter.

It is a wonderful heritage to have an honest father.

Proverbs 20:7 TLB

 

What legacy do you want your children to remember? (And if you have a story about my dad…you are welcome to share.)