Have you ever noticed how quickly darkness floods a room when the lights are turned off? Darkness doesn’t politely wait around a few minutes as to be respectful of the light’s departure as she gathers her things and quietly leaves the room. No, darkness rushes right in; pushing itself into every nook and cranny in hopes light will never have a home there again. That is how I felt about my father’s passing. The light in our home was suddenly, unexplainably, switched off. Though my dad had his faults and obvious short comings he was a major source of hope, joy, and light to our family.
But I was not the first little boy in our family to feel as though the lights had been switched off. My daddy had a similar experience many years before.
Dad had grown up in a tough post World War I situation. He was one of five brothers. His mother died when he was young and his father, Thomas, could not afford to care for all the boys so he sent the youngest, Julian, my dad, away to an orphanage. After some time a Baptist minister and his wife took him in, fed him, clothed him, and treated him with kindness. As difficult as being abandoned by his own family must have been for my daddy I believe he understood what a great thing the preacher and his wife did when they rescued him.
The preacher taught my dad about the Bible. I am told daddy had committed a vast number of Scriptures to memory and loved to discuss the Bible. I have a memory of sitting in bed with my daddy, mom, and my brother Tony as daddy read the Bible to us all. His love for the Bible and understanding of the things of God shaped his life perspective. Even though he went astray in his younger years this early shaping drew him back to the truth four years before he died.
Occasionally daddy would see his dad, Thomas, on a street corner near the preacher’s home selling produce from the back of his pick-up truck. He longed to go talk to him and ask to be taken back into the family again. He missed his dad and his brothers.
When daddy was about nine years old he spied his dad’s truck right across the street from the preacher’s home. With the preacher’s permission daddy slipped passed the iron gate, crossed the street, and in a moment was looking up into the face of his dad. Daddy said, “Do you know who I am?” Grand pa Tom replied, “Yes, you are Julian, my son.” He picked daddy up and put him on the big rear fender of his truck and talked to him for several minutes. I am sure my daddy must have been waiting anxiously to ask to be taken back into the Bennett family…but before he could ask he was picked up, patted on the head, given a nickel, and told he better get back to the preacher’s house. Daddy stood at the gate, heart broken as his own father cranked up his truck and drove away. Daddy didn’t see him again for several years. I guess Tom began to avoid that part of town.
Feeling some independence, at 15 years of age, daddy decided to find his dad and talk with him. He walked all over town and finally found him…once again selling produce on a street corner. Dad approached Tom and begged him to let him come back home. He promised he would get a job and pay his own way. He just wanted his family back. Strange how deep family ties are. And this one was attached securely.
To his amazement, Tom relented and welcomed my daddy back into the family. Tom feeling somewhat benevolent, bought his returning son an old pick-up truck, filled it with produce, and taught him the family business. Daddy once again felt like a Bennett. He had a real family. His light had been turned back on.
Reflecting on my daddy’s childhood abandonment I have come to some conclusions: Abandonment by a parent is often worse than that parent dying. You can’t take away someone’s pain by giving them money or presents. God brings people and situations into our lives to shape us into the person we were meant to be. Love may cover a multitude of sins but the pain and devastation caused by those sins can reach to future generations. Parents should be careful to not turn off the light on their own children.
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