A year ago this week, my father celebrated his seventy-first birthday and my sister and I flew from Southern California to Lexington, Kentucky to join him.
We had a special surprise planned out for him, leaving him curious and a bit anxious in the wait, as our family is known for practical jokes.
The morning of his birthday, we left the house early as there was much to do. The first stop was an hour away in Wilmore, Kentucky where his grandparents had lived and where my Dad spent many a summer as a young boy. We first stopped at the cemetery and followed him around as he showed us the graves of many family members, telling us stories of their lives.
We drove to the house where his grandparents had lived. There was a ‘No Trespassing’ sign at the entrance and Daddy was hesitant to enter as he knew his family and the type of people that lived there. His grandfather alone had killed three men before he died and was not imprisoned once! We entered just long enough to take a photo from the car window.
We then drove down the road a little to the stream where the family collected water needed for daily life as there was no running water in the house. He spoke of fishing and playing with his siblings and cousins in the river.
From there we meandered down a small road along the Kentucky River untill we found the cave house where his aunt and uncle lived. They had owned a small restaurant at the entrance and it served as a front for the moonshine brewing and gambling that took secretly took place inside.
My father reminisced of nights when the police would raid and all would scatter, sneaking out a hole in the mountain a little way off.
Then we drove back to downtown Lexington to take photos of the house where Daddy was born, the house in which his father had died when Daddy was 8 years old, and the many other houses they occupied as they were constantly on the move. We took a photo outside of the house where his father had passed away, number 406.
As we reminisced of where my father came from, we could not help but realize the blessing of a small church down the road, the Maxwell Street Christian Church, that took an interest in three small children, led them to the Lord, and broke the cycle of poverty, sin and alcoholism.
That church went on to send my father to Bible College in 1959 and then to Africa in 1968, supporting him and my mother for over twenty-five years.
The church changed it’s name to Gardenside Christian Church and moved away from downtown. They paid my sister and my tuition to Bible College and later sent us to Zimbabwe as missionaries in 1984.
The power of God can break the chains that hold a family in sin and poverty. The body of Christ can love people and set their path in a whole new direction. And the power of a godly father and mother can and did lay a pathway of service and ministry for their daughters.
Sometimes it is good to remember times gone by, and in so doing, recognize the difference that Christ can make in a life. I am thankful I had the chance to reminisce with my father and learn about my heritage.
In Genesis 13, we read where, after Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt, he said to them, “commemorate this day, the day you came out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery, because the Lord brought you out of it with a mighty hand. “
It is with joy and gratefulness that we remember all the Lord has doone for us, and celebrate that from which he has delivered us.