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Tuesday Morning Epistles
Welcome to "Tuesday Mornings," a source of affirmation and
inspiration for Christian leaders everywhere.
I love the word "Legacy." And I am not alone in this.
"Legacy" is a name given to buildings, computers, genealogy
software, education, environment, films, a gift given to
someone after death, literature, music, a mid-size business
jet, and a mid-size automobile. In terms of it being a
bequest or an inheritance, legacy stands for something of
real value that is passed on to someone else that enriches
their existence.
When I think of my parents, legacy is a description that
quickly comes to mind. My brother and I have fond memories
of our parents. When they died, they left us no money, real
estate, jewelry or stocks and bonds. But they left us
something more valuable. They left us a wealth of memories!
Together they created an environment for us that was
Christian, safe, supportive, and educational. Dad was an
electrical contractor who learned his trade the hard
way—through experience, primarily. He rose through the
ranks—electrical helper, apprentice, journeyman, licensed
electrician, and finally Master Electrician. He worked for
several major contractors in our city before striking out on
his own with his own business—he named it Barnard Electric.
He maintained that business until he retired. He died
thirty-six years ago this week, when he was seventy.
During our teen years he taught my brother and me how to do
basic house wiring—not the full-house wiring systems, but
how to properly wire plugs, switches, outlets, and junction
boxes. Neither of us enjoyed the work, but we got to know
our dad like few young boys today get to know their dads.
Some days during our summer employment we got to work on new
construction. On other days we crawled under houses that
were being remodeled. We early learned the proper way to
climb ladders. And we both determined at a young age that we
would not follow our dad in the electrical trade.
But Dad's legacy was not electrical; it was ethical and
moral and spiritual. We were in church within days of our
births, and it was in church that we developed socially,
emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. When World War
II came along and gasoline was rationed, we were forced to
leave the church of our birth and find another one within
walking distance from home. We left a large, centrally
located, main-line church for a small, stucco-finish
building on a side street behind a corner cleaners. It was
so small that the founders mis-spelled the name of the
denomination—on the cornerstone! From upper-class
to lower-class. In one week. But it turned out to be the
best choice our parents could have made for us. We found a
caring, loving, spirit-led group of Christians that took us
in without asking any questions at all. My brother and I
grew through our teen years there, and what we
learned...stuck. We are what we are today because of our
parents, and the choices they made when we were young.
This week's "Tuesday Morning" is entitled, "Tribute to Dad."
It is attached. continue reading whenever you are ready.
Then do this: if your dad or mom is still living, call them
this week to tell them how much you love and appreciate the
legacy they are preparing for you. You will be glad you did.
And so will they. I guarantee it.
Tom Barnard
A Senior Encourager
P.S. If you have a story to share about a Christian dad,
send it to me. If enough respond, we may see if we can get
our essays published. And, oh yes, keep it under 600 words.
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Tribute to Dad Tom Barnard
y dad died thirty-six years ago this week. He was still relatively young and had unfinished work to do. He had retired a few years earlier, and he had dreams of places to see and toys to make and friends to visit. I can’t begin to tell you the number of times he remodeled the two homes he and mom owned during their marriage. By trade he was an electrician. He wasn’t even close to being a carpenter. All of his “remodeling projects” looked like they were completed by an electrician. But he made sure there were plenty of electrical outlets in every room and hallway!
My older brother, Chuck, reminisced about Dad in a recent letter. Here is how he remembers our dad.
Dad quit school in the ninth grade because he needed to work to help support the family (of six). Though lacking in physical stature, and unremarkable in appearance, he became a devoted husband and father who worked his way up through the trenches. He learned a craft that he didn’t really love, but it was a living, and it brought his family through the Great Depression. And there never was any slacking off. He studied to acquire the necessary credentials to succeed in his field, served every employer he worked for with diligence and commitment, and eventually established his own business. In our home town he was known as “Mac” Barnard, the best electrical “trouble shooter” available. He was a Master Electrician. His motto in business as a self-employed electrical contractor was “No Job Too Small.”
All along the way he continually immersed himself in service to his church, often taking on challenges and responsibilities for which he had no formal preparation. To the best of my knowledge, he never had a drink of alcohol in his life, never lied, never used profanity (well, he had some colorful expressions he had heard growing up in Massachusetts, but by today’s standards they were slang), never openly quarreled with his loving wife, whom he adored, and always proudly referred to his two sons as “my boys.”
God never called him to preach (a goal he earnestly wished for, I suspect), but he filled in all the rest of the blanks. He fathered two sons (one a minister and the other a commercial artist), both of whom love God with all their hearts, and four grandsons, two of whom are in the ministry. Together, with our mother, he set the tone for our lives, inspired an uncompromising work ethic, was adored by his grand-children, and served his Master in any way he could. He deeply loved his daughters-in-law, Ellie and Madelyn, and to this day they both cherish his memory. His love for his two grand-daughters was also deep. Unfortunately, he didn’t live long enough to enjoy his great-grandchildren.
Once, when I was a young father, I told Ellie if I could be half the man my father was, I would feel I had been a success. He pushed the bar as high as he could make it go and it challenged me to do everything I could to reach that height. We have been blessed by his reaching, consciously or not, for excellence.
Dad did not consider himself to be a “giant in prayer.” But he believed in prayer. Here is a poem he liked to quote. It was written by Ethel Romig Fuller:
If radio’s slim fingers can pluck a melody from night And toss it over a continent or sea; If the petaled white notes of a violin Are blown across a mountain or a city’s din; If songs, like crimson roses, are culled from thin, blue air, Why should mortals wonder if God hears prayer? |