This morning, Fathers’ Day, Sunday 6th September 2015, I got to thinking about my own father who passed away in about the middle of 1979. One feature of being about to commence the seventieth year of my own life, is that off the top of my head, I cannot remember exact dates, even if they were important to me back then.

Dad had been born in 1923, so must have been about 56 years old when he died from a heart attack resulting from the diabetes that had caused him several strokes and had resulted in the amputation of both of his legs. He used to joke with us that God was taking him to heaven on an instalment plan, one piece at a time!

One Sunday morning, I was attending the Holy Communion service at the Church of All Nations in Carlton. When the Rev Dr Peter Moonie opened the altar rail for the communicants to receive the sacrament I went forward and knelt as normal and prayed quietly while awaiting my turn. Suddenly I heard a message: “Today, after lunch, your father will visit you. This will be your last time to see him in this lifetime.”

I looked around to see if anyone else had heard what I heard. There was no reaction from anyone around me. Apparently the Holy Spirit had decided to give me the gift of a Word of Knowledge ( see 1 Corinthians 12:8 )

My parents were not expected that day.

We walked home wondering about the message I had heard. I was searching my own heart to determine whether there was anything I needed to set right with Dad.

After lunch, indeed, there was a knock at the door and there stood Dad and Mum.

Almost straight away, even before the cuppa had been brewed, Dad asked whether he and I could go to another room for an urgent talk. While my Mum talked with my wife Wendy, Dad and I went into the spare room at our flat in Kernick House, Queen’s College, and sat together facing each other.  I did not at any stage mention the word I had heard at communion that morning and, although I am certain that he knew, Dad never mentioned that this would be our last meeting. He did, however, ask whether there was any resentment of him remaining in my life and whether there were any outstanding matters in our lives over which we needed to pray. Neither of us was able to recall anything about which we needed to forgive the other, but we prayed extensively for each other anyway.

After a cuppa Dad and Mum headed off to drive to their new home in Ballarat.

That was Sunday.

On Tuesday evening at about dinner time, the Rev Dr Doug Fullarton knocked on our door. He brought the news that my father had been taken to Ballarat Base Hospital after a heart attack and was not expected to live through the night. Wendy and I should leave for Ballarat immediately. As we knew Dad would die before we arrived, we waited for my brother Mick to arrive from Morwell and then the three of us rode to Ballarat on my motorbike and sidecar.

I had kind of done my grieving in the intervening couple of days so Wendy and I were enabled to be strong as we greeted friends, relatives and family and prepared for the funeral.

At the funeral, while delivering the eulogy, I read Dad’s favourite scripture: Psalm 18.  It is 50 verses long but, remembering that Dad would never, ever let me leave a few verses out to get through it more quickly every time he asked me to read it aloud to him, I read the whole psalm. While Dad himself preferred to hear the psalm in the King James Version, I elected to read it at his funeral in The Living Bible version in order for it to be more easily understood by the unchurched relatives who would be present. I read it fluently and with great strength until I reached verse 46: “God is alive! Praise him who is the great rock of protection.” at which moment my voice cracked and I began weeping setting almost the entire congregation crying as I did so.  After somewhat gathering my composure, I was then able to clearly read the last five verses and conclude the eulogy.

During those days surrounding Dad’s funeral, my mother told us that during the last couple of weeks before he died, Dad had been extremely busy contacting almost every person he had known in his lifetime to find out whether they held anything against him for which he needed to ask their forgiveness or for which he needed to make amends. From all this activity, she knew that his time was very short. Indeed, on the very afternoon of his last day he had contacted our family’s long time good friend Alwyn Sobey (always referred to as “Sobe”) to ask him to come around to see him as he wanted urgently to talk. By the time Sobe arrived at Dad’s place, the ambulance had just arrived to take him to the hospital.

I should probably write more about my memories of my Dad, but that will suffice for today and I shall get back on here with more some time later.