Mark Twain is quoted to have said, “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

Those words probably ring amazingly true in the lives of most. They certainly are for me. My memories of childhood are scattered at best, but as I think about that period of time in my life, one thing is crystal clear: I thought my father was as much out of sync with the times as anyone could possibly ever be. He was, at least according to my way of thinking, an old man – not necessarily in age, but in his way of thinking.

Now, please don’t take this the wrong way. My father was a very good man, an extremely good man as a matter of fact. He provided for our family the best he could. He and my mother both worked jobs that were physically taxing. They provided for us, even when at times it meant they went without. I did not realize the sacrifices they made for me and my siblings until I was a young adult.

However, to my own shame, I never gave my father the thanks he deserved. As a matter of fact, I did just the opposite. For some inexplicable reason, I took it upon myself as a young teenager to make life miserable for him. As I look back to those years, I remember vividly how I rebelled against pretty much everything my father tried to teach me. Just a few examples of this rebellious spirit will suffice to make this point. I remember at the age of 12 my father telling me that he hoped I would never start smoking, so the very day he said it, I smoked my first cigarette. Again, at the age of 15, he warned me against the dangers of alcohol, and that very day I drank my first beer. This proved to be a pattern for me. It seems that every time he tried to warn me against some form of dangerous activity, I purposely did exactly what he warned me against.

Yes, during my teenage years, I certainly thought that he was a dumb old man. I no longer feel that way. I haven’t felt that way for some time now. Let me tell you why.

My father and mother were very good people. In all honesty, you would have a difficult time finding better. I was reared in what I refer to now as an Ozzie and Harriet home – a home in which no profanity was spoken, no alcohol was consumed, no loud arguing was ever heard. I was reared by parents who lived  out their Christian beliefs. Now, admittedly, there was still shortcomings in their child-rearing activities. Even though they did strive to live by solid Biblical principles, and encouraged us to do the same by taking us to church regularly and being involved in church themselves, they still did not have devotions with us, or spend time personally talking about Scripture. But, I truly believe they did the best they knew how.

As a teenager, I didn’t like that. I rebelled against it. I quit going to church as soon as I could, and began doing things my way. My cigarette smoking turned into pot smoking. My beer drinking turned into drinking more potent alcoholic beverages. My lifestyle was anything but the lifestyle I had witnessed in my parents.

It was not until my mid-twenties that I finally realized that my father was not the dumb old man I had previously thought, but was actually a very, very wise man. A man who not only believed, but also behaved, according to strong Biblical values. He always had my best interest in mind, even though I thought at the time he was being cruel by not allowing me to do some of the things I saw others doing. And even after my rebellion began, he never turned his back on me. He never gave up. He and my mother continued to pray for me, and to strive to encourage me to embrace truth.

I must bring this blog to a close, but I can’t before I tell you the end of the story. After living in rebellion for more than a decade, I finally understood the truth behind my parents belief system. I came to know their Savior as MY Savior. I attribute much of my conversion to the efforts of my parents, even though I had rejected their efforts for so many years.

I will never forget the day after I was saved by the grace of God. My father and I were not close, due to my rebellious spirit, not because of anything he had ever done. I turned my life over to the Lord Jesus Christ on September 13, 1977. On September 14 I went to visit my parents to share this news with them. I walked in the back door of their home. My father turned to look at me. No words were exchanged. Nothing at all was said. But something was vastly different. He walked over to me, put his arms around me (I honestly don’t know how long it had been since we had embraced), began to cry, and said, “You’ve been saved.” How did he know? I have no idea. But he did. And I hoped that this would begin the process of healing in our relationship that had been so strained for so long.

However, it did not. Fourteen days later, on September 27, 1977, my father passed from this earth, and took up residence in the presence of his Savior. Eight of those last fourteen days were spent in the hospital. So, there was no time to make amends for the many hours, days, weeks, months and years of heartache I had caused in his life. But yet, it was all good, because he knew before he died that I was finally where he had long prayed I would be: in a relationship with our Father in heaven.

Let me close by encouraging you to let your father know how much you love and appreciate him. One day, it will  be too late. Don’t let that happen to you.