Dad, Mentor and Friend

Dad, Mentor and Best Friend
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To God be the glory for my father’s love;
I celebrate Father’s Day with this in mind.
I offer all honor and praise to You above
For the rich treasures in my dad that I find.
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First and foremost I see his deep Love for You
That You placed within his spirit a long time ago.
His faithful Obedience follows this love so true
Reflecting the fruit of Your Word here below.
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His Reverence for life is so dear to his heart
For You have so blessed him with Your reality.
His endless Devotion to You plays a major part
In his constant practices of impartiality.
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It’s impossible to put into words what I truly feel
Towards my dad, my mentor, that You did send.
So I leave this with You, Lord, as at Your feet I kneel,
Thanking You for this precious dad. . . my best friend!
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© 1998 Jeanne E Webster. All rights reserved and observed
Written for Dad, Virgil S. Webster
Father’s Day, June 21, 1998
(Dad went home to be with the Lord, 2008)

The Chrysalis

Copyright Jeanne E Webster–All Rights Reserved

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He slumped into the snow and died
Alone, but for the snarling winds
Veiling his final words of life:
“Oh, Lord! My God!” he cried.

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Swaddled within the soft embrace
Of feathered, wispy crystals,
His body lay shrouded in a chrysalis:
He came to the end of his race.

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The boisterous winds became still,
The menacing clouds recoiled;
Stars shone with ethereal light:
It was his Father’s sovereign will.

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Aloft now, his soul began to roam,
Seeking to touch that holy hand
Of his waiting Lord and King:
“My son you’re welcome home!”

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Tis the story of how my dad
Met his lot on an icy road,
He lost control of his car:
Oh Lord, that wreck was bad!

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Dad was in the winter of life,
A slower glory-filled pace;
Ever a faithful man of God:
His grace bewails the fife.

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I miss my dad, mentor and friend,
Yet I know he’s home with God
Walking ’round with his loving smile
In that heavenly land of no end!
Shalom

(Fictional story of my Dad’s passing)

Oh Happy Day!

hugnn

© 2009 Jeanne E Webster – All rights reserved

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He slumped into the snow and died
Alone, but for the snarling winds
Veiling his final words of life:
“Oh, Lord! My God!” he cried.

Swaddled within the soft embrace
Of feathered, wispy crystals,
His body lay shrouded in a chrysalis:
He came to the end of his race.

The boisterous winds became still,
The menacing clouds recoiled;
Stars shone with ethereal light:
It was his Father’s sovereign will.

Aloft now, his soul began to roam,
Seeking to touch that holy hand
Of his waiting Lord and King:
“My son you’re welcome home!”

Tis the story of how my dad
Met his lot on an icy road,
He lost control of his car:
Oh Lord, that wreck was bad!

Dad was in the winter of life,
A slower glory-filled pace;
Ever a faithful man of God:
His grace bewails the fife.

I miss my dad, mentor and friend,
Yet I know he’s home with God
Walking ’round with his loving smile
In that heavenly land of no end!

Shalom

Mother, May I?

dollsskip

 

 

© Jeanne E Webster. All rights reserved and observed

They arrived shortly after breakfast, during the respite between chores and my second cup of coffee. What a pair! Bright eyes bejeweled each precious face; a whisper of animation radiated from each creased smile. Was this a true aura, emanating from the remnants of the prominent role they had played in their owner‘s life? I believe it was. They had returned among the living after a seven-year closet hiatus, bearing memories and blessings to share with everyone. That might not seem long to you, but it was forever to a grieving family.

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You see, after Mother had passed on to a finer, gentler locale, the two dolls had callously become shrouded in a shock-and-woe blanket. Over the ensuing years, an innocuous event ripped through the family fabric, tearing its fragile foundation to shreds.

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It all began when Father realized he was quite ill at ease living alone. His children could not provide what his lonely spirit craved: companionship. He ached for the closeness of another human heart, someone who could love him deeply with a caring spirit. This desire eventually found succor in the love of a delightful woman. Remarriage showered his world with peace and joy, slowly releasing grief’s icy grip on his heart.

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Family and friends visited often, except for his two daughters. The presence of a stepmother had driven a wedge between them. The daughters rumored about that the new mother was throwing out everything their mother had held dear. Withholding their affections and contact with Dad was their way of saying, “We do not like this woman living in our mother’s house and sharing your life.” They stood resolutely in this position…for four long years.

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The new mother tried to tiptoe around their feelings, disturbing none of their mother’s possessions that remained in the back bedroom, now looked upon as the inner sanctum. She had entered it early on in the marriage and redistributed an assortment of cookbooks that gathered dust in the closet. Some books stayed, some donated to the public library, all with Dad’s oversight and permission. Inevitably, the one cookbook that meant the whole world to the daughters turned up missing. This innocent deed completely severed the final scrap of a relationship left between Dad and daughters. The vagrant book was found later but the damage had been done.

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Three years later, the new mother felt a stir within her spirit to dispel the sacredness of the bedroom, hoping to bring the light of day back into it. Lying low in the dimness of past days, it had gathered dust, spiders and mites. Braving the certainty of creepy-crawlies skittering up her back, she opened the door . . . and entered. Nothing happened! The walls did not come crashing down, the ceiling remained intact, and the room actually beckoned to her, “Come on in, dear one.”

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Peering through the dim early morning light, new mother’s eyes rested on a doll cradle nestled on the floor near Mother’s vanity. “How precious,” she thought. Stepping closer for further inspection, she spied a life-like doll staring back at her. It was then “Oh my!” escaped from her lips as another cradle, embracing another doll, suddenly appeared in view.

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“I think these babies need to get some fresh air and see the light of day,” and with that, she bore them tenderly out of storage and into the living room. Settling them in strategic spots, she stood back and admired these priceless little babes.

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You see, dear reader, these were special dolls to Mother and, after her own children had left home, they helped ease her loneliness. She had chosen them from a doll shop, opting for hair and skin colors to match her girls. She’d glance over at them as she worked in the bedroom or passed by in the hallway, smiling at them as if they were real, for the time being. Somehow, I believe they too felt they were real.

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After their special reappearance in the household, things seemed to go better for Father and the new mother. Family members warmed up to Dad’s new wife and found out she wasn’t really a conniving old woman after all. Sure, she would never replace their mother, but they knew she brought joy and love back into their dad’s life.

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I wonder if the presence of these two little ones somehow triggered forgotten, happy memories within the heart of this family, enabling them to accept the change that had been brought upon them. I would like to think so.

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{Based on a true life situation}

Happy Mother’s Day, 2014

 

No Fooling

 

©Jeanne E Webster

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“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other.  You cannot serve God and mammon.”  Matthew 6:24

Decisions—decisions—decisions.  Why are we burdened with “yes or no” answers?  Why can’t we just put aside the undesirable questions?  We can!  But in putting aside the things we dislike, we make a decision just the same.

We cannot be fat and thin at the same time; we cannot go east and west at the same time.  We must make decisions one way or the other.  It is the same with God.  Peace with Him is impossible unless we make a decision.  Either we are for Him or we are against Him.

Henry Van Dyke’s story, The Mansion, has a very accurate commentary on this topic.  “The rich man had his mansion on earth but when he reached heaven he only had a tiny hut.  The poor man found to his surprise that he had a mansion in heaven.  Why?  He had forwarded all the necessary materials.”

Earthly Wealth or Heavenly Wealth—the issue cannot be straddled or evaded.  Our lives must find its mastery, and you and I must make the decision.    ~Bill Webster

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My father wrote the above story many years ago; I found it the other day while rummaging through papers.   Rereading it brought back so many memories, some of them I’m ashamed to relate.  Dad was my best friend and mentor and God used him to redirect my path in life.  I was struggling with a difficult marriage and a past-embittered divorce, all the while seeking to keep my head and spirit above water.  God used my dad to gather me into the fold, slowly but oh so gently. 

Leaning toward repentance yet staying my sight on my practice of swearing and cussing, I so badly wanted to please Dad with the idea that he helped save me from hell.  Whenever I was around him, I was most careful not to cuss and to keep my spirit clear of anger and bitterness.  Looking back now, I see that I was rebelling at the losses I had incurred in my young adult life.   My first marriage bit the dust after only 8 years; my second had a good 15 years under my belt but was certainly floundering at best.

Dad and I would read the Bible most every day over the phone and gradually I sensed the anger and rage within my heart receding slowly, my life was becoming nicer and more fulfilling.  Yet the need to swear during certain situations continued, and I tried my best to keep it from Dad.   I felt I was doing him a favor if he thought he had changed my heart attitude.  But he saw through this charade and one day told me I surely had to change if I was truly repentant of my sins.  “Jeanne, you may be able to fool me, but you will never fool God.”

To tell you the truth, I was ready!  I was so tired of having to be so careful around Dad, I was getting aggravated at myself.  I realized I had to make a decision here.  I had a little talk with Jesus one day and told Him about my decision.  I told him I wanted to change but it was so hard.  Habits are always hard to break.  I remember I told Him I loved Him and wanted to be used by Him in the lives of others.  That was it. 

A funny thing happened—swearing was no more.  Jesus took it from my heart.  It was gone.  The desire had flown the coop and my heart was set free.  I was trying so hard to quit but using only my strength, not His.  His strength worked overnight.  Thank you, Lord.    You are my Master now, not anger or bitterness.  Love and peace and joy fill my spirit and there’s no room for the wild and woolly rantings anymore.  My burden was lifted and Jesus filled my soul.  Amen!

Bad Hair Day

   

 

 What do you do when you experience a bad hair day? It can really get you off to a bad start unless you have access to a lot of attractive caps or hats. Ladies, it may not be a bad idea to keep an affordable easy care wig on your closet shelf.                                                    

This is a true experience about my worst hair day. It all began with a routine home perm. In my mid teens I had frequent perms done by my mom. My perms started when just a toddler with a Tonette. I had no reason to believe this hair treatment would have different results than all the rest.

She did the perm and then I rolled my hair on rollers for the night. The next morning I got dressed for school and began to style my hair. Something went terribly wrong! I could hardly get a brush or comb through my hair! It seemed to Mom that she had gotten the perm solution and neutralizer switched. My hair was fried!      

 How could I go to school looking like a freak? I know Mom felt terrible. I stood before the bathroom mirror crying and trying to do something, anything with my hair. I remember nothing about going to school that day. I could not hide forever. I remember getting it cut very short soon after and rolling it on very small rollers, which created a cute style. It eventually grew out.

My hair was not the issue. Dad was the highlight of the incident. That morning before school as I stood before the mirror crying, Dad came up behind me and started brushing my hair. He really understood the way I felt and did the only thing he knew to help–he brushed my hair. He did not have a magic touch; my hair still looked terrible. Yet, I knew that my Dad cared. That is what every daughter needs most. It does not take away all the problems of life; it does take the sting out of the wounds.          

Moms are usually there to help girls with their hair, clothes and makeup. In a pinch a tender-hearted Dad can really make a difference, maybe not on the outside, but in your heart where it really counts!

by Pam Ford Davis

My Dad

My Dad:

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Father of:

  • James
  • Jeanne
  • Joannie
  • Connie
  • Karen
  • Lois

Grandfather of:

  • Richard
  • Ernest
  • Judith
  • Linda
  • Timothy
  • Kimberly
  • Lisa
  • Tabitha
  • Casey
  • Melissa
  • Stephanie
  • Amy
  • Carrie
  • Julie

Great-grandfather:

  • Kevin
  • Jessica (2)
  • Jonathan
  • Amanda
  • Dalton
  • Parker
  • Stephan
  • Sommer
  • Elicia
  • Jacob
  • Jarrett
  • Lane
  • Peyton
  • Mason
  • Isaiah
  • Reagen
  • Several  more

Great-great grandfather:

  • Destiny
  • Tyler

Worked as:

  • WPA road crew
  • Gas station attendant
  • Pilot & flight instructor for Piper Aircraft
  • Aeronca Aircraft employee
  • Dry cleaner deliveryman
  • Superintendent of large cemetery
  • Co-owner of flower shop
  • Lay minister in three State area
  • Chaplain for retirement home
  • Visitation minister for Baptist church
  • Rested from his labors: 2-23-08

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  You’re always in our hearts and thoughts!

Love,

Jeanne