My Dad was a Christmas baby. And Christmas was always very special to both of us. In a family where we had five part harmony, Dad was the tenor while I sang alto, my mom sang soprano, and my brother Dale sang baritone while my late brother Rus sang bass.
We missed a great deal by working on another continent – birthdays, anniversaries, holiday celebrations. These photos are from the Julotta service at the Bishop Hill Colony Church in Bishop Hill, Illinois in 2006. Dad and I sang the lovely Swedish hymn “Naer Juldags Morgen Glimmar,” (When Christmas Morn is Dawning.) Dad read the Christmas story in Swedish that year; he could infuse meaning into every word.
When we left the U.S. in September 2011, we knew that Dad’s heart was failing and that this would be the last time we saw him this side of heaven. Selfishly, I had begged the Lord for the opportunity to close Dad’s eyes when he died. But now it was December and Christmas was approaching. The reality of our situation is that our mission hospital is one of the few facilities to have a doctor over the Christmas holidays. Most doctors in small rural district hospitals leave to join their families. I was the only doctor for our hospital and I felt that I absolutely could not leave Saboba.
Dad entered the hospital on December 3, 2011 after taking part in a Christmas carol sing at his beloved church, Immanuel Lutheran Church in Altona, Illinois. Several of our friends visited Dad on our behalf, but we knew that the time was growing short.
I had made rounds and was at the house on December 16, 2011. At noon I began having the worst chest pain I had ever experienced in my life. The pain lasted for thirty minutes and left as suddenly as it had come. An hour later, I checked my email, only to learn that Dad had died that morning at 6:30. Allowing for the time difference, the time of Dad’s death coincided precisely with the time at which my chest pain stopped.
I believe two things: I believe that my Dad had a heart attack as his final event and that God allowed me to feel the pain of that heart attack and the release from pain Dad experienced as he died.
Dad knew that he was dying. Two days before Dad died, he called his pastor, Pastor Tim Anderson, and my stepmom Mary and laid out the funeral service, assigning parts for each of the grandchildren.
Nobody is perfect, and Dad had his flaws. But at Christmas I always remember our singing together at Bishop Hill. I remember the words of that lovely hymn.
1 When Christmas morn is dawning
In faith I would repair
Unto the lowly manger;
My Saviour lieth there,
Unto the lowly manger;
My Saviour lieth there.
2 How kind, O loving Saviour,
To come from heaven above;
From sin and evil save us,
And keep us in thy love.
From sin and evil save us,
And keep us in thy love.
3 We need thee, blessèd Jesus,
Our dearest friend thou art;
Forbid that we by sinning
Should grieve thy loving heart.
Forbid that we by sinning
Should grieve thy loving heart.
Many years ago, Grace Nies Fletcher wrote a book entitled Preacher’s Kids. That book described her family’s funny and painful experiences living in the scrutiny of church members waiting to find fault with the parson and his family. But it is the last sentence that I wish to quote. After speaking movingly of her father and of her brother who died prematurely, Mrs. Fletcher sums up the experiences of a lifetime in words similar to these: “When I think of my Dad, I think of his singing and I think of his faith. And on my knees I dare to claim the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory.”
At the end of every Julotta service, the organist would always play the triumphant Swedish Christmas hymn “Hosianna!” And as I remember my Dad, I raise my hands to the heavens and sing “Hosianna!” as loudly as I can.
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