If I Had Found The Box, I Might Have Found My Father

        I wish I could call my father on Father’s Day and tell him what a great dad he was. Daddy died in 1998.  Like King David, he was a man after God’s own heart.  A respected church and civic leader, my father was a man to be admired.  But also like King David, my father was a flawed man and sadly, that was all I could see in his last years. 

        When I was ordained in 1977 I asked the man I admired the most to speak at the service—my father.  He had always been a leader in the church and was a good public speaker.  I remember Daddy being the speaker on “Men’s Day” when I was a child.  He told a story about taking the family to the State Fair and somehow in the big crowd he lost me.  He said when we are lost God always comes searching for us and he described the great joy in finding his son and holding him in his arms. I remember it well and can still recall the fear of being lost as well as the elation of seeing my father. 

        I had a wonderful, happy childhood.  Daddy was everything a father is supposed to be.  But after I left home to go to school everything changed.

         We all have flaws and demons are relentlessly lurking in the shadows.  The demon of alcoholism invaded my father and suddenly I didn’t know him anymore.  I was devastated and felt betrayed.  My father was lost and that was when I made a tragic mistake.  I did not try to find him. 

        After Daddy died, I went to my childhood home to clean out the attic.  The attic in our home was not designed for storage, but that is what had happened.  There is one opening through the ceiling of the garage that is only accessible with a tall ladder.  When I entered the attic it was like stepping back in time.  Toys from our childhood, gadgets of every kind, and even an old aluminum Christmas tree filled the crowded space.  As I was carefully removing everything I saw a lone, isolated box at the far end. It was obvious that it had been placed far away from everything else.  I decided to wait and remove the box last.  What was it?  Why was it placed in such an inaccessible place?  There had to be a reason.

        After several days I made my last trip up the ladder and carefully brought the box down.  I opened it to reveal an olive green US Army coat.  I carefully laid the coat on the back patio as it saw the sunlight for the first time in decades.  It still had my father’s Master Sergeant  insignia on the sleeves. 

        Daddy served in the Korean War.  Like most veterans he didn’t talk about it.  He always said he didn’t see much action.  But when I found that box and opened it I realized that it contained much more than just an old army coat.

        So often in life we only see someone’s faults and failures.  We can’t find the real person because they are lost.  The key to finding them is discovering the reason they strayed.  It is often an experience that was too overwhelming, too devastating for them to deal with.  War has destroyed many lives.  So has betrayal, a devastating trauma, a broken relationship, or the death of someone we love. 

        My father and I still had a cordial relationship, but it was not the same.  Then he became ill.  He called me one day and asked me to speak at his funeral.  I made a visit to see him and for the first time in years he was my daddy again.  I realized as I walked out of the door that he had always been there, but I had not worked hard enough to find him.  It was the last time I ever saw him.

        I wish I had searched for my father the way he searched for me.  I wish I had found the box sooner.  If I had found the box, I might have found my father.  If I had found my father I would have experienced the same joy I had as a child when my father found me and held me in his arms. 

The Missing Children of Bedford Represent the Greatest Love

        Nestled in the gentle Blue Ridge Mountains of central Virginia, surrounded by acres of lush grass, playground equipment, and athletic fields, is a modern elementary school where children safely play.  It really is a gorgeous setting for this relatively new, attractive brick school whose mission statement is “to educate every child to be an academically successful student, a socially responsible citizen, and a life-long learner.”

        It’s been a busy spring.  The 4^th and 5^th graders performed an original play in March called “Failure is Impossible.”  Two weeks ago the classes had their field day and the Award Assemblies were held this week.  Yesterday was the 5^th Grade Graduation.  In so many ways the Bedford Elementary School looks like a very typical, all-American school—but it’s not.  You see, there are missing children. 

        There may be 100 children who are missing, perhaps more.  No one really knows the number.  Their last names would be Stevens, Reynolds, Yopp, Gillaspie, and Hoback to name a few.  They would be happy, well-adjusted children, participating in all of the activities, the plays, the outings.  Their moms and dads would be so proud of them and of course, their grandparents would too.  They would sit together at the Award Assemblies and the 5^th Grade Graduation with hearts full of pride and eyes brimming with tears, wondering how their little boys and girls grew up so fast. 

Their great-grandfathers would be proud too, if they were still living.  They would be in their 90s now, some approaching 100.  They would be so proud because they not only had been blessed with a long, good life, but they had watched their children, then their grandchildren, and now their great-grandchildren grow into responsible citizens, having families of their own.  They had become educators, doctors, ministers, farmers, and civic leaders.  They had made a profound difference in their community. But it never happened.

These children are missing because they were never born.  Their parents were never born.  Their grandparents were never born because their great-grandfathers who would be in their nineties now, were killed 71 years ago and they never had the opportunity to have a family.  Sitting next door to the Bedford Elementary School is the majestic National D-Day Memorial that pays homage to the valiant men who died in the D-Day Invasion on June 6, 1944.  The reason it is located in the little town of Bedford is because this community lost 21 boys in the Normandy Invasion, the greatest loss per-capita of any town or city in the United States.  Their last names were Stevens, Reynolds, Yopp, Gillaspie, Hoback plus 17 more. 

 A large delegation of Lexington travelers visited the memorial recently on our annual Bible Study Field Trip.  It was a picture-perfect spring day.  A quiet reverence, a holy hush hovered over us as we walked through the memorial listening to our guide’s commentary.  It was the largest military amphibious landing the world has ever seen involving 150,000 soldiers, 5,000 ships and 11,000 aircraft.    There were over 9,000 casualties in the invasion with 4,413 men being killed on D-Day itself.  Nineteen of the Bedford boys died within the first 15 minutes.  The magnitude of the sacrifice is incalculable, but it was necessary to defeat the powers of evil that threatened us.  General Eisenhower stated that this was a crusade in which we would accept nothing less than full victory.  Failure was impossible.  All of us in the group were touched and deeply moved by the power of the experience. 

I kept looking over at the elementary school.  I wonder how many men who died would have had great-grandchildren attending that school.  There are missing children all over our nation because a mother or father, a grandparent or great-grandparent gave the ultimate sacrifice.  But what if they had not died?  What if we had not engaged the enemy and turned back the tide of evil?  Would there even be an elementary school today?  Would we have churches in which to worship?  Would our children be able to safely play?

I invite you to pause and reflect on this Memorial Day Weekend.  I thank God for the selfless, brave, and heroic men and women who believed that “Failure is Impossible” even if it cost them their very lives.  Jesus said there is no greater love than a man who lays down his life for his friends.  The Missing Children of Bedford represent the greatest love.