Sunday, June 19, 2011

My Dad: A Life Well Lived


vintage fishing photo
My father, Axel Raymond Gustafson, was born to Swedish immigrant parents in Aurora, Illinois, on September 18, 1914, and died on March 1, 2008.  To me, he was always an energetic, larger-than-life figure.

When I was a rookie freelance artist, my parents were visiting us from Oregon, and my father overheard a telephone conversation between an art director and me, in which I was hesitating about taking an assignment.  I finally decided to take the job, and when I got off the phone, Dad asked, "What were you hemming and hawing about?"  "Dad", I answered, "I'm not sure I know how to do what they're looking for!"  That's when he gave me the best advice of my career.  He said "Why don't you just accept the assignments and then learn how to do them?"

My father lived his life that way -- without fear or hesitation.  When he was pastor of a church in Southern Washington, he took on the task of renovation the church building, and with the help of some other volunteers, did a beautiful job.  Nobody told him he wasn't a builder.

Later, when Dad was pastoring in Northern California, he saw the need for a Christian School, so he found a way to get one set up, and served as principal of a thriving school for several years.

Then, toward the end of his life, Dad stepped into his most challenging role as caregiver to Mom, when her body and memory were failing, and we saw in him a patience we didn't know he possessed.

My father was always intensely interested in heaven, and even more so after Mom went there.  Shortly before he joined her, he told me, "I think about heaven all the time; that's all I think about."  (This was, of course, after the Superbowl, and before March Madness.)

Dad loved the words of Jesus:
"Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me.
In my Father's house are many mansions:  
if it were not so, I would have told you.
I go to prepare a place for you.  
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again,
and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also."

John 14:1-3 


Friday, June 17, 2011

Bloom Where You Are Planted



A stretch of highway in Theodosia between the lake and the business district is bordered by by high rock walls, close to 30 feet high in places.  About this time each year, I scan the rock face on the north side of the highway for a tenacious butterfly milkweed plant. Sure enough, this year, in that hostile environment, it was thriving once again.

Centuries ago, a prophet in Israel blossomed in such an atmosphere.  I like to think of Habakkuk as a sort of Butterfly Milkweed Prophet, because in the midst of deprivation, he wrote this:

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
He enables me to tread on the heights.

Habukkuk 3:17-19


Thursday, June 16, 2011

Clouds of Fury


Don, besides being a good photographer himself, is often my spotter for photo ops.  This afternoon, he called from where he was driving back to his office, and said I needed to see the clouds over Theodosia.  I was at my computer, unaware of the sky, and I'm so grateful he called.  The clouds were full of fury, thunder and lightning, and so far, 3/4 inches of rain.

This is the Theodosia bridge, with the marina across the lake.

Who can understand how He spreads out the clouds,
how He thunders from His pavilion?
Job 36:29

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