Tears for Jesus

The rain pounded against the train windows as Carrie slept on my lap. We had spent the summer in Minnesota where my father was in the hospital after suffering a stroke. He was doing well when we left. My husband would be returning to teaching in Montana. We no sooner got back, then I had this feeling that I needed to return. A call confirmed Pa was holding his own. However, the feeling wouldn’t leave me. I needed to go home. Finally, my husband said, “If you feel that strongly, you and Carrie take the train back.”

Entering Duluth, lightening and thunder continued. My sister, Ramona, met us for the journey to Chisholm. Upon arriving, we were met by our mother and sister, LaVerne. They looked exhausted after staying by his bedside. Being the baby of the family, he kept calling my name until he couldn’t speak.

“Could I sit with him?” I asked. I pulled a chair up to Pa’s bed and took his hand. He looked so old and small, no longer the strong, domineering man. “Pa, you are going to die.” There was a twitch of recognition. “I need to talk to you. First, I need to tell you the good things you did. You taught us to love music as we sang the songs of Finland. I convinced you to take me to the Royal Canadian Ballet and to the touring Broadway show, Stallig 17. You taught us to love the earth and growing plants. You were gregarious and could talk to anyone…sometimes a problem when we drove to town and you chatted with everyone. You only had a fifth grade education before coming to the United States, yet worked hard as an iron ore miner and farmer to feed our family of six and keep us clothed. Thank you.”

Weary from the long journey, my head sunk onto the bed and I slept. The nurse rustled in to take his vitals, and I woke up. I felt like Peter when Jesus asked, “Could you not keep watch with me for one hour?”

“Pa, I also need to tell you how you made our lives so difficult. We could not attend Sunday School or church which you strictly forbade. You called the Bible a made-up story. You and so many of our friends belonged to the Communist Party. We attended events at Mesabi Park, an event center built on property donated by the parents of Gust Hall, who was the Communist Party candidate for president. There were speakers, plays, dances, picnics and swimming in the birch lined lake. We played outside, but we could hear the speeches through the loudspeakers. We didn’t understand; we only knew this was family. Mama was a Christian, but she could never attend church if you were nearby. If you were at work, Mama would have me dressed and waiting on the road for the Baptist bus. I loved going. They paid my way to camp and Mama made up excuses so you would think I was with friends, and Papa, I was selected to be Mary in the Christmas pageant. With so many of their own, they picked me as Mary. Mama fixed my hair and got me ready to ride to church with a neighbor, wishing she could be there too. One day you came home early. You met the bus and told the driver, “This bus doesn’t stop at this farm ever again!” That ended my Sunday School days, but they put a faith in me so strong that I kept looking for ways to go to church.

Lightning lit up the room and the thunder boomed as the rain beat hard against the windows. Again, my head nodded and I shook myself awake.

“Your bursts of anger, Pa, scared us. We never knew what would set you off. It could be the middle of dinner, when you would take your chair and throw it against the wall. You’d grab our brother by the neck, choking him until he was limp. It would take all of us to pry you off. I learned to stand by the door and scream at the top of my lungs. You would drop him and run for me. I had a head start, and I only needed to get to the highway, and you would stop chasing me for fear someone might see you.

I could only bring Merryalice, home because her parents didn’t attend church either. In school there was release time where you could attend religious instruction. The two of us found a Lutheran church. I was baptized, Pa, and confirmed. The Lutherans sent me to Leadership Training at Gustavus Adolphus College. None of this you knew. I also was a Job’s Daughter and was the chaplain for two terms. Whenever there was a banquet where you should have taken me, I had a surrogate dad.

Pa, you missed out on so much. I don’t want you to miss out on heaven.

It’s not too late. Even if you can’t talk, if you can hear my voice and understand what I’m saying, you can still be saved. You can ask God for forgiveness for your sins and to accept you as you are…a sinner in need of repentance. God will love you. There is still time if you can hear me and if you accept Jesus as your savior. I felt a slight squeeze on my hand and then from the corner of his eyes tears began to flow down his cheeks. No words, just tears…tears of sadness and joy and repentance.

Exhausted, I rested my head on his chest and I felt his weak hand rest on my shoulder, quiet tears flowing from his eyes. We laid like that until the rest of the family returned in the morning. We circled his bed and recited the Lord’s prayer. The rain had stopped. The sun was rising, and papa gave up his spirit.