My Dad directed many people to the Lord. He was the evangelist in our family… just as Katie is the evangelist in our family today. There are two events that I am most familiar with. Both were during the last few months of his life… one was when he actually died.
Story number one. Dad was at Duke Hospital at Duke University. Chemotherapy was in its early stages of development so the only treatment available to my dad was cobalt radiotherapy. At this point all of his medical team was in agreement that he would not survive much longer. The lead physician was concerned that my dad did not understand, or at least was denying the reality of his impending death. The team asked the medical resident in Psychiatry to speak to Dad. The psychiatrist visited with Dad and it was a life altering time.
Obviously, the words my dad spoke to the resident caused some soul stirring. Later that evening, the psychiatrist called my Dad. He asked, “Mr. Brock, do you mind if I stop by after my rounds and visit with you again? I have a few questions. You see, you have something I don’t have and I want to know what it is.”
The psychiatrist came by Dad’s hospital room. They talked; the doctor asked his questions… “you have such a peace about your death. Where does that come from?” By the end of their conversation, my dad led him to Jesus. The last I had heard, that resident had developed a wonderful Christian-based psychiatric practice.
Story number two. About two years ago, Mary and I were south of Raleigh in N.C. visiting some dear friends. While there, I asked Mary if she would mind stopping to visit a close family friend who lived in the same area. Her name is Trudy. Trudy will always have a special place in my heart. She was the chief technician in the radiology department of High Point Hospital. Because of her position, she had gotten to know my parents very well and had taken a keen interest in my Dad. There was something about his faith that drew her.
When we stopped by her house, it was great catching up on old times. Finally I asked, “Trudy, were you with my dad when he died?” “I was,” she said. “Your mom and grandparents were there as well.” I asked her if she minded sharing the story with Mary and me. By her own admission, Trudy was not a believer at that time, but the event that took place that night gave her a deep desire to know Jesus Christ personally.
Everything was very quiet in the room. It was Saturday evening. From her experience, she knew death was near… the deep, shallow breathing, the lowering blood pressure, the slowing heart rate. The body was shutting itself down. My Mom was crying as well as my grandparents. Grandpa always told me that my dad was his very best friend. Grandma told me that they were more like brothers than father and son.
Trudy then said “All of a sudden, I saw Jesus! He was literally standing at the head of Mack’s bed.” The way Trudy tells the story; you wouldn’t doubt her for a moment. She continued, “I literally saw Jesus standing before Mack, ready to take him to heaven. The peace and presence in the room was indescribable.” She looked around at everyone else… they were all crying. “No one saw Jesus but me… and of course Mack.” Trudy didn’t understand why no one else was looking at Jesus.
At that moment, my Dad’s heart stopped. His physical body was dead. Trudy escorted the family from the room. Then she said, “I rushed right back into the room to see Jesus again… but he was already gone.” Forty-three years later and it was just like yesterday. I cannot do justice to her description. But my heart and mind believes everything that she experienced that night.
Trudy later gave her heart to Jesus and has been following him every since. She loves the Lord dearly and will always have a special place in my heart. And one day, Jesus will be standing by her bed… ready to take her to Heaven.
My dad left a legacy of changed lives. Even when facing death, he was thinking of others.
Live your life in such a way that when you face your darkest moments, the only thing that people see is Jesus.
“The death of one that belongs to the Lord is precious in his sight.” (Psalm 116:15, NCV)
“The Lord cares deeply when his loved ones die.” (Psalm 116:15, NLT)
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
What’s the deal with fear? – Part 4
Two weeks ago, my neighbor was excited. He just received his World Series ring. Jerry Martin played pro baseball then turned batting coach for the Phillies. This past season, he was a base coach for the Phillies. If you follow baseball, then you know that the Philadelphia Phillies defeated the Tampa Bay Rays for the 2008 World Series. Jerry’s ring is beautifully gaudy, if that is possible. It’s HUGE. Three and one-half carats worth of diamonds. I am very excited for my neighbor.
Being like any normal boy I grew up loving baseball. I knew the players and the teams. I was always excited when the World Series came around. When I was about 12-years-old I saw my first professional baseball game. We traveled to Atlanta to see the Braves play the L.A. Dodgers. I saw Hall of Famer Sandy Koufax pitch for L.A. Amazing! I remember it all.
Okay. I’m going to share with you the most fearful moment of my life…
Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 55-years-old. Every year since my 12th birthday, the week following my birthday reminds me of the most fearful moment of my life.
As a kid, I was a very average athlete. I was an average wrestler on my high school team. I was an average center for our city club basketball team (we did finish 2nd in the state.) But what I really loved was baseball. I played 3rd base in little league. I was an average ball handler. But one thing I could do well was hit the ball.
It was my last year in little league. I was 12-years-old and in the 6th grade. We played at Armstrong City Park in High Point, NC. It was a great field. Our outfield fence seemed unreachable. Homeruns were very rare at our field. If you got a homerun, it was usually inside the park. But I was determined to do it. I was determined to slam one out of the park.
My dad was pretty sick by this point. I didn’t know he had cancer, much less that he might die. Back in those days parents felt that they were protecting their child by not burdening them with tough information. (I found out my dad had cancer from a neighborhood kid… I beat him up for saying such a thing.)
All I knew was my dad was too sick to come to my games. I was determined to do one thing for my dad… hit a homerun. I knew that would make him happy. After all, he taught me to catch… to run… to throw… and to hit a baseball.
It was a Thursday night. We were playing well. I was in my usual rotation spot as clean-up batter. I didn’t feel anything special when I got to the plate. I just remember swinging and connecting. There was a brief moment of “could this be it?” I watched the ball head out of the park. WOW! It was an awesome feeling. It was hard to contain my smile while rounding the bases. My older sister, Donna, made fun of my attempt to hide that smile. It was awesome. Sweet victory!
Normally after a winning game, we headed to the ice cream parlor… coach’s treat. And if you hit a homerun, double treat… you got a milk shake! Big deal for a little leaguer!
But on this night, the earned milk shake was the last thing on my mind. All I could think of was getting to the hospital to talk to my dad and tell him about my homerun.
At my insistence, my mom took me to the hospital. It was probably 9:00 at night. We went into his room. It was dark except for a dim light above the bed. Dad was turned onto his side facing the door. He had his covers pulled up to his chest. He seemed peaceful. He appeared smaller for some reason. As I expected, he was sleeping. He was actually in a coma, but I didn’t know what a coma was. All I understood was that he had to sleep a lot.
I walked over to his bed in my dirty uniform. I had long passed the day of having to self-impose dirt onto my uniform. If a player didn’t have enough dirt on his uniform, any respectable little leaguer would rub dirt into his uniform (while no one is looking of course). You didn’t want to have to explain why your uniform was so clean after a game. I admit I had a few moments of respectability during my first year of little league.
With my dirty uniform, hat and glove, I decided not to wait for my Dad to wake up. I leaned down, put my elbows on his bed and got really close to his ear. I quietly said, “Hey Dad, I finally hit that homerun for you.” Now I don’t know if it really happened, but as far as I am concerned, I saw a small smile appear on his face. I will never forget that smile. It was burned into my mind and my heart. It was a great feeling. That smile would become very important to me.
Little did I know that it would be the last words I would ever speak to my Dad.
Two days later, we were at my Dad’s parents. It was late Saturday evening. Everyone was at the hospital except an aunt, my little brother and me. My Dad’s 18-year-old brother, Gary walked in. I immediately saw that his eyes were red. Had he been crying? He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Then I heard my Dad’s mom crying. That was the first time I ever heard her cry. (She just had her centenarian birthday this past February.)
I was still clueless.
My pastor, Jim Pharr walked in with my Mom. “What is he doing here?” I wondered. “Why is everyone so different?” Someone got a wet wash cloth to put on my grandmother’s forehead. She kept saying “My head hurts… my head hurts so bad.” I thought, “Maybe that’s why everyone is sad. Grandmother is sick.”
Then my 8-year-old brother, Elliott walked straight up to me and said “Dad died.”
What? Did I hear right? He must be wrong. How could two words hurt so much? I looked at my Mom. When I saw her face and our eyes met, I knew it was true. I just fell to the couch and cried. My sister tells me even today that I didn’t stop crying for two days. There was zero comfort to be found.
I remember Pastor Pharr placing his hand on my knee. He tried to say some words, but I wasn’t listening. Don’t get me wrong. I was glad he was there, but I would rather have had my Dad.
This was my most fearful moment… I just turned 12-years-old a week earlier. How was I going to make it through my teenage years without a Dad? Who was going to play catch with me? Who was going teach me all the “man stuff” I needed to know? Who was going to teach me how to drive a car? How to change the oil? Repair the lawn mower? Change a fuse? Who was going to teach me about girls? I was a lost, scared little boy who wanted his Dad. I never knew there could be so much fear.
But God was not going to abandon me. He gave me a wonderful promise. I’m not sure who told me about the passage… maybe it was Pastor Pharr. Whoever told me, it changed my life.
Sing praises to God and to his name! Sing loud praises to him who rides the clouds. His name is the Lord— rejoice in his presence! Father to the fatherless, defender of widows— this is God, whose dwelling is holy. Psalm 68:4-5 (NLT)
“Father to the fatherless.” I can honestly say that those four words took away my fear. I have remembered those words throughout my life. Every time I have a moment of fear and wish my Dad was near by, instead of asking God “Why me?” I say to God, “Thank you Lord for being my Dad. I have nothing to fear.”
Here is the key question for you. What verse, what promise does God have for you in your fear? Find it… memorize it… believe it! Then watch the fear melt away.
By the way… I went on to win the homerun crown for my league that summer of 1966. Other than a few games, I’ve never played baseball again.
Being like any normal boy I grew up loving baseball. I knew the players and the teams. I was always excited when the World Series came around. When I was about 12-years-old I saw my first professional baseball game. We traveled to Atlanta to see the Braves play the L.A. Dodgers. I saw Hall of Famer Sandy Koufax pitch for L.A. Amazing! I remember it all.
Okay. I’m going to share with you the most fearful moment of my life…
Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 55-years-old. Every year since my 12th birthday, the week following my birthday reminds me of the most fearful moment of my life.
As a kid, I was a very average athlete. I was an average wrestler on my high school team. I was an average center for our city club basketball team (we did finish 2nd in the state.) But what I really loved was baseball. I played 3rd base in little league. I was an average ball handler. But one thing I could do well was hit the ball.
It was my last year in little league. I was 12-years-old and in the 6th grade. We played at Armstrong City Park in High Point, NC. It was a great field. Our outfield fence seemed unreachable. Homeruns were very rare at our field. If you got a homerun, it was usually inside the park. But I was determined to do it. I was determined to slam one out of the park.
My dad was pretty sick by this point. I didn’t know he had cancer, much less that he might die. Back in those days parents felt that they were protecting their child by not burdening them with tough information. (I found out my dad had cancer from a neighborhood kid… I beat him up for saying such a thing.)
All I knew was my dad was too sick to come to my games. I was determined to do one thing for my dad… hit a homerun. I knew that would make him happy. After all, he taught me to catch… to run… to throw… and to hit a baseball.
It was a Thursday night. We were playing well. I was in my usual rotation spot as clean-up batter. I didn’t feel anything special when I got to the plate. I just remember swinging and connecting. There was a brief moment of “could this be it?” I watched the ball head out of the park. WOW! It was an awesome feeling. It was hard to contain my smile while rounding the bases. My older sister, Donna, made fun of my attempt to hide that smile. It was awesome. Sweet victory!
Normally after a winning game, we headed to the ice cream parlor… coach’s treat. And if you hit a homerun, double treat… you got a milk shake! Big deal for a little leaguer!
But on this night, the earned milk shake was the last thing on my mind. All I could think of was getting to the hospital to talk to my dad and tell him about my homerun.
At my insistence, my mom took me to the hospital. It was probably 9:00 at night. We went into his room. It was dark except for a dim light above the bed. Dad was turned onto his side facing the door. He had his covers pulled up to his chest. He seemed peaceful. He appeared smaller for some reason. As I expected, he was sleeping. He was actually in a coma, but I didn’t know what a coma was. All I understood was that he had to sleep a lot.
I walked over to his bed in my dirty uniform. I had long passed the day of having to self-impose dirt onto my uniform. If a player didn’t have enough dirt on his uniform, any respectable little leaguer would rub dirt into his uniform (while no one is looking of course). You didn’t want to have to explain why your uniform was so clean after a game. I admit I had a few moments of respectability during my first year of little league.
With my dirty uniform, hat and glove, I decided not to wait for my Dad to wake up. I leaned down, put my elbows on his bed and got really close to his ear. I quietly said, “Hey Dad, I finally hit that homerun for you.” Now I don’t know if it really happened, but as far as I am concerned, I saw a small smile appear on his face. I will never forget that smile. It was burned into my mind and my heart. It was a great feeling. That smile would become very important to me.
Little did I know that it would be the last words I would ever speak to my Dad.
Two days later, we were at my Dad’s parents. It was late Saturday evening. Everyone was at the hospital except an aunt, my little brother and me. My Dad’s 18-year-old brother, Gary walked in. I immediately saw that his eyes were red. Had he been crying? He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Then I heard my Dad’s mom crying. That was the first time I ever heard her cry. (She just had her centenarian birthday this past February.)
I was still clueless.
My pastor, Jim Pharr walked in with my Mom. “What is he doing here?” I wondered. “Why is everyone so different?” Someone got a wet wash cloth to put on my grandmother’s forehead. She kept saying “My head hurts… my head hurts so bad.” I thought, “Maybe that’s why everyone is sad. Grandmother is sick.”
Then my 8-year-old brother, Elliott walked straight up to me and said “Dad died.”
What? Did I hear right? He must be wrong. How could two words hurt so much? I looked at my Mom. When I saw her face and our eyes met, I knew it was true. I just fell to the couch and cried. My sister tells me even today that I didn’t stop crying for two days. There was zero comfort to be found.
I remember Pastor Pharr placing his hand on my knee. He tried to say some words, but I wasn’t listening. Don’t get me wrong. I was glad he was there, but I would rather have had my Dad.
This was my most fearful moment… I just turned 12-years-old a week earlier. How was I going to make it through my teenage years without a Dad? Who was going to play catch with me? Who was going teach me all the “man stuff” I needed to know? Who was going to teach me how to drive a car? How to change the oil? Repair the lawn mower? Change a fuse? Who was going to teach me about girls? I was a lost, scared little boy who wanted his Dad. I never knew there could be so much fear.
But God was not going to abandon me. He gave me a wonderful promise. I’m not sure who told me about the passage… maybe it was Pastor Pharr. Whoever told me, it changed my life.
Sing praises to God and to his name! Sing loud praises to him who rides the clouds. His name is the Lord— rejoice in his presence! Father to the fatherless, defender of widows— this is God, whose dwelling is holy. Psalm 68:4-5 (NLT)
“Father to the fatherless.” I can honestly say that those four words took away my fear. I have remembered those words throughout my life. Every time I have a moment of fear and wish my Dad was near by, instead of asking God “Why me?” I say to God, “Thank you Lord for being my Dad. I have nothing to fear.”
Here is the key question for you. What verse, what promise does God have for you in your fear? Find it… memorize it… believe it! Then watch the fear melt away.
By the way… I went on to win the homerun crown for my league that summer of 1966. Other than a few games, I’ve never played baseball again.
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