How well I
remember the black clouds rolling in seemingly from out of nowhere, blocking
out the sun, and snatching any hope we had of finishing up with the hay which
we had been working frantically to bale and get into the barn. I was only a
young boy, working with my brother and sisters, and our job was to off-load the
wagons onto the elevator and into the barn. We still had half a load to go when
the rain hit. Huge drops spat out of an angry sky driven with vengeance by the
wind which whipped up the chaff and dust all around us. Lightening streaked
across the sky, inevitably followed by those booms which could be felt, not
just heard. Doggedly, we stuck with our job till the last bale disappeared into
the hole at the top of the barn. Since the barn was closer than the house, we
raced for the door and huddled together in the midst of that wonderful
fragrance of newly gathered hay. The metal roofed and sided barn offered a
sanctuary from the rain but only amplified the fearsome thunder which crashed
all around us. Instinctively we moved closer with each new onslaught, our
little hearts pounding. Suddenly, a figure stepped quickly through the door,
soaked to the skin, his eyes searching that great pile of hay till he found
what he was looking for, and we found what we needed more than anything in the
world...our hero. Scrambling up the pile, he slid in next to us and we in turn
slid into his lap. The passage of time will never erase the relief I as a young
boy felt as those great arms encircled us and his soft voice enquired,
"everyone ok?" As if it were yesterday, I remember his great
calloused hand encircling mine as he pulled us close and in the safety and
security of our Daddy's arms, we rode out the storm.
Those hands, strong, rough, scarred, and calloused, have guided, protected,
loved and anchored all of us through many a storm since that day. A thing to be
feared when we had disobeyed yet somehow even then, there was security in
knowing that daddy loved us enough to discipline us when we needed it which for
me, was often. How thankful I am for a dad that was determined to send us along
on a better path. Tirelessly those hands labored on through sometimes seemingly
unbeatable odds, day after day, year after year, in order to provide us with a
wonderful life. Strong as steel for the task at hand, yet gentle and loving for
a sick child or injured animal. Dad was not big on "group hugs" or
"sentimental phrases" I have no memories of him even saying "I
love you" until the day I left for college, though he may have. What I do
remember is never wondering if he loved me, I knew by his actions that he did,
and I'll take that to the bank any day over sentimental, yet empty words, and
unfulfilled promises.
I remember peeking around the corner at 3:00 o'clock in the morning and seeing
those hands holding his old worn Bible as he did every day. I remember sneaking
downstairs and peeking around that same corner the day after our barn burned to
the ground taking with it so many hopes and dreams and unbelievable hard work,
looking for reassurance that daddy hadn't changed. I remember tip-toeing back
upstairs with tears flowing knowing that Daddy's great hands were still holding
that same Bible and somehow, everything was going to be alright.. I remember
the years He helped my mom care for her Dad who had suffered a paralyzing
stroke. Those strong hands as kind as any nurse spending hours each day caring
for Grampa's needs without one complaint. I remember laying in a hospital for
ten days following a mis-diagnosed ruptured appendix. The highlight of my day
was having Dad come and visit me after a long day of farming. Those same big,
loving hands that smelled like cows, patting me on the shoulder and his quiet
voice saying "how ya doing Pete?"
Last night, I sat again by my Dad's death bed. It hurt so bad to see my
lifetime hero so frail and worn out. All those years of hard work have taken
their toll. His eyes were closed giving no hint if he was awake or asleep.
Bending down low so he could hear me I choked out "hello dad, it's Pete,
can you hear me?" Searching his face for some sign of recognition, I saw
his eyelids flicker just a bit. Desperately hoping for some response I fought
the hugest lump I have ever had in my throat and croaked out my greeting again.
This time the slightest smile worked at the corners of his mouth and he
whispered ever so faintly "Yep". I hugged his boney shoulders as
tightly as I dared and told him I loved him. There are no words to describe the
kind of pain that constricted my throat and tore at my heart. Yet buried in
there somewhere is the blessed assurance that I will see him again. My sisters
and brother joined Shari Jenni, Katie and I and we sang as best as we could
some of dad's favorite hymns. My throat closed up as we began "Face to face
with Christ my Savior, face to face what will it be. When with rapture I behold
Him, Jesus Christ who died for me." Gently I reached down under his
blankets and found his hand, now soft and shriveled, but warm. Tears fell
freely as I squeezed it gently hoping for some response. It never came. The
ragged choir sang on "Face to face I shall behold him, far beyond the
crystal sea. Face to face in all His glory, Jesus Christ who died for me."
If he were able, I know he would have squeezed my hand one more time and said
in his quiet voice, "how ya doing Pete?" And if I had been able, I
would have croaked out "Not sure I can get through this storm Dad"
But I will, we all will because of the glorious thought that one of these days,
or nights, there will be another scarred, out-stretched hand, and it will
welcome my dad to his eternal home.
Thank you Dad. You can go now. I love you and will see you again. Pete
And this is what the family wrote for the church bulletin:
“David Haynes:
A Man of Integrity”
(written by his children)
(written by his children)
The righteous man
walks in his integrity; his children are
blessed after him.
Proverbs 20:7
Proverbs 20:7
If
Dad’s 87 years of life had to be summed up in one word, “faithfulness” would probably be
the chosen word—faithful to his God, his family, his church, his community. Dad
lived what he believed, taught by example, and meant what he said, without
wavering. He lived a disciplined life, rising at 3:00 daily and spending the
first 1½ hours with the Lord, reading, praying, and preparing his Jr. High boys’
Sunday School lesson…and then went to milk the cows. God’s Word was so
treasured that for many years he memorized large sections of Scripture and
motivated his children to do the same. Dad was a humble and hardworking man—few
could match his strength. He was a man of few words and all listened intently to
his wise and kind insights. His wife and children basked in his unconditional love,
protection, and provision. Farming was hard work but Dad chose it partly as a way
of being with his family. His children all had personal time with him as they took
turns helping in the various farm tasks in the barn and on the hay fields
during the summers. Fond memories include Dad’s rewards for our hard
work—racing to the pond with him for a swim and piling into the car for ice
cream. Summers also included a family tenting vacation. Once children were
married, his vacations took Mom and him to the various homes, often on his
Harley Davidson.
Today,
his 8 children, 24 grandchildren, and 32 great grandchildren all pay tribute to
a man of integrity, a man of faithfulness, a man of godly character. Farewell,
Dad! We love you and miss you but know that you are with your Savior whom you
served so faithfully. May we also follow in your footsteps.
