When a Loved One Dies and Says Goodbye: A Tribute to my Dad

In Honor of Art LaLanne

A Warrior in Life and Warrior for Christ

June 17, 1946 ~ February 20, 2006

There are times when the Holy Spirit comes to me with vivid dreams of my dad, as if it is his spirit coming down from Heaven.

My father went home to be with the Lord four years ago today. On the morning of February 20th, 2006, I woke from a dream of my father. In this dream, four of us were seated at a round table; my dad, my brother (Tigger), my former mother-in-law (Nana), and me. Nana was busy with her arts and crafts, making beautiful Easter creations. She was entering them in an art show. Tigger and I were talking, but our dad was not engaged in any of this conversation. He was seated toward the back of the table, watching and not saying a word. Tigger and I hugged, comforting one another. There was a deep sadness; sadness so deep that I woke sobbing.

Our last visit was right before Christmas, in 2005. We had not seen one another in two years; two years too long. There was always one reason or another that I could not make the 100 mile trip to see him. It was exciting for my daughter and I to be with him this Christmas. Dad was now a youth leader at his small Baptist church. It was very surreal to watch my big ole biker dad leading the youth group in their Christmas program rehearsal. Very surreal. I was one proud daughter.

Dad's heart endured a great deal of abuse throughout his life. After surviving a massive, drug-induced heart attack in 1992, Dad had to undergo a triple bypass. This was only one of many times God delivered my father from death. Dad did not yet know Jesus. Over the next dozen years, he continued to struggle with a failing heart. You could not keep a good man down. Following doctor's orders were not very easy for him. He was raised fending for himself, barely survivng many of the blows life hurled at him as a kid. But my dad was a survivor and a fighter.




Muscle cars and bikes were more his style, rather than 4-wheel drives. He was definitely a country boy who spent many days fishing. The only thing was he was stuck in the city most of his years. God had other plans for him. "Grizzly" was a name he inherited from the streets. It was not until later in life that he moved to the country. Dad always lived a simple life.

When I reflect back on the endless days my father would go fishing, I wonder what his reflections were made of. Was he trying to figure things out? Did he question whether or not it was God who spared his life on numerous occasions? Was God speaking to him? My dad lost his father to a horrible disease when he was only four years old. Did he mourn over not having a father in his own life? Did he repent, seeking God's forgiveness and grace? Was he remorseful?Maybe he was getting to know God all along, and did not want to pull that warrior mask off.

I certainly know God had his hand on my dad throughout his life. As far as what he chose to share with me about his faith, he had none. When the subject of God would come up, he always told me he believed God was some sort of alien. From my dad's point of view, this alien spacecraft dropped us off on Planet Earth some time ago with the intention to come back and gather us all up. That is, whoever survived. Maybe this was his mask, his way of hiding his true hope and heart cry for God to prove himself in his life.

Years later, something changed deep down in my dad's heart. I really do not know if there was one spectacular encounter with Jesus or what it was that sparked the transformation, but I saw how God was chiseling away at my dad's tough leather mask.

On his last birthday, I called to wish him a happy birthday and Father's Day. Dad's birthday usually fell on Father's Day weekend; sometimes they were on the same day. This time he was not home. My step-mom told me he was in Romania. Romania? How could my dad be in Romania and I not have a clue? To my amazement, he was on mission with his pastor and others from the community. My dad flew to Romania to help build a children's orphanage. I was in shock. Dad? My dad was now a missionary?

It was not until the last five or so years of his life that he accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior. My step-mom described moments in church, when my father would sit in the very back of the sanctuary. She told me Dad would yell out questions to his preacher, holding him accountable for everything he would preach from that pulpit. What a radical transformation, from a warrior outlaw biker to a warrior for Christ.

Dad called me as soon as he returned home from Romania, which was a few days after I'd called. "We don't know what 'poor' is. I thought I grew up poor. We don't have a clue."

Dad had a new song in his heart and loved Third Day. How very fitting. I can totally see him singing this song, which was one of his favorites.



Once my father felt this new song in his heart, he wanted nothing more than to share it with others. One of his old favorites grabbed hold of his heart. This makes me wonder if back in the days when this song was popular, if my dad did not already believe in God. Maybe he did and then doubted for many years. Well, now his plan was to learn the lyrics to "Spirit in The Sky" and sing this before his congregation with his wife and their two grandchildren they were raising. I remember Rose, my step-mom, telling me how they finally managed to get the lyrics on paper so each of them could rehearse their parts during an upcoming road trip to the Washington.



JESUS TOOK THE WHEEL
Rose needed a new car and my Aunt Betty needed a mechanic. Dad was always wrenching on cars. It was in his blood. So, he made plans to take the family to Washington to buy this old Jaguar for Rose, and help his sister out at the same time. They left the house around 3:00 a.m. in Dad's Van, pulling a car trailer for the Jaguar. Dad, Rose, and my niece and nephew, Chris and Michelle, all brought their "Spirit In The Sky" lyrics so they could rehearse during their road trip.

Their house is out in the country, several miles from the main highway. At 3:00 a.m., Dad's neighborhood is very dark (no street lights), and pretty quiet, other than the farm animals and wildlife preying around at that hour.

The Van pulled away from the house, and they headed down the street. As they turned the corner, Dad looked in his rear view mirror to catch a glimpse of the house as they left for the weekend. He told Rose he was going to circle back to the house. Dad saw a small orange pickup truck park in front of their house. This was odd. There are no vehicles driving around at that hour; not in their neck of the woods.

As my dad maneuvered the van and trailer around the next turn, Rose noticed the vehicle veering to the right. Her first thought was dad was still a bit sleepy. Suddenly the van crashed through a neighbors's fence into their pasture. Rose was shaking him and yelling, trying to wake him. The van began to drive in circles in the middle of the pasture. Rose and the kids continued to wake him. Rose tried to remove Dad's foot from the accelerator, but the weight of his leg was too heavy for her. Finally, she reached over and turned the ignition key off.

Once the van came to a stop, they all realized Dad had died. The paramedics came for him.

As Rose and the children walked back to the house, Rose saw their was no small orange pickup truck parked in front of the house. It was gone.

Jesus had kept them from leaving home. They did not get to the highway. Imagine if they had made it out onto I-5, headed north at 3:00 a.m., when my dad's heart finally gave out.

In my heart, I know this was the hand of God. He orchestrated the perfect timing of my father's homegoing, and intervened in order to protect the rest of the family. He gave my dad a vision of this little orange truck, causing my father to turn around. My dad was also a very smart man. He may have told Rose about a suspicious truck as he felt something happening inside him. He may have created the story to not raise panic, in order to get them back to the house.

Either way, God intervened. Jesus took the wheel from my dad's hands and brought him home.

When I woke from my dream, sobbing, I knew I had to call my dad. I shared the dream with a friend before calling. As I began to make the call, I noticed I had a voice message. "Cherie, this is Rose. Please call me."

When I called, Rose did not even have to say anything. I knew. I hesitate to say that Dad's spirit came to me in my sleep. I hesitate because I do not understand this. Does the Holy Spirit manifest as our loved one to comfort us? Maybe God, through the manifestation of the Holy Spirit, gave me the dream to reveal my brother and I would be holding one another in the coming days. A prophetic dream? The sadness was so real. All I know is God intervened.

Two days later, I was seated in my living room, wanting to escape from the sadness. When I turned on the television to watch music videos, this lovely video was playing. I had not heard of Carrie Underwood or of this amazing song about letting go and trusting God. There was God again, holding me...sustaining me...assuring me...




Many people present at my father's memorial service were clearly in disbelief as they heard Art LaLanne worshiped and served Jesus in his last days ~ He became a new creation In Christ ~ Dad is home now, living eternally with his favorite Alien ~ Love you, Dad ~ ♥