BST's Blog

Sam A. Thomas
13 years ago on this date the day was Sunday. I was beginning my senior year at ACU and my dad was sick. I went to pick up a friend for church, Shelly Braddock. Shelly had been a prayer warrior for my father during his illness with cancer. I knocked on the door that morning and she opened it looking really sick. She told me she'd been throwing up all night and felt like something was wrong with my dad. Shelly had the gift of intercession...and I mean that literally. I knew something was wrong.

Dad was in the hospital again. He'd been in and out and always seemed to muster up strength and energy to move ahead. In fact, he'd had a hair cut on Saturday and was giving the nurses a hard time, as he enjoyed doing. He was a live wire most of the time. His personality lit up any room he was in. He was a practical joker. Months of chemotherapy and the cancer in his bones had certainly weighed him down. But, through his suffering you could still see that spark in his eyes. Whatever made him who he was was still alive and well in there. In fact, I had not yet come to terms with the fact that cancer was eating him from the inside out. I fully expected him to recover as he had so many times before. He would get very sick and then go back to work pulling his legendary pranks as the kids' favorite principal.

After talking with Shelly, I sped to the hospital. I ran to his floor and walked in the room to find him looking so completely different than I had ever seen him. He looked so pale. He did not seem himself. There were nurses around him tending to him. I was afraid. I almost didn't wan to walk in the room. I was afraid he was gone.

I had prayed one constant prayer (besides "HEAL HIM, LORD!) throughout his illness. I had a weird fear of something happening to him and getting a phone call or something. This had caused me to pray time and again that God allow me to be there with him when he died. (which seems weird because I wasn't convinced he WOULD die.)
The thought of either made me sick to my stomach, but being with him and experiencing that with him seemed the better option for my young and frightened mind.

I walked in the room and was relieved to see his chest moving. He was so out of it. I had never seen him look like that. It was almost like he'd had a stroke or something. He just appeared to be near the end. I stood there looking at him wondering what to do, how to feel, who to call. Was this happening? Could it really be that God wasn't going to heal him after all? I'd had one or two moments where that possibility had hit me and had had to pull the car over to scream and cry. But, this appeared to be more than a possibility. The reality in that room at that moment was cold, impersonal, and depressing. I felt like I was looking down on myself in amazement that any of this was happening. It would be a feeling that lasted most of that day.

I called our church building to have someone locate my mom. (This was before the prevalence of cell phones.) She came as quickly as she could. I was there with Dad for a good while by myself. Dad gradually came out of his coma state for a while. We talked a little. Mostly, he listened and squeezed my hand. At one point he asked me to go get this little package on the shelf. It was one of those stupid rattle snake egg packages. The dumbest practical joke ever. I, of course, fell for it as it went off in my hand (my aversion to snakes has EVERYTHING to do with my father!) My dad laughed out loud. It seemed fitting for that to be one of the last exchanges we had. We also said "I love you" to each other as we had almost every day. I was also able to tell him that it was ok to go on. He'd fought really hard and we all knew he was tired. I think that helped him--but it was good for me to say it out loud too... to remind me that it was really ok.

The day wore on. Mom got there. Gradually, the word got out and friends began to spill into the room. By that evening, we had college students up and down the corridor praying, singing, whispering and sometimes laughing. So many faces are etched in my memory.

Around my dad's bed were people like my crazy aunt Dot (his sister), my grandmother, my mom, Sally Gary, Paula Agnew, Shane Holland, and others. I was at the foot of his bed watching his labored breathing and rubbing his feet. We were all telling stories and laughing. I know Dad could hear and was probably loving every minute--AND wishing he could interject.

That night, a little after midnight, he took his last breath. I just stared at him. I couldn't believe it was over. He was definitely gone. It was both a deeply spiritual moment and also a little frightening. I didn't feel ready.

We left the hospital and the Harold and Jeannette Lipford met us at our house. Brent McCall drove me there and stayed that night. We sat around and talked and I kept feeling like I was outside myself just looking and watching everything going on.

The next day, my roommates and I cried together. Stephen, Craig and Chris had walked with me through much of his illness. I wouldn't have made it without friends like them. Kyle, Shane and Brent had listened to me and eased my fears many times. Paula, Shelly and Trish had prayed so ferverently for him. Mom and I were surrounded with community. The Lorenzes were closer than family to us. They held our arms up.

Days and weeks went by. I dove even deeper into school, covering my pain with trying to make a 4.0 and doing every social activity possible. I had no context for how to deal with something like that. Eventually, it caught up to me. There was community then too. Praise God.

As I look back over the last 13 years, I see men who've stepped up to be fathers to me, I see friends who have literally been brothers and sisters to me, and I see how God walks with us--even through the valley of the shadow of death. Even on days when my lack of faith wouldn't allow me to say "I'm not afraid", he was STILL with me. His rod and staff comforted me. He has led my mom and me beside still waters and allowed us to drink from the bounty of His goodness. He has warmed our hearts and filled our emptiness in ways we could never have dreamed. I don't like it when this date comes around every year, but it forces me to remember how God walked us through such a difficult time. He is good. And...maybe the best thing I learned, He is PRESENT. His presence does not depend on whether we feel Him there or not. He's there. His goodness is not dependent on how we feel about life. He's always good. His faithfulness is not contingent on our faithfulness. He's always faithful. Death is not the final chapter. There's more. He is the Father of the fatherless and He writes our names on the palms of His hands. I am a rich man because of the love He's allowed me to know.

Thanks Dad (and MOM!) for pointing me to Him. You layed a foundation that He has strengthened even through hardship. I miss you, Dad. I wish you were here today. There'd be so much to talk about. So much to laugh about. You'd love Sheryl. She's so you in so many ways. You'd love Otter Creek. You'd adore these girls. We miss you and thank God for the legacy of faith you left for us.

After Dad died, the Abilene Independent School District built a school and named it after him. Here's a picture-