My father, Oscar Clyde Clark was a mountain of a man. He stood 6 ft and 3 inches tall, big broad shoulders, long muscular arms, and legs like strong tree limbs. My dad was extremely handsome, and I thought that he was the center of the universe, invincible and unshakeable.
As a deacon in the Baptist church that we all attended as a family, I had heard my dad pray almost every Sunday. I’d heard Dad pray for the church’s finances, the pastor to preach a powerful sermon; I’d heard him pray for people on the church’s sick and shut-in list. Dad prayed for everyone and everything, except for me. I’d never heard my praying dad pray for me. Why doesn’t my dad pray for me like he prays for all those other people, my child mind wondered?
One sunny Spring Day, my dad, red-eyed and fighting back tears, sat me down at the yellow and white kitchen table and announced to me that he had stage 4 lung cancer. “I am dying he said” I was thirteen years old, in the 8th grade and stunned. How can my strong, robust, praying, Christian dad be dying of lung cancer? He is my dad. I’m too young to be without my father.
Over the next 8 months, I watched my dad become very sick. He lost a lot of weight, eventually he could not get out of bed. The day I will never forget is the day my oldest sister told me that I needed to see dad. She was his primary caregiver and said that I needed to come over and sit with dad. I did not want to go. Not because I didn’t love my dad, but because I was afraid. I didn’t understand death, but I knew something terrible was happening to dad.
When dad and I were alone in the bedroom that had become his tomb, dad took my hand and whispered in a raspy voice, between coughs, “I want to pray for you.” I remembered that it wasn’t a long prayer, it was hard to hear, and he had tears streaming down his face.
I remembered that he called me “Sissy” (my childhood nickname); he asked God to bless and take care of me. I don’t remember much else and that was enough. One of my dad’s dying prayers was for me, he prayed out loud for me!
My dad died of lung cancer that following January. From that day to this one, I will never forget the blessing and joy that I felt having my dad audibly pray for me on his death bed. Because of his prayers, my life is a prayer; prayer is an integral part of my faith journey; my Christian life. I have leaned on that simple prayer during joyful and difficulty times. I know how important it is to pray out loud for my family, and friends. I know the power of hearing your name lifted to God. I know the power of a praying father.
Rev. Dtr. Betty J. Tom
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