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20
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I
T WAS ALMOST 7:30, AND THE SUN HAD SET
on Sept. 18, 1975. Thousands of people were milling
around inside rented halls, large arenas and large
tabernacle buildings; and the opening service for the
Feast of Tabernacles was about to start.
But I would not be there.
From the age of 10, I had attended the Feast with my parents;
but now at the age of 20, I would be missing the opening
service for the first time. The reason would mold and shape
my future in a way nothing else would.
A secret guilt
My mom had died just two years earlier after a prolonged
illness. She believed strongly in the return of Christ, under-
stood fully the plan of God, knew the meaning of each holy
day and now awaited her resurrection. There was just one
problem for me in all this. I secretly carried around a great
deal of guilt. Just as I was turning 17, a bit over a year before
she died, I moved away from home and said some things in
anger to her that I later truly regretted.
In the year that followed, I never went home to see her; never
called her to say hi; never sent her a card; and worst of all, I
never really thought much about her. She had been sick for
years; and to my young mind, it seemed it would always be
that way.
Mom’s death, however imminent it was, came as a surprise.
In my immaturity I had not anticipated it. My behaviors
bore that out, and guilt was the result. Now, as sundown
drew near on this opening night of God’s Feast of Taberna-
cles, there was a lot on my mind. Contemplating the mean-
ing of the Feast and the return of Christ made me think
about my mom and the reunion we would have.
A final visit to Tulsa
My young bride and I had left Ohio for the Feast a few days
earlier, headed for Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. We were
excited to be going, as it was always the highlight of our
year. Our second tithe was in hand, and along with it was
the anticipation of enjoying all the blessings of having been
faithful. But this year was to be different. This year we would
make a stop a little out of the way to visit my dad in Tulsa,
Oklahoma.
A year after my mom died, my dad felt ill and went to the
doctors. A month would pass with many tests that ended
with an exploratory operation. During this surgery, they
found an aggressive cancer that had already attached itself
to all of his major organs. They made no attempt to remove
it, nor did they offer any hope for a cure. The surgeon came
into the waiting room with a countenance that told us what
we would shortly hear. I don’t remember the exact words he
used, but one of them was “terminal,” which prompted me to
ask him, “How long?” He hesitated, and his response took us
all by surprise: In four to maybe six weeks his body would be
so consumed by the cancer that it would simply give up. We
called upon an elder to anoint him, and we beseeched God to
intervene.
As we arrived in Tulsa to visit my dad before the Feast in
1975, it had been 15 months since the doctor’s prognosis.
These were 15 months of unspeakable pain and suffering,
months where no one could explain why he still lived. I went
Writer’s
Block
“I’ll See You in
the Kingdom”
by
barry richey
Almost 38 years after his father’s death, one
member reflects on the legacy and mission
his father gave to him on his deathbed.
Photo by iStockphoto.com