Father's Day

In an effort to save some vision after I returned from active military problems, the Army sent me to the best specialist in the world in opthalmology, famed Dr. Richard Simmons of Boston. To show how long I was under his care his first operation on both eyes were in 1960 and the last surgery he was assisted by his daughter, Ruth Ann, who was a child when I first met the Simmons family, but who was an ophthalmologist assisting at the last surgery. The large and very marvelous staff of Dr. Simmons, consisted of many doctors and technical personnel.

One day, a young Indian doctor said to me, “I understand you graduated at Chapel Hill. I went to school at Chapel Hill and graduated from medical school there.” In the conversation, I told him I had traveled the world many times and had been in his home country of India. I said to Dr. Ashton, “Where were you raised in India?” He said, “You have never heard of the place, it is called Trivandrum.” I said, “Are you kidding me? I was in Trivandrum and had one of the most wonderful experiences of my life there.”

I was on the beach at Goa and a young man approached me about buying some relics from him. Of course I was accustomed to this all over the world, but never, did I realize the surprise that our blessed Lord had in store for me in making the acquaintance of this young man. I said, “I”m not interested in these relics. I do like nice jewelry.” He said, “I have several pieces of jewelry that I brought from Tibet. I would like to show them to you.” I walked several miles with him, learning that he was one of the many Tibetan refugees that had escaped to India, until we arrived at the humble home where he and his family lived. Having come from abject poverty myself, the poverty of other people does not bother me at all because I learned long ago that we are not stuck where we start. He crawled under a bed and brought out several pieces of jewelry including nine matching blue sapphire stones set in a ring. (I'm sitting here holding it now. It is not for sale.) On the porch, in a rickety chair sat his father. (This is a Father's Day message!!) It was at that time that he introduced me to his father and I heard the blessed story that I want to share with you.

God gave me the blessed sense when I lost all of my eye sight to gather from a person's hand the warmth and genuineness of the person's soul. I'm thankful to have experienced this many times in my life. These were Buddhists, some of the kindest people on God's earth. But as I took his hand and said, “I want to pray for you.” The father and son both said, “Please.” Then, the son told me the wonderful yet tragic story of their escape from Tibet after the Chinese had come in and raped the country.

The father had stood up against the Chinese and he had been beaten almost to death. Both legs had been tragically and permanently broken. His two sons, at that time one fourteen (with whom I had made the initial contact, and was still there) the other thirteen who had died shortly after their arrival in Goa suffering from what I ascertain as acute asthma, but on a handmade stretcher, the two of them had carried their father through these treacherous Himalayan Mountains. over 100 miles by land until they had made contact with someone on a river with a sampan [Sampans are generally used for fishing or transportation, in coastal areas or rivers. It is unusual for a sampan to sail far from land as they do not have the means to survive rough weather. The word "sampan" literally means "three planks" in Cantonese from the words “sam” and “pan”. This refers to the hull design, which consists of a flat bottom (made from one plank) joined to two sides (the other two planks).] Then onto the refuge of the Tibetan refugee encampment in Trivandrum on the coast of Goa. A Buddhist ritualistic memorial was near the house where the father could watch and I assumed that the remains of the deceased son were interred there. Their surviving son said, “We lost our mother early in life but our father is our most precious possession. We were both determined that he would survive and we would bring him to a place of earthly kindness.”

In this day, when fathers are ridiculed on television, when many children grow up in this world (37% of all children are born to single mothers and have no father identity) it is a marvelous opportunity we have as the sons of faithful fathers to honor them.

At my own father's funeral, the huge crowd sang the wonderful hymn, “Faith of Our Fathers.” One of the ministers said, “A father's funeral has already been preached by looking at his children, four children, all college graduates, all four a credit to their parents and their community.” One of the older preachers said, “during The Great Depression, I remember how many heads of hair he cut at ten cents each.” Another minister said, “He was the life-blood of this church and most of the building, the education facility, all of these things were built by him.”

My father never spent one penny on alcohol, one penny on tobacco products, one penny on gambling. I never knew him to go to a car race, a horse race, a dog race. His entire life revolved around his family, his church and the school (chairman of the school board). He worked on his tobacco farm, the show place of the community, all during the week in the hot summer or whatever. Then would stand on his feet all day on Saturday and all holiday weekends, cutting hair in the barber shop in the local town. He kept cows, hogs, chickens, and did everything else to make a good living for his family. Including, working all winter building houses and repairing others. I

never knew my father to hang out at his cousin's country store or waste time, because he felt every minute of his life was valuable. His wife, his children, his home and his church were exemplary. On the day of my mother's funeral, I went out early to help him greet the family who would be arriving at the house. He had already been to the church and cut the grass. He said, “All my children's friends must see our beautiful church at its best and your mother's funeral must be perfect.”

I have one son, Dr. John Morris, of whom I am very proud because of his ambition as a medical school student, theology student, and the many years he and his wife spent on the foreign mission field. His mother and grandmother felt they could do a better job rearing him than me but the greatest joy of my life is the bond he has with his two sons. His pride in their accomplishments as university students and the great expectations he has for them as a lawyer and an engineer.

Fatherhood is earned, It is not just a biological accident. I was blessed to have a hard working father of tremendous faith (I was amazed how educated he became when I went to college). I had the thrill of knowing grandfathers of tremendous faith and character; uncles and even neighbors who demonstrated in their lives the character we appreciate in men of reliability. On this father's day, help us to remember that only those who have known a wonderful earthly father can really appreciate the graciousness of our Heavenly Father.