Guest thoughts of Nelson: on what would have been his 96th birthday July 5

     

     Today, it’s a pleasure to welcome to this blog my daughter, Karen, fellow lover of words, retired educator and over the years, my partner in all sorts of crazy endeavours. 

     I am especially thankful that she agreed to share the following thoughts which, she penned the morning of July 5, on what would have been her dad’s 96 birthday. 

     With my house sale finalized that very day, I am up to my ears in packing boxes as I prepare to leave our family home of 26 and move into Okanagan Retirement Chateau, where I have a lovely two-bedroom suite awaiting my August arrival. 

     Welcome, Karen . . . 

     Sitting in my favourite armchair, cup of coffee in hand, I welcome myself to a new day. The early morning glow of sunlight filtering in through partially closed window shades washes gently over me. And then it comes to me — this is not just another summer’s day — it is a day for remembering.

     July 5, 1922 was not that long ago, as time would have it. 

     

     Rewind the tape of what has been and see the young one who would be my dad, born in an upstairs bedroom of the old family farmhouse in Eagles’ settlement, New Brunswick, near Salisbury Village. 

     Nels was the fifth son, in a lineup of eight surviving children born to Ella and Edgar Eagles.

     Growing up in the shadow of strong-willed older brothers, who often disciplined him in the loco parental way of yesteryear’s large farm families, Nelson was shy and sensitive. 

   

     How I wish there were photos of those days, to let me peek back more closely at my father the boy, who once was. 

     

     I do know, from a few faded pictures and snippets of stories told over the years, my dad was as any fun-loving boy.  

     Curious, mischievous and probably very deserving of at least some of the brotherly exhortations he received.

     It’s interesting, isn’t it, how our perspective of history morphs as we grow older. As a young person, my understanding and backward glances at my parents lives were skewed by the vast distance there seemed to be between their early beginnings and mine. 

     It’s only as I’ve progressed down the timeline of my own life, I’ve realized just how fresh and close behind me my parent’s histories actually were and how they would intertwine with and affect my own.

     Looking back through the lens of my own aging years, I long to know more than the limited edition of my dad that I grew up with and too often carried into my adult years. 

 

     I imagine what it would be like to read his journal thoughts or envision movie play-by-plays of my father living though (in real time) the personal joys and challenges of life.

     

     

     His involvement in the Air Force during the Second World War, where he was stationed at Pat Bay, Vancouver, Island; that voluntary decision made one day before he would have been called into active duty;

     His transforming lamppost encounter, in Victoria, B.C., with the living Christ, and the circle of Christian friends he made;

     The years he spent upgrading and then studying for Christian ministry at Northwest Bible College in Vancouver;

     The Christmas he spent alone, away from family and friends; the shaping of his heart for people;

     

     Meeting and falling in love with Mom — that three-week whirlwind romance that survived two years of separation when he left to go back West while she continued to teach and prepare her family for her ultimate departure across Canada;

     The joys and struggles working with people in a small church congregation, as he sought to share the Good News that had changed his life;

     

     The challenges of: juggling life, weekday work with university classes and pastoral ministry with a new, young wife and a baby (me), who arrived just 10 months after their marriage; and as the years progressed, not just “Eenie (me), but Meanie, Minie and Mo (No-More)” — my three siblings: Debi, David and Roger;

     The decision to leave pastoral ministry and his continuing active, lay involvement with Southern Baptist church planting;

     The trials and temptations he faced, as he tried to live with integrity in the midst of the secular business world;

     Dad's deep-hearted love and dreams for his children;

     His disappointments and fears as he faced the uncertainties of life; 

     The intimate way God’s Spirit renewed him in those early morning times in God’s Word;

     His delight in the blessings of building a family home — twice;

     

     His thoughts and inner coming to grips with dying;

Dad’s first moments after he ‘stepped over’ . . . 

     Although, imagine as I might, I will never fully know the ins and outs of my father’s life because our stories are ultimately our own — to discover and work out as we journey with "self" and God. 

     However, I do understand — more clearly now, as I look back over the years, the vital imprint my dad’s life left on my own. And, with this realization, I understand more fully the wonderful man who was my father, Nelson Palmer Eagles.

     Thank you, Dad, for allowing the powerful Word of God’s Spirit, alive and active in you, to lead you beyond yourself. 

     

     Because you discovered who you were in Christ, you learned to accept yourself and live with quiet courage and integrity the road God set before you. 

     On October 13, 2007, you went first — slide through the crack of time, out of this beautiful, crazy, mixed up world — into the place Jesus said he was going to prepare for you, for us, for all who open to Christ's life-changing offer of redeeming love. 

    Even though it's been almost 11 years since you shed this earthly body, somehow you still feel close. 

     Surely, it is the presence of God’s Spirit that reminds and binds our hearts of what, in life, is truly worth the effort. 

     Thank you, dear Dad, for showing us just that. Love you forever,

Your daughter, Karen Joy