A Father's Impact . . .

At a coffee shop in Canada, I picked up a copy of the Toronto Star, which was there for customers to read while drinking their coffee. It was full of reports on the G-20 and G-8 conferences being held in Ontario. An article on an inside page caught my eye. The lead line spoke of "different dads" and "father issues."

It said most of the world leaders are themselves fathers and a couple of them have fathered twenty or more children! But coming from all walks of life, the fathers of all these leaders have affected (for good or for ill,) the lives of these who are now shaping our world.

While the Canadian Prime Minister was very close to his dad, others grew up without their father’s influence. For instance, Barack Obama, Sr. herded goats in Kenya during his youth. Though educated in Harvard as an economist, he returned to Kenya after his divorce from President Obama’s mother. His son saw him only one more time before he died in an auto accident in 1982. In his book, "Dreams From My Father," Mr. Obama speaks of how hard it was to grow up without his father; a man deemed highly intelligent yet profoundly flawed. He said, "My father was missing. Nothing my mother or grandparents told me could obviate than single, unassailable fact."

The first French President in modern times whose parents are living, Nicholas Sarkozy’s father, Pel, a Hungarian immigrant, (who says he loves women and high living,) came to France penniless. He started his own advertising agency, then left Nicholas’ mother. In succeeding years he’s had three more wives, more children and numerous affairs. From age 4, Nicholas never saw his father again until after he became President.

The father of South Africa’s President, Jacob Zuma, was a policeman who died at the end of World War II, while Jacob was just a child. He soon had to go to work to help his mother and family eke out a living, which prevented him from receiving a formal education.

The fathers of today's world leaders have held many occupations; some were highly esteemed and some would be considered menial. One was a Lutheran pastor, another a bank employee. Others include a cattle ranch hand, a dairy farmer, a glass manufacturing plant executive, a stock broker, a professor, a bus driver, and an accountant.
[Source: "Who’s Their Daddy?" Pg. IN-3, Toronto Star; Sunday, June 20, 2010.]

So, although some had good relationships with their fathers, others came to the present through negatives and deficiency. Some consider they’ve achieved earthly recognition despite circumstances and backgrounds. Others see limitations, (thrust upon them by the lack of a father’s guidance and/or by the difficulties they endured,) affecting their ability to lead effectively. While overcoming obstacles is always a possibility, it is also a challenge. For many, it is the crayon that colors everything else in life.

Over the years, I’ve heard Bro. Grisham teach that the best example a father can set before his children is to love God, love his wife, and love his children. The fathers I’ve observed who have modeled this wise advice are without exception, honorable men worthy of godly emulation. Children raised in such a setting have advantages beyond monetary measure. The example godly fathers set provides insight and perspective capable of holding their children steady throughout life’s ebb and flow.

Moses commanded, "Teach your children diligently; when you sit at home, when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up." (Deuteronomy 6:7 niv) Fathers who failed in this task handed their children over to idolatry and sure and certain judgment. Subsequent generations did not even know God. As judgment fell, the prophet spoke of the proverb, "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge." (Ezekiel 18:2) But this was not God’s plan. He wanted reconciliation and restoration. "Behold, I will sent you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord: And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse." (Malachi 4:5-6)

In the New Testament, the Apostle Paul balances the ledger, "And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath; but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." (Ephesians 6:4. See also Colossians 3:21.)

Fathers, you have an unction from the Holy One. Your children are your deposit into the future, your bid in making an impact on the world to come. The only contribution that will truly last is the one that affects and enhances eternity. Everything else is wood, hay and stubble.

~ mjkinnee
July 2010

The Prodigal's Mother

Of the prodigal’s tale, we all are aware,
Stubborn, he wanted to manage his share;
So he took it and headed off into the sun,
Determined to have his share of fun.

We hear how he partied away all he had,
Rumors were flowing and all were bad;
The father kept watch as the months wore on,
Only love could rescue his wayward son.

We hear of his downfall, the ruins of sin,
We hear of the pigpen he found himself in;
We hear of the change that began in his heart,
How he thought of home and the servant’s part.

We hear of his journey and father’s delight
We hear sounds of joy as they ring in the night;
Brother’s envy and spite make our spirits groan,
But through it all – we’re glad he’s home.

But what of his mother? We never do hear,
Yet surely her presence was always near;
Her baby was lost – her precious son,
She must have wept and prayed, undone.

In dark, night hours, while others slept,
A tear-stained vigil his mother kept;
She groaned and travailed more deep than at birth,
For the wayward one’s soul had yet greater worth.

She waited and hoped in the promise of God,
Reminding, abiding, her faith walked dry-shod;
Through oceans of tears, through doubts and fear,
Come what may - though it took many a year.

And then, when the promise finally did arrive,
Imagine the sparkle of joy in her eye;
Hustling, bustling in a glorious dither,
The servants all rushing hither and thither.

Mama, in high gear, was doing her best,
Preparing a fabulous celebration fest;
All her boy’s favorite cookies and cake,
Were piled high and waiting for more to bake.

But right in the midst of the joyful preparation,
Mama steals off for a quiet conversation –
With the One who had shared her burden and grief,
“He’s home now, Lord, Oh, what blessed relief!”

By Marjorie Kinnee

Note: I took the liberty of adding a possibility to this age-old story in honor of Mothers Day and in tribute to mothers of wayward children. They carry a special burden, full of sorrow, travail and pleading intercession. But they partner with the One whose heart is touched and is able to work, even in the darkest of situations. What He's done for others - He'll do for you! "Now unto Him who is able to do exceeding, abundantly above all we can ask or think...", be all the glory and honor and power and dominion. In Jesus' Name!

A Prayer for My Family . . .
(And Your Family Too!)


Dear Jesus,

Please help, strengthen and protect our little ones!
We live in an evil, wicked and perverse generation
Which desires to ensnare men, women, boys and girls.
No one is exempt.
This world works hand in hand with the enemy of our souls
To try to thwart Your plan and purpose for our lives.

Help us to to know the truth of the verse...
"Greater is He that is in me,
Than he that is in the world."
Help us to seek after You
With all our heart, soul, mind and strength.
Fill us with Your power from on high.

Thank You for Your Holy Spirit,
Which gives us the power to live a victorious life
In this present world.

Guide our footsteps, make us to walk in Your ways.
Keep our minds and hearts pure and vigilant.
Help us to study and know and love Your Word,
To believe and live by its precious promises.
Help us to teach it faithfully to our little ones;
To take delight in it and it's teachings,
And to hide it in each and every heart,
That we might not sin against Thee.

In Jesus' Name,
Amen

I'm Glad You're My Dad!

My Dad passed away in December, 1990. Though it's a long time ago now, Father's Day never comes but what I think about the things that made him so special.

• He served in World War II as a medic in Guam, Okinawa and Hawaii and came home in 1945. After a time driving a bus for the city of Detroit, he took advantage of a chance at a career as a salesman and never looked back.
• In retrospect, it's apparent that "not looking back" became part of his personna. Though his childhood was full of obstacles and difficulties, he never spent time mourning over the negatives or the if-onlies and what-ifs. He just went on to something better.
• Over a span of thirty-six years, he sold many different things; Vlasic, Heinz, Walker Automotive, Eutectic Welding andVestal Chemicals. Though he traveled during the week, he would plan his schedule so he'd be home every weekend.
• Daddy was a "cock-eyed optomist." His perennial outlook was "things are going to get better." He'd grin a big, goofy grin, lean close to mom and say, "Stick by me and you'll wear pearls." Another of his famous one-liners always ended with "...when my ship comes in."
• He loved nonsense poems and songs; The Owl and the Pussycat, The Jabberwok, Under the Sweet Magnolia Tree, 'Twas Midnight on the Ocean, Rise Up My Dearest Dear, Clancy Lowered the Boom, It's Nice to Get Up in the Morning, and A - I'm Adorable are a few of the poems and tunes we heard frequently. If he ever did get sad (or mad) about something, you could usually cheer him up by requesting one of his favorite poems or songs. What's more, he had an incredible capacity to memorize any new ones he heard. So his repertoire was constantly growing. In 1966, after a major heart attack and shortly after being removed from a respirator, he treated my niece and myself to a recitation of "Under the Sweet Magnolia Tree." The sight was something I'll never forget. There he was - laying there with monitors beeping and tubes exiting everywhere. But he put his fingertips together and with his eyes closed began at the beginning, grinning all the while. It made both of us giggle and that made him feel better too.
• He was faithful and loyal. He came to God when he was sixteen years old and led his mother to the Lord soon after. That was in 1936 in the old Royal Oak church pastored by Bro. C. C. Kirby. He loved this truth and gladly followed the Lord and his pastor's teaching. Down through all the years of my memory, I never had a question as to what my parents thought about this truth. It was forever settled for both of them. That made for tremendous stablility for me and for my brothers and sister.
• Daddy was an anchor point. There was no question as to where my dad would be. On church nights, prayer meetings, revivals, special services, saints meetings, work days and nights... you name it, he was there - we all were! We arrived early and stayed until the altar services were closed. It was in a Sunday evening service, in the midst of the years of faithfulness that I was baptized in Jesus' Name. Seven months later, after another Sunday evening service, I received the Holy Ghost. I can truly say, faithfulness pays dividends.
• From the day of his conversion until the day of his death, he was a member of only two churches - Bro. Kirby's in Royal Oak, and after his death, daddy resettled his family with the Reeds in Troy, Michigan.
• When age and illness slowed his body down, he still loved to be of service. He would arrive at least a half-hour early so he could bring the water pitcher to the platform for the pastor. It was a small thing, but he saw to it that the thermal pitcher was cleaned and filled with fresh cold water for every service. He would make his way to the platform about fifteen minutes before service started with a tray holding the pitcher, a clean glass and a clean cloth towel to cover them.
• Not long before he became ill, he told me his life's ambition and prayer was to live so he could leave this world a better place than it was when he came. When I look back, I have no doubt that he was blessed by the Lord who heard his desire and granted his petition.

I'm glad I was born to John Raymond and Marjorie Edith Broyles. I'm also glad and thankful for the firm foundation they gave me. I will be eternally grateful for this precious truth and the way they lived and modeled it before me. This Father's Day I wanted to honor my dad. (I wrote an earlier piece about my mom and a picture taken in about 1948 is on the sidebar at the right.) He was a unique individual. He could be stern and formiddable if crossed, but he loved his children and desired God's best for us all. When we did right it made him so proud.

A week before he died, while visiting in North Carolina, daddy gave his final testimony. We did not know it was his last at the time but we all noted how he was full of thanksgiving for what the Lord had done in his family and faith in the Lord who was going to complete the work. That was yet another Sunday evening in a long line of faithfulness. That night, daddy got to hear his son preach. Though John had been preaching for some time, this was the first time daddy ever heard him. It was such a thrill to see daddy's joy. Before another Sunday came, my dad had been called home to glory.

And now years have come and gone. Three more grandchildren (with one one the way,) and fourteen great-grandchildren (with one on the way,) have been born since daddy's death. He would have thoroughly enjoyed every one of them and would have regaled them with renditions of his favorite silly songs and poems. They'd have loved it (and him) and he'd have basked in the knowing that they enjoyed his humor. But more importantly I believe, he would have wanted to be sure that they too were rooted and grounded in this glorious truth. Daddy lived his faith. He died in faith. And we who remain have a heritage and a legacy of faithfulness that needs to be passed on to our children and their children too.

About the "Egyptian" Poem . . .

Though written a number of years ago, I've received a number of requests for a reprint of this poem because it speaks to the heart of the parents of children who've gone astray. The heartbreak is no easier whether the child is a teenager or a grown adult. There is little anyone can do or say that will affect a headstrong will. Unless you've had a wayward child, you cannot understand the depths of that pain. Some, ignorantly or intentionally, make comments that wound and inflict more pain into an already raw situation.

It's important to know the only "Perfect Parent" [God Himself] has had to deal with wayward children. Adam and Eve were the first prodigals and their experience did not prevent them from having a prodigal of their own [Cain]. Since then, every parent of wayward children deals with mistakes and mountains of "if only's" and regrets. These add to their burden.

One thing is certain - when the will of another is involved - there are no guarantees. The enemy means to destroy the wayward one before he or she can get back home. There may be other contributing factors, (people, habits, and/or things,) whose influence is stronger than yours. The battle is fierce and exhausting. You're also racing the clock, which adds urgency to your concern. All your hope and trust is bound up in the promises of God.

The best thing anyone can do for the parents of prodigals is to pray and encourage them to trust in the promises of God. When the only news was negative, the prodigal's father did not abandon hope. And when the prodigal came to himself and returned home, his father saw him a long way off and ran to meet him with open arms. (Luke 15:11-32) Herein lies two great truths - 1.) every prodigal needs to know there still is a "home" to return to, and 2.) every parent needs to know their hope is tied to holding fast until...

"...In due season you shall reap, if you faint not." (Galatians 6:9)

"With God, nothing is impossible!" (Luke 1:37)

"Now unto Him, who is able to do exceeding, abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us." (Ephesians 3:20)

You’re Not An Egyptian

My child, you’re not an Egyptian,
You were raised as a child of the Light.
Though you run far and wide,
You can't escape, cannot hide;
You will never be out of God's sight.

My child, you’re not an Egyptian,
And your heart of hearts knows this right well.
You can bury yourself,
Put your heart on a shelf;
But the knowledge continues to swell.

My child, you’re not an Egyptian;
Sin's stains look ill on your face.
Its' chains drag you down,
Soil your white wedding gown,
And frustrate the Dove of God's Grace.

My child, you’re not an Egyptian!
Too much time's been invested in you,
By those who have cared,
And have willingly shared;
Teaching you to be loyal and true.

My child, you’re not an Egyptian,
You're bewitched by Egypt's facade.
So the war rages on,
`Twixt God and Dagon;
But my trust's in the promise of God!

© MJKinnee
June 1993

I Remember Mama . . .

I am not able to come to this time of year without thinking of my mother. Transplanted by marriage to my father (on January 15, 1944) from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan to the North Detroit suburbs, mama was the quintessential Christian lady. She loved Bible truth and lived it all her days. Mama always knew what was the right thing. Her advice was wise and seasoned with experiences that had taught her how to be steady and dependable.

Canadian prairie winters, with frigid cold, biting wind and all the bundling up necessary in temperatures way below zero could not have been easy. But mama's memories of her childhood were full of her older brother and sisters. Grandpa was an engineer on the Canadian National Railroad (in the days of steam engines,) and was away from home often as he took trains full of people and freight from one side of the country to the other. Mama's stories included their Chinese neighbor, Mrs. Kwong, who had many children, the boys at school who teased her and her girlhood chums. As a result of the lack of iodine in her diet, mama developed a goiter which required surgery. In those days, the anesthesia was ether. The surgery attendant only pulled the surgical cap over her skull, leaving most of mama's beautiful, long hair exposed. The ether turned the exposed hair white and brittle, so it had to be cut. Whenever she told the story, mama mourned over the loss but she would rejoice when she got to the part where it all grew back thicker and longer than before.

It was about this same time that she first met Charles C. Kirby, his wife, Nola, and their daughters, Autumn and Vaviel. They were accompanied by his brother and wife, (U. L. and Floy Kirby) whom mama called, "Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy." In later years, Bro. Kirby would say that the entire Canadian sojourn was an attempt to run from the call of God. Autumn's death was the catalyst that sent both Kirby brothers back to the States. Bro. & Sis. Kirby and Vaviel settled in the Royal Oak area. Their son, "Chassie," was born soon afterwards. Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy settled in Paragould, Arkansas. (Mama corresponded with Aunt Floy, until Floy's death in the 70's.) In 1942, Bro. Kirby invited mama to come and visit in Royal Oak. While she was there, he sent Sis. Kirby and mama to visit Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy in Paragould - and wrote my dad, who was serving in the army air corps in Malden, Missouri, suggesting that he make his way to Arkansas to meet the young lady who was traveling with Sis. Kirby. The rest, as they say, is history. Mama and daddy corresponded for a time - became engaged - and were married on January 15, 1944. Mama went with him to Missouri for a time. But once daddy received his overseas assignment, she returned to Royal Oak, while he served in Hawaii, Guam and Okinawa until 1945, when he was honorably discharged at the end of World War II.

But I've gotten ahead of myself - let's go back to Saskatoon . . .

One summer, while still in her early teens, mama got permission (from her pastor and the local school board,) to hold "protracted meetings" out in a country schoolhouse. When the summer was over, a number of candidates were ready for baptism.

During her high school years, mama played the piano for extended revival meetings for the home church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan – school during the day, revival at night, altar work until there were no more seekers, home to bed and back to school the next morning – this went on for several weeks. Mama rejoiced in how the Lord blessed and anointed souls, the ministry, the services, her playing and her school work; in fact, He blessed everything throughout the revival - she lacked nothing, not even sleep, because even her rest was refreshing!

In her early twenties, mama served as a lady evangelist in Ontario. During World War II, many of the Canadian pastors were drafted into military service. This left their wives to care for the churches. Rev. Frank Small of Winnipeg, Manitoba saw a need and issued “Christian Worker’s Licenses” to a number of young women who traveled throughout Canada, preaching the gospel, holding children’s revivals and generally making themselves useful wherever and whenever they could. Mama was one of these young ladies. She was sent to Eastern Ontario. Her stories and adventures were thrilling – peppered with names from Canadian Pentecostal history; Frank Small, R. E. S. Toms, Ernie Baxter, Howard Goss, Andrew and Jonathan Urshan, Charles C. and U. L. Kirby, Stan Bean, Leonard Parent, Bro. Pair, Bro. Rabie and Bro. Rudd. (I do not know the first names of these last three men, though they were influential in mama's ministry.) In the mid-50's, Bro. Rudd came to Michigan for a conference. Mama and daddy invited he and his family into our home. She much enjoyed their visit and catching up on old acquaintances.

One of the pictures in mama’s photo album shows a baptismal service during that time. Surrounded by young people, she’s sitting on some rocks at the site of a broken dam. There are a number of pictures of other evangelists and Canadian Pentecostals of yesteryear. Newspaper clippings with her picture announcing evangelistic meetings are included and she mentioned other cities and towns like Cobaconk, Brockville, Kingston, Peterborough and Belleville. There was even an invitation to conduct services at an Indian reservation. Her face joyful in the remembering, she told us about attending camp meetings at Outlet Camp in Lansdowne. (In 1956 or 57, during a family vacation, she took us to see the Outlet Camp Ground – it was beautiful!)

After marrying daddy, she became a mama in the best sense of the word. She taught us to love the house of God and to make it our chief joy. She loved the ministry of the Word and kept notes and tapes of messages she heard by her own pastor and others. Even in her declining years, mama’s devotions included reading through the Bible at least once each year. The margins of her Bibles are always peppered with remarks and notes and references to additional Scriptures she studied relative to the one at hand. We often found her sitting in her favorite chair with her glasses perched on her nose – reading, studying and taking notes.

Once when my girls came into the house, she looked up and sighed, “Oh! Am I glad to see you! Come help me find my glasses! I can’t find them anywhere!”

The girls started giggling. Between chortles, they wheezed out, “Up there, Grandma!”

“Where?” She was sure they were not taking her request seriously. “Stop playing around!" she scolded, "I need them – there’s something I want to check out.”

Their laughter grew. Between gasps, with tears coming, they pointed to the top of her head. “Right there, Grandma.”

Mama reached up, and there, perched atop her head, were her reading glasses. She’d shoved them up there at some point and forgotten where they were. A red face and a sheepish grin soon merged into giggles and when I came in from the car, the three of them were in gales and had to explain it to me so I could join in.

In this, the week of Mother's Day, 2006, I remember Mama . . . with love.