In loving memory of my amazing dad, Jerry Robert Boyles (1931-2008).
June 16, 2018
A summer thunderstorm knocked off the petals of most of the lovely peony blooms last night. Thankfully, a few tightly closed buds hold promise of beauty yet to unfurl in this summer’s peony finale. As the peonies fade in their glory and prepare for curtain call and their final bow, the daylilies in their own splendidly colorful petaled costumes stand in the wings ready to take center stage and continue the summer’s floral show.
Sundays are busy days for me, so I missed posting on day 3. Then, I forgot to hit “publish” on Day #4, but once again joining Cathy at Words and Herbs for Day #5 of her annual ‘A Week of Flowers’ meme. It’s trying to snow again today. Not much on the ground–just enough to outline the branches of trees, brighten up the rooftops, and spread a smidge of snowy white frosting on faded flowers. Pretty, but I’m glad for the opportunity to splash a little summery garden color onto my December blog posts.
I’m joining Cathy at Words and Herbs for her annual ‘A Week of Flowers’ meme. It’s Day #2 and I’m happy to take you on a little reminisce of some pretty spring and early summer days in my garden. Let me introduce you to a few of my favorite peonies.
Crunching through the leaves on my walk this chilly fall morning, I realize it is the 27th of October – my dad’s birthday. This year I would not be making my customary trip to Milwaukee bearing my dad’s favorite gift of all. I find comfort in thinking that my dad is in heaven today and perhaps he is celebrating his birthday.
My birthday gift for dad wasn’t something wrapped in manly gift wrap and tied with a bow. Nor was it something with a gift receipt enclosed just in case it didn’t fit. For as long as I can remember, it was always the same gift – a home-baked pumpkin pie delivered in my beat-up Tupperware pie-taker along with a pint of real whipping cream.
My dad loved pumpkin pie and would broadly hint that I should bring it any time of the year when my mom wanted me to bring dessert. Mom doesn’t care much for pumpkin pie; so on those occasions when dad was hinting, I would sometimes bring two desserts. Something mom would like and a pumpkin pie on the side for dad.
When my daughter Elisabeth was in 4th grade, I taught her how to make pumpkin pie. Her grandpa would brag up and down about his granddaughter’s pie. I gladly passed the rolling pin baton to Beth and, from that point on, Beth was often the bearer of the pumpkin pie at Boyles family gatherings.
Did I tell you that my Dad LOVED pumpkin pie? I remember one occasion when dad unexpectedly stopped by my house one afternoon bearing a paper grocery sack. First he scolded me for not having the back door of my house locked, then he set the bag on my kitchen table. Peering into the bag I giggled when I saw the VERY broad hint…the ingredients for a pumpkin pie. Dad was pretty sneaky…he knew I was going to bring something other than pumpkin pie (at my mom’s request) for a family gathering. He wanted to make sure that I had all the ingredients that were necessary for the REAL dessert.
The week before my dad took up his heavenly residence, I baked my dad’s last pumpkin pie on this side of glory. He took three little bites and told me it was delicious. Mom said it was the last thing he really ate.
Today, as I walk, I remember Dad and I pray.
Lord, I really miss my dad today. I miss making his pumpkin pies and I cry like a baby whenever I make one for my family. As much as I miss him, I am so thankful that he is enjoying this day in heaven without the cancer robbing him of the enjoyment of life. Lord, I am eternally grateful that Dad placed his trust in You as his only hope of salvation. I would guess that the pumpkin pie celebrations we enjoyed here on earth are nothing compared to the angelic celebrations over those who place their trust in Christ, but if your heavenly bounty includes pumpkin pies, Lord, could you make sure that my Dad gets a big piece with whipping cream on top? And, please tell him that Cindie is celebrating his birthday in her heart.
First sunflower to open—a volunteer from 2022’s crop. The succulent chair garden is flourishing!This lacecap hydrangea is from a funeral basket arrangement 15 years ago. A sweet reminder of the love of my cousins and my dad’s legacy of faith. A white Asiatic Lily on the west side of the house. Clematis ‘Princess Diana’ still looking rather regal This & That – an eclectic hodgepodge of plants and purple-y painted miscellany after a refreshing rain. The purple in my garden is my quiet nod to my sweet Momma’s battle with Alzheimer’s. . “And the yellow sunflower in beauty stood.” ~William Cullen Bryant
I have been thinking about my dad a lot lately. Maybe it’s because it’s Father’s Day. Or perhaps because I came across some cans of pumpkin puree while I was cleaning out my pantry. I always think of my Dad when I bake pumpkin pies (his favorite).
Memories are stirred when I find an old photo here – a notebook or binder there. Even though he’s been enjoying his heavenly home for 15 years, I am still occasionally stumbling upon some of his things, like the cardigan sweater I see every time I open my closet.
Speaking of my closet — that closet seems to always be in desperate need of a major sorting, rearranging and dusting. Not long ago, I spent a little time doing just that. As I sorted, one of the memorabilia binders I created for my dad’s funeral service in 2008 caught my eye. Right next to that binder was another one which said, “FALK” on the spine. I decided to take a little break from my cleaning to explore the pages of the second notebook. I slid the 3-ring binder off of its shelf, then plopped on a guest room bed for a little page-turning reflection of a slice of dad’s life.
It soon became obvious that this binder contained items Mom had saved from dad’s years of working at Falk Corporation in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. There were some cool black and white photos of the giant gears he worked on in his career as a mechanical engineer.
There was also an envelope tucked in the back pocket of the binder. I opened the envelope and found a number of newspaper clippings related to an explosion that occurred at the plant in December of 2006, after dad had retired. Sadly, three people were killed and forty-seven others injured. Cars were reportedly flipped through the air and debris scattered over several blocks. An investigation of the cause of the disaster uncovered leaks in a pipe running below the plant building, which supplied propane to the heating system.
Of particular interest to me was one slightly damaged photo which showed him as a young man dressed as I remembered him, right down to the well-appointed pocket protector.
This photo brought back a childhood memory. Most little kids don’t really have a handle on what their dad does for a living. I certainly didn’t. I proved that point one day in kindergarten.
We were seated on the linoleum floor in a circle around our teacher, Mrs. Kramer, who had just read us a story about the jobs that people do. She then asked us to share what our daddies did for their job. I listened as my classmates each took their turn sharing about their dad with great pride: there were firefighters, a doctor, a teacher or two, and there was even a dad who helped build houses. All sorts of cool jobs. My turn came and I was still clueless, so I said the coolest thing I could think of at the moment. “My daddy works in a candy store,” resulting in all sorts of “oohs and ahhs” from my friends. I beamed with pride.
Yours truly in kindergarten (with requisite school picture day bad haircut).
Well, my parents learned of my daddy’s newly fabricated job description when Mrs. Kramer brought it up at parent-teacher conference. It gave them quite a laugh. I didn’t get in trouble for that, but my parents made sure I went to work with my dad a time or two so I could see what he did. Turns out that mechanical engineering is not quite as cool as working in an imaginary candy shop.
But, those giant gears were pretty incredible.
The company also had a little newsletter called, “The Falk Reflector.” Mom had saved a few copies over the years. I noticed mom had marked a few pages, so I turned to the pages she thought were worth noting. Mom marked a paragraph sharing this funny bit of anecdotal shop-talk concerning my dad.
This gave me quite a belly laugh. If you knew how fastidious my dad was in cleaning out vehicles, you’d be laughing too!
Coffee in hand, I have been sitting in my favorite chair taking a break from today’s gardening endeavors. The knees of my blue jeans are wet and a bit muddied because I should have made an extra trip to the garage to retrieve my knee cushion (but didn’t). My cushion is an old seat cushion from my brother’s wheelchair and has served me well for several years now. It’s nice and cushy for my aging knees, and big enough to provide a dry place for me to sit when the grass is wet with morning dew. [I am making a mental note to grab it when I go back outside in a few minutes.]
I chose the east side of my house as my focus for today’s weeding and cleanup endeavors. In years past, it has been the side of the house which few people see. However, this year we took down two unhealthy spruce trees in our front yard, giving passersby an unobstructed view of a flowerbed which had previously been fairly well hidden. I have decided to put a little extra effort into this garden space and see if I can make something special out of it–something which my neighbors can enjoy.
But now, at this moment, it’s overgrown with lamium (a noxious weed disguised as a plant), and many weeds and over-wintered, water-soaked hosta leaves. As I pull my hand rake through the tangled bed of yuck, the green shoots of this year’s floral promise are slowly uncovered.
There, under last season’s detritus, are the green tips of an emerging hosta, alongside the peony my dad dug for me from his garden a few decades ago.
As I cleared away last year’s fallen leaves, I found this lovely patch of pulmonaria bedazzled with pink and blue little bells. Even when the flowering finishes, I just love the fuzzy, bespeckled leaves. [Take a gander here if you’d like more photos and info about the pros and cons of this lovely plant.]
April weather is absolutely crazy in Wisconsin. Spring? Summer? Winter? It can’t make up its mind! One day I’m working barefoot in my garden–the next day snow squalls are springing up here and there, or hail is pelting the house. Our crazy weather reminds me that life is unpredictably subject to change without advance notice. In this earthly body, I have this moment and this breath–and have no guarantee of the next. This thought encourages me to make every moment and every breath that I can a beautiful one and to make sure my heart is ready for that first breath of heaven.
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. ~ 2 Cor. 5:1 (ESV)
One word prompt sent to a community of bloggers. Five minutes to write about it. Unedited. Don’t think too hard…just write. The Five Minute Fridayword prompt this week is LAUGH. Ready, set, go!
I heard my dad laugh this week. It took me by great surprise, because dad went to his heavenly home in 2008. But, there it was – that familiar laugh. It started with an under the breath “heh-heh-heh” that morphed to a jolly, tummy-jiggling chuckle, and ended with a loud, throw your head back, “Ha!”
It happened when I was paying my brother a visit in the nursing home where he resides. I usually stop by after work and bring him a home-baked cookie and his favorite peach ice-tea. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s always glad to see me.
Brother & Sister
There’s a nice comfy chair in the corner of Brad’s room right next to his bed. I plop my work-weary self in the chair, kick off my shoes and prop my feet up on the edge of his bed, then sit with him for a few minutes to watch whatever he’s watching on the television. It’s usually an episode of Blue Bloods, but on this day it was a funny movie. It was during that tv-watching moment when I distinctly heard my dad laugh.
It was 13 years ago today that my dad was called Home to heaven. May I share his story of how God drew him to Himself?
My dad was a mechanical engineer by training, so could figure out how to fix most anything long before the advent of YouTube tutorials. If he didn’t have the right part, he’d get creative and make something else work. Our family jokes that he could fix just about anything with duct tape.
My dad learned later in life that there was one thing he definitely couldn’t fix by his own ingenuity. His own sinful heart. I was about 12 years old when my dad realized he needed to trust Jesus for salvation from sin. I was old enough to notice his dramatic spiritual transformation — a change that carried over into every aspect of his life.
Mom once shared with me that Dad would spend every lunch break at work reading the Bible he kept in his car. He read through it so many times that it fell apart. Dad repaired it with his favorite tool: duct tape. I displayed that Bible at my dad’s memorial service in 2008, but it disappeared sometime during mom’s battle with Alzheimer’s a few years later. I did find another Bible, similarly repaired (pictured).
Not long ago I sat down with my Dad’s well-worn Bible in my lap and began to page through it, stopping to read his notes in the margin. It was clear to me that he spent much time exploring this copy of God’s Word too. The Bible had a few special things tucked in the flyleaf, including two cards I had sent him — it meant a lot to me knowing that he had treasured those cards enough to save them.
My heart got all tangled up with emotion when my eyes spied two sheets of lined paper in my dad’s familiar handwriting. These were the notes from which my Dad shared this testimony of faith with the congregation at Garfield Baptist Church on March 31, 1971.
Today, dear readers, on the 13th anniversary of his homegoing to heaven, I would like to share dad’s testimony with you, just as he wrote it, with a prayerful hope that God will use it for His Glory .
March 31, 1971
My Testimony
Jerry Boyles - A Son of God
Matthew 10:32 - "Whosoever therefore shall confess me before man, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven."
It is a shock to learn at the genetic age of 39 to find that you are a spiritual babe. I have been a church member since the age of 11-12 but do not recall being asked personally, 'Do you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?" I could not give an affirmative answer the first time this question was posed on a Monday night visitation by Gene Klingbeil and Ed Newton, but it did start the wheels turning. I admitted to being a sinner and I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior on Monday evening November 9, 1970 with the assistance of Rev. (Edward) Fuller, Mr. (Everett) Huebner, and my family. I was baptized by immersion by Rev. Fuller on Dec. 27, 1970.
I base my salvation on John 1:11-13 "He came unto his own and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God."
My assurance of salvation is: John 10:28 "And I give unto them eternal life: and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand."
At this point in Dad’s testimony, he made a note to himself to “Give thanks to AWANA and Sunday School.” Those two ministries of Garfield Baptist Church were very instrumental in my coming to Christ and growing in my faith too. I love knowing that when God drew me to Christ, my family would soon come to know Him too. Dad concluded his testimony in this way:
Being a spiritual babe I have a lot of "catching up" to do. I'm going to need all the help I can get from God and this congregation. I feel that I've had much help from both. I hope, if accepted as a member, that I can be an asset to this church.
In Jesus Name,
Jerry R. Boyles
Right hand of fellowship, Thursday, April 8, 1971
A summer thunderstorm knocked off the petals of most of the lovely peony blooms last night. Thankfully, a few tightly closed buds hold promise of beauty yet to unfurl in this summer’s peony finale. As the peonies fade in their glory and prepare for curtain call and their final bow, the daylilies in their own splendidly colorful petaled costumes stand in the wings ready to take center stage and continue the summer’s floral show.
I’m excited for that show too, but I so wish the peony extravaganza would last a little longer! It’s so hard to say goodbye to the peonies each year. Continue reading “Peonies: A Father’s Day Memory”
Barefoot Lily Lady 