My Dad, the Farmer

My dad was Irish. He had a temper. He drank. So did his father.  Dad dropped out of school after fourth grade to support his parents. In his late twenties.he charmed the farm girl, my mother and married her.  Her dad died; her mother was left alone.  My dad took over the farm. He didn't know how to farm but he figured it out. He taught himself math, and clerked cattle auctions on Saturdays.  His name was Garnett. My mother's was Zema.

From sunrise to sunset my dad drove his four-horse team between the furrows of his corn and wheat fields. Every spring he planted seeds in hard gumbo and hoped too much rain wouldn't wash them out or too little rain wouldn't cook them. He sold some steers and bought a tractor. One day a man came walking toward him down the corn row. "Mr. Flynn, I understand you're the only farmer in this community who refuses to take a government subsidy for not planting wheat."  Dad slowly climbed down off his tractor, walked toward the fellow and yelled in his face:   "You college educated jackass! Get off my land and don't you ever set foot on it again!"  That night at suppertime, and until I left home at seventeen I was taught how to recognize the lies about the benefits of socialism. Dad had never read the Bible, but he knew that if a governmen paid people for doing nothing, it would be just a matter of time before the country was finished. My dad had common sense. .

At seventy, my parents were crippled and dying from brutal farm work.  Ted and I brought them to Palo Alto, California. where we were in ministry with Ray Stedman. Fabulous man, that Ray Stedman. Fabulous church. Fabulous people. Some were rich. Some were not. It didn't matter. They loved the Lord, each other and my parents. Wil Johnson, retired farmer from Illinois was one of those people. Wil and Dad went into business together.  Wil had the money; Dad had the know-how to handle it.  Dad had a keen sense of character.  He didn't trust many people, but he trusted Wil Johnson. He called him a "straight shooter".

Dad got sick with pneumonia and nearly died. My Ted and Ray Stedman went to see him in the hospital. When  Dad wasn't blowing his Irish top he was a man who reasoned. He had concluded that Somebody had organized the cycles of plant and animal life. He just didn't know His Name. Ray and Ted dropped in the final Piece of the Puzzle: Jesus, Maker of Heaven and Earth. Dad asked Him in. Mother wasn't far behind. Both were seventy-five years old. Dad quit drinking, smoking and cussing. Nobody told him to. He just figured it was the right thing to do. They both lived many more years. Maybe next week I will continue the Saga of Garnett and Zema Flynn. Maybe.

In the year, 1787 as Ben Franklin left the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia on the last day of the sequestered meetings  a woman named Mrs. Powel approached him. "Well, Doctor, what do we have?   A monarchy or a Republic?. "He answered: "A Republic, if you can keep it.!"

Requested Song of Judy S. in Burton, Texas: "In His Time".

In His Time, In His Time
He makes all things beautiful in His Time
Lord, please show me every day
As You're teaching me Your way
That You do just what You say
In Your time.

In Your time; In Your time
You make all things beautiful
In Your time
Lord, my life to You I bring
May each song I have to sing
Be to You a lovely thing
In Your time.

What song do you want me to print?

Love, Jo