“Do you know how the horse eats corn?” This is a game my dad loved to play with his three girls. We were not very fond of the grasp of his larger-than-life hand on our little knotty knees as he would tickle us. There were times I wanted that horse to go back to its stable. Today, I would lay my leg across his lap and ask him if the horse was hungry.
My dad busted heaven open nearly six years ago. I miss his tears anytime he mentioned his relationship with Jesus and his big, whole body laugh when something struck him as funny. He was a man full of joy and faith. But that wasn’t always the case.
Brother Andy, as he was later referred to, was always considered a “good man.” He was honest, kind, generous, fiercely loyal, and loved his people well. Everyone knew they could depend on him and that he would always do the “right thing.” However, hidden from the view of the world was a man battling with issues no one ever saw and some still can’t believe. A self-proclaimed alcoholic, he would talk about sitting on the floor of our home with two bottles, one liquor, the other Tab (does anyone even remember what that is?), taking a swallow of one at the time.
I was five years old when my dad accepted Jesus into his life and as a result, I have little memory of him as anything other than a man of God. And y’all, when I say he was a man of God I mean HE was a MAN of GOD! From the instant of his salvation to the instant of his death, he had the name of Jesus on his lips. My sisters and I have been incredibly blessed with such an example of our heavenly Father.
A few years after he gave his life to the Lord my dad began visiting prisons and jails to share the gospel. He had a running joke that he always had a captive audience. Over thirty years he preached in prisons and jails throughout Georgia and North Florida. Eventually, he began a program that housed former inmates that had been paroled as they prepared educationally, economically, and spiritually. Others would have called it a half-way house but not my dad. He said God never does anything halfway. What a true believer we are talking about here!
Years before this vision of his became a reality he had to raise THREE teenage girls! Phew, can you just imagine the hormones screaming in that house with four female inhabitants? Did I mention patience in his attributes? If not, I should have. Having now raised two teenagers myself I can better appreciate what life would have been like for my parents during those years.
Preachers and preachers’ kids can sometimes fall into a stereotype that is not very flattering or accurate. We are not all wild, disrespectful, and entitled. Agreed this can happen, but it is not the norm and most assuredly not my experience. Granted, we were not your typical preacher’s kids. Our dad didn’t pastor a church – he preached in prisons. He didn’t get a salary, he had a full time job (until an accident rendered him disabled). Our lives were fairly normal, we just had a dad that went to prison about three times a week. That was a fun one to tell our dates, “My dad isn’t here right now, he is in jail.” That one kept those boys on their toes.
I have heard and also said that my kids would do what I said as long as they lived in my house. It is interesting to me as I sit remembering this – my dad never said it. He was an example of God’s love; he didn’t need to make demands. He led our family in a quiet, gentle manner that screamed Jesus louder than his voice ever could have. He encouraged us without bashing his Bible over our heads. He fed us bread from the Word without cramming it down our throats. He was the person we most wanted to emulate. The primary person we did not want to let down or disappoint.
Ministry was never an option for him; it was his life. Every second was spent fulfilling the purpose God created him for. Jeremiah 1:5 says, “I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born, I set you apart and appointed you as my prophet to the nations.” Brother Andy, my dad, believed and lived this every day. And instilled it in his girls.
As I sit, computer propped on outstretched legs, awaiting a flight that will take me on a ministry trip, I feel more connected to my dad than I have in a while. This is my first ministry trip since his death, and I know he would be reminding me, as he always did, that I am a chosen mouthpiece for Jesus.
I am not only a product of my father but a product of The Father. I was taught about ministry from my father, but I was led into ministry through my relationship with The Father.
I would not have known the sacrifice or the joy of ministry without the influence of my parents, especially my dad. My sisters and I learned how to show the love of God through his kind and generous heart. We learned how to share the love of God through his quiet and gentle spirit. And we learned how walk in the love of God through his devotion and obedience.
As I parented my own children, I tried very hard to adopt this show, share, walk mentality. I was not always successful. Life threw curves. We faced challenges that our parents never imagined, and today’s parents face even bigger ones than we did. But with each generational change and challenge, this method of parenting will straighten all the curves.
I recently saw a cap that read “Made for More.” My Daddy lived this for everyone to see. But more importantly he lived it for his children to see. He kept the world with its issues and battles outside of our walls because he loved God and followed Him relentlessly. What more could a father do?
Written by: Betty Ann NeSmith. Betty Ann lives in Boston, GA with her husband, Payton.
