Choosing the "Write" Words #Learning from Louis L'Amour #Father's Day

Father's Day: a time to reflect, a time to remember

“Inheritance"

My father had no riches to leave my two brothers and me. Instead, he passed on something far more valuable: lessons learned from long years as a woodsman in the beautiful Cascade Mountains of western Washington. Dad’s teachings, backed up by whom and what he was, provided a solid pattern for living.

Born in North Carolina in 1899, William E. (Bill) Reece and his family later came west to the little town of Darrington. The wealth of wisdom this “gentleman logger,” whose word and handshake were better than an iron-clad contract, has helped me walk uprightly for more than eighty years.

Selflessness.

Times were hard so Dad gave up dreams of  college (and to become an architect or engineer) after his sophomore year in high school in order to help support five younger siblings.Only God knew how bitterly disappointed he must have been, yet he never complained at a lifetime of being a logger.

Self-improvement

Always one to make the best of disappointment, Dad began a lifetime quest for knowledge. He never received a high school diploma but read so voraciously that when our family played quiz games, he knew answers to the most obscure questions.

Self Worth.

After someone hurt my feelings by poking fun at me, Dad said, "A rude remark doesn't reflect on us, but the person who makes it. So when I make a foolish mistake, I laugh before anyone else can. No one can ever laugh at me. They have to laugh with me.

These two comments have served me well.

Self Restraint

One of my favorite memories of dad is the way he handled an ill-mannered woman who commented, "My, Mr. Reece, you certainly have a large nose."

I will never forget the look on her face when Dad courteously replied, "Yes, Ma'am. I kept it out of other people's business and let it grow."

Self Mastery

One crystal clear morning when I was a teenager, our family decided to hike to a sparkling mountain lake, nestled in a hollow between steeply wooded hills. The zigzag trail had so many switchbacks that the distance up the mountain felt twice as long as it really was. Dad set a slow, steady pace, warning us not to run ahead and wear ourselves out. Even so, after we had climbed for what seemed like forever, I stopped on the needle-covered path to catch my breath.

“Won’t we ever get there?” I asked.

Dad touched my shoulder. “Turn around and look down, Colleen.”

I did. Our car in the parking lot far below appeared no larger than a child’s toy. I glanced back at Dad. A faraway look crept into his eyes. Then he said,

“Never concentrate on how far you have to go. Think how far you have come.”

Courage renewed, I turned and started back up the trail. Now when I am faced with life’s challenges, Dad’s words ring in my heart and mind.

Never concentrate on how far you have to go. Think how far you have come. I have shared Dad’s counsel with many people, including a respected doctor. After a moment of silence, he quietly said, “Your father was a wise man.”

Spiritual Values

Dad adhered to the truths found in our tattered family Bible. Long before the expression “God said it. I believe it. That settles it” became popular, Dad lived it and set an example. Even under great stress, I never heard him use a crude, profane, or obscene word.
Decades later, Louis  L'Amour, beloved western and adventure author, flatly refused to include such language in his best-selling, award-winning books--although he had lived and worked among the roughest and toughest. L'Amour believed that writers who did so used shock language because they were too .lazy to create characters whose actions truly spoke louder than words.

Dad used common things to teach great truths. He helped me understand the death and Resurrection of Christ with a simple illustration.

One fall afternoon when I as a child, I watched Dad and Mom sort a heap of strange, dirt-encrusted lumps. "What are they?" I wanted to know. 

“Daffodil bulbs. We’re going to plant them.”

I stared. “Why? They are brown and ugly and dead.”

Dad shook his head. “They are not really dead. They will sleep in the ground all winter, but in spring they will come to life and be beautiful flowers.”

Dad never lied, yet I couldn’t help wondering if this time he could be wrong. Then he said,  

“The bulbs are like Jesus. He died, was buried, but lived again. So will we.”

When spring came, small green shoots pushed up through the winter-hardened ground, just as Dad had promised. They became beautiful, golden daffodils. The mystery of the Resurrection was forever solved for me.

Not perfect

Dad had his faults like anyone else. He had no patience with whiners, those who refused to take responsibility for their actions, or felt the world owed them a living. Neither did he tolerate those who set themselves up as better than others, or sought unearned fame. Honest to a fault, his self-imposed standards doomed him to disillusionment when others proved were sneaky or dishonest. He used to grin and say, "There's only one difference between George Washington and me. According to legend, George could not tell a lie. I can, but I won't!" He didn't.

Summing up.

 The man whose name means "resolute protector" was truly a wise, far-seeing man. He and Mom instilled in me an abiding faith, love for God, and coping skills that have shaped my life. He has been gone for over fifty years but his influence lives on. I am a better person because of him.

Thanks, Dad. 

 

Mom, Dad, nephew Jerry, and me. Darrington, in the 60s