During our Christmas visit with my parents in Florida, we had a very cordial, even warm time, this coming after seven years of a strained relationship since my spiritual conversion. The year was 1979. After much prayer and God’s supplying the airfare, we arrived in Florida—but not without some difficulty. We had made the flight reservation about two months earlier, but the airline failed to notify us that the flight destination had changed from Orlando to Tampa, a hundred miles away.

The destination printed on our ticket was Orlando, and the flight number on our ticket matched the flight number of the plane we boarded for Florida. Upon our surprised arrival at the wrong airport, I was concerned that Dad would see me as irresponsible for not paying closer attention to the destination listed at the loading gate, which I assumed was just a layover (but which was now the terminal point of the flight). They were waiting for us at the Orlando airport, but we were stranded in Tampa. A bus ride or car rental would not solve the problem of what Dad was probably thinking about me right then!

The only thing to do now was to have the airport agent call ahead to Orlando and page my parents (well before cell phones); we were soon talking on the phone. Dad told us to stay put and that they would drive to pick us up. In the end, rather than chastising me for not being more careful, he related similar kinds of mishaps in his extensive traveling for his job. It became a shared experience that seemed to help warm things up between us in the car.

I learned years later from my sister, Beth, that Dad had gone to a priest to ask his advice on how to respond to his “wayward” son who left the Catholic church. The priest wisely told him that he needed to try restoring the relationship if he didn’t want to lose his son (that’s me). God was at work in many ways in turning things around with my dad.

On this visit, Dad happened to mention that he was asked to be a reader at Mass, and the previous Sunday’s reading was a passage from the book of Isaiah about God hating Israel’s sacrifices. He didn’t understand why God could say that since He commanded Israel to make those sacrifices. I tried to explain to him that God hated their hypocrisy in making those sacrifices but only going through the motions (a term my basketball coach would yell at us when our heart wasn’t into our practice scrimmages). Well, Dad changed the subject, end of discussion. But, to his credit, he tried. To my discredit, I, as a first-year seminary student at Dallas Theological Seminary, may have come on too strong. But it was a start, meager though it was.

The following year, we invited my parents to visit us in Dallas, and they came, to our surprise. In showing them around Dallas, we “happened” to drive by the seminary on our trip somewhere. At that time, the school occupied the entire city block, including both older, classical buildings and newer, modern structures—the school was growing every year. Without telling my parents what they were looking at, we drove around the block, to my mother’s admiring comment about how nice those buildings looked. And then they saw the school sign, “Preach the Word,” and the seminary’s name.

Mother immediately looked the other way—but my dad continued looking on. I might mention that he always held high regard for education, especially an advanced degree. He had earned a master’s in public administration, my older brother had a master’s in public health, and now I causally mentioned I was working on a master’s degree in theology. He made no comment; we changed the subject and drove on without further discussing my training or spiritual things.

Fast forward to May 1983 and the commencement ceremonies that spanned an entire week. My master’s thesis was completed, and classes were in their final week before the grand celebration. The school makes a big deal about commencement activities, knowing that many students have parents who are either not believers or are not sympathetic to the career path their sons have chosen. (Mind you, by this time, I was thirty-two years old, the average age of the seminarians in our class of about four hundred students.) The seminary planned this as a time to include parents in the celebration. And DTS was pulling out all the stops!

Mary and I had taken the plunge and invited Dad and Mom, thinking they would probably decline to attend, as they did with our marriage seven years earlier. To our surprise, they accepted our invitation. Dad joined me on the last day of class, the instructor none other than the legendary Howard Henricks, affectionately known as “Prof.” Dad had become interested when I told him of Prof’s involvement in advanced training at the Harvard School of Management along with some military brass. Although my dad was a civilian, he had a civil service ranking that gave him the privileges of a one-star general. He was always quite proud of both his military service during the war and his service as an executive administrator for the army. So Dad’s interest was piqued by the prospect of hearing Prof.

I was not disappointed. Prof knew there were fathers in class that day, and he regaled us with military anecdotes and his testimony of how God took him from being a wild, rebellious kid to a follower of God through a school teacher who showed him unconditional love. Dad was hooked. The seminary was not a backwoods, uneducated, mind-controlling cult with wacko instructors, after all!

Then came the commencement dinner, held at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Dallas. At first, I was worried that it would look too extravagant. As we entered the ballroom, Mom was overwhelmed, looking around, going, “Oh my, oh my.” There were a couple thousand guests, all dressed up in semi-formal attire (like many other students, I bought a new suit, which became my “marrying and burying” outfit for many years after). Professional musicians were playing, top-drawer cuisine was served, and various presentations were made, all done with above-and-beyond excellence. The presenters were top-quality communicators, all talking about God and our purpose in life, including the gospel message. It was an experience I don’t think I have ever had since then. And my parents thoroughly enjoyed it!

Finally came the commencement service the next day. Unlike many college graduation ceremonies today that often are more of a joke than a serious event, DTS’s event was scholarly, respectful, and joyful. After four years of full-time study, the ceremony was a great time of inspiration to go out into the world and “Preach the Word,” as the seminary’s motto constantly reminded us students.

And then came the featured speaker, E.V. Hill, a pastor of a large inner city church in Los Angeles! He held nothing back and the occasion found him in classic form. Any semblance of being a somber, staid ceremony was entirely dispelled when E.V. began to speak. After properly acknowledging dignitaries, scholars, the seminary board, supporters, etc., etc., he revved up, and had us all laughing while simultaneously pressing the need for God’s truth to be preached to a lost world. At one point, I turned in my seat among the graduates and saw one row back in the next section of the auditorium, my wife and our two children, sitting alongside my dad and mom. Dad was laughing so hard, his face had turned red, and he looked like a blood vessel in his neck would burst. He was thoroughly enjoying the speaker!

When it was all over, and we were dismissed to find our loved ones and friends and to introduce them to our favorite faculty members, Dad came walking up quickly with his hand outstretched and a smile on his face. “Congratulations, son.” And then he informed Mary and me that he and Mom were giving us a two-week vacation at Silver Rapids Lodge near Ely, Minnesota, as a graduation gift! They would stay in their trailer there, and we would take one of the cabins. This was the same man who had told me eleven years earlier never to talk to him about God again!

Yet, despite all this, however, we still couldn’t talk about spiritual things between us, things that really mattered. (To be continued)