This is a blog post I’d rather not be sharing but after almost five months journeying through AML cancer with my dad, on Good Friday evening, we said goodbye to an incredible husband, father, grandpa, pastor, friend and mentor.

Here is the tribute I shared at his Celebration of Life.

In his late 20's his strong arms threw Michelle and me up in the air whenever he returned from duty. Then I'd pull off his socks and tickle his feet as he read the newspaper.

Our daddy, under the police officer uniform.

In his 30's he drove us to and from activities and church events, and drove my mom to the hospital to deliver Jason, Marc, Cherisse and, finally, baby number 6, Krista. We'd volunteer to join him on errands, as we knew we’d also get a treat.

Our daddy, under the businessman suit.

We had a beautiful childhood on an acreage Dad and Mom designed from the ground up, but none of that would have counted if we lost our souls in the process.

They embedded scripture into our hearts and empowered us to own our faith at young ages.

One spring I answered phones for my dad's business, so I could go on a three week missions trip, and he'd laugh whenever he'd recall how someone argued, "well your receptionist told me this."

Little did they know his receptionist was his 12-year-old, homeschooled, daughter!

In his 40's his soft heart listened to our faith questions and teen struggles and many times I experienced the Holy Spirit's touch as he prayed for me.

Our daddy, under that pastor title.

He always said, anywhere and anytime he'd be there.

Whether picking me up in junior high after leaving a movie that made me uncomfortable, or dropping off dinner at our part time jobs, he showed up and right on German time. He'd pick me up from my late night university classes one term, so I didn't have to bus home and he'd rescue us girls (and boys) from car troubles or anything we needed.

I worked part time as his admin assistant at the church for a few years during university and Dad always wanted to hear how I was doing before we got to our tasks.

In his 50's he married Benj and I (and many others) and was usually the first to hold our babies, as he took his role on the birth team very seriously, bringing Swiss Chalet or Egg Mcmuffins right after each home birth.

Our daddy, now a grandpa.

Dad and I both took pride in being punctual and shared the same delight in seeing things happen as planned. We also shared the same love language—words of affirmation.

Just two weeks ago I shared with my dad something I've been considering, and he said, "you could do a great many things, Char." So many of us are going to miss his regular votes of confidence.

It didn't matter what you'd done or who you'd done it with, he wanted to see all people grow into their potential.

I respect the way he pivoted and obeyed God's leading with career changes that deeply impacted each of our lives and came with a cost.

In his 60's he continued to serve our family and was always the dishwasher loader at our many big family events… Retirement wasn’t in his vocabulary and he was only preparing for succession of his lead pastor role out of wise leadership. He loved what he did and he loved his team and congregation. He excelled through COVID to keep unity while advancing the church in many ways.

Through cancer treatments, surgery and uncertainty, Dad continued to say, “I am trusting God.”

Even in those final days and hours in palliative care, he was at peace.

He wasn’t receiving profound revelations, he was simply staying the course on his faith journey with Jesus.

On the Wednesday night before he passed Benj brought his guitar into the hospital room and we sang the songs we were preparing for our Good Friday service and when we finished Dad prayed to close our time, in a familiar pastoral way.

I said to him on Good Friday afternoon, thinking I would come back the next day with another grandkid to visit, “I'll see you again Dad.”

And we all can't wait for that day.

Our daddy, healed and in heaven.

Dad, I wanted so many more summers around the campfire, gleaning from your wisdom and enjoying your laughter.
I wanted to see you walk my sisters down the aisle, and hold their babies.

Benj will miss his conversations with you about church and business.
Annelise will miss you at all our family celebrations.
Ethan will miss your big smile whenever he goes to your house.
Faith will miss going for bike rides with you.
Julia will miss sitting on your lap.
Gavin will miss camping with you and you telling him "you're quite the guy."
Hudson may not remember you in a few years but right now he says "Grandpa's with little D in heaven."

For many of you my dad was there in your darkest hours of disease, divorce or death of a loved one. And he was also there for your wedding, baby dedication or baptism–a shepherd of souls.

It was exactly five months ago today that my dad was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia and this has been a heartbreaking season for our family and many of you who journeyed closely with us.

But there was beauty in the struggle:

The way my mom put one foot in front of the other to be there for my dad even as she recovered from her cancer treatments and awaits hip surgery. Dad reminded us many times to take care of his “little peaches”–and we will!

The way our incredible communities surrounded us with fervent prayer and practical comforts to remind us why we were made to do life with others.

The way God has met me, and I am sure many of you, in our questions, anger, fears and sadness to grow deeper trust, love, hope and empathy.

Dad preached of heaven with deep emotion. He longed and loved seeing souls saved and it would be our honour to tell you about Jesus–please just come ask.

Dad was a bit uncomfortable about the celebration of his years of ministry that was originally planned for this morning, and now he's laying down his crowns and giving all the glory to God in heaven.

So Daddy, our jolly good fellow, friend and mentor: you showed us we can do hard things and stay faithful.

I'm committed, along with many others, to carrying on your legacy of faith, through all of life's challenges, until that day, when we will jump up and down together with you, like we did as kids, and sing: "this is the day that the Lord has made…I will rejoice and be glad in it."