Dad

Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of my father, Rev. J Dean Robinson.  I thought I would post the eulogy that I gave during his memorial service on May 2, 2014.  It is hard to believe he has been gone a year, but his memory and presence, and the impact of his life and work are still very much alive.  Miss you, Dad.

Dad

Right after Dad passed away last week I wrote that he "was an idea guy.....a dreamer who thought big and put others before him".  Since that time I have been searching for a better way to describe him and his life and work, but don't think I can.  He WAS a dreamer.  He awakened each morning and wrote out his newest ideas.  He along with me and my brother, dreamed of being able to afford each new car model as they were released each September.  He worked two jobs when we were younger in order to at least one of our dreams come true at Christmas.  He sketched new buildings and drew organizational charts and dreamed of those in greatest need, and he dreamed of bringing those of different faiths and means together in ways that had never been tried.  He dreamed big dreams for his family, and in my case introduced me to Larry Mathis and to my life's work, seeing something in me that I didn't yet see in myself.  And he dreamed of owning some land, owning a farm no matter how modest so he could pursue his lifelong love of agriculture and things that grow, a dream that he and Mom and I were able to realize twenty-four years ago this very week.

Unlike a lot of idea guys, however, my Dad was able to translate many of his dreams into reality.  Of course there were a few dry holes along the way, but whether it be the United Board of missions in Port Arthur, Texas, or the CCSC or Amazing Grace or the Main streamers here in Houston, his big bold ideas bore big bold results.  And if he had to drive the bus, run the organization, fine the donor to fund it all, or get his hands dirty, he was up for the job.

He was selfless, tireless, fearless and determined.

It is so hard to summarize a man's life and work in such a short time, but there are three more things I must mention.  One is Dad's love of music and his beautiful and bold bass voice.  No one could sing the Lord's prayer or "How Great Though Art" like Dad, and music was a part of our lives in every way. Every holiday, Sunday, car trip and MYF function were filled with song, and every family get together ususally ended in song and dominoes [42].

Another I must mention is not only my father's love of family but his absolute dedication to us as well.  He was committed to his parents, sibling, cousins, and especially his wife, sons and grandchildren. When his father died, he lovingly helped his mother as she had helped him when he was gravely ill as a boy. He loved my Mom's brother, who struggled so with addiction, as if he was his own brother and provided support and guidance to many of his nieces, nephews and cousins whenever they needed him.   What he didn't have in material resources he made up through his love, support and belief in us all, and I think each one of our family members here today could give you at least one specific example of where Dad had signifcant impact on our lives.

I mentioned the farm earlier but after family and his service to church and community, it was clearly the thing he loved the most.  There was something deeply rooted in Dad that was tied to the land, of owning something of his own where he could escape, relax and enjoy what we called "porch therapy".  Together we started a modest cattle operation that Dad managed when he retired.  We grew hay and fished for bass and catfish in our pond.  We fixed up the little camp house and hosted Thanksgiving, family gatherings, bluebonnet sightings and created so many memories for so many.  We worked tirelessly to clear the land and built a new workshop, and Dad and Uncle Babe would sneak up on weekdays just to make sure the farm was still there.  It always was of course, but really I think he was just making sure that he had actually realized his dream that had seemed impossible for so long, with the little red house and beautiful oak tree on the hill that was all his.

On Easter Sunday, when it was clear that Dad was in his last days, I said goodbye to him before going back to Philadelphia.  I told him he was a wonderful father and thanked him for all of the things he had done for me throughout his life. I didnt elaborate more as I wept over him as he did not respond.  I kissed him, touched his face and approached the door and he said weakly "I love you".  Und unlike when I was a younger man, I let him have the last word.