Onward, Christian Soldier

You fought the good fight, you finished the race, you kept the faith.

Marvin Carl Brandt was born in 1927 to second-generation German immigrants. It was an era when large families—he was the second of 11 children—were not uncommon. The six boys helped their dad on the farm while five girls helped mom keep the house and tend to the chickens.

Marv drove a semi tractor-trailer for a living. Turning the large steering wheel on that rig for 30 years left him with Popeye-like forearms.

He worked hard. It was not unusual for him to come home after dinner, sleep a few hours and then get a call in the middle of the night to “come and get another load.” The telephone would ring and ring and ring—this was before cordless phones and answering machines—until Marv would awaken and walk slowly from the bedroom to the kitchen to answer it.

He always said the same thing: “I’ll be right there.”

My dad was always “right there.” He provided for a large family on a not-so-large income. He looked out for neighbors. He led the church Sunday school and the Cub Scouts. Prior to meeting my mom, he traveled the country as a mission builder, helping erect new churches. As an 18-year-old in the U.S. Army, he was days away from being deployed to the Pacific theater when the Japanese surrendered in August of 1945. He was among the thousands of U.S. troops who were later sent to Japan to help stabilize the country.

You could always count on Marvin Brandt.

He grew up during the Great Depression, and like millions of other Americans from his generation was indelibly marked by that experience. He was frugal; he saved his money and rarely sprang for luxuries.

Except at Christmas, when he couldn’t resist splurging. When I was about 10 years old, I was thumbing through the JC Penney Christmas catalogue. I spotted an electric race car set. It was 30 dollars, an exorbitant amount for middle-income parents in the 1970s. Especially parents of six children. I was convinced there was no way it could ever be mine; nonetheless, I launched a campaign for that race car set.

On Christmas Day, it was under the tree.

My father had an intellect that far surpassed his 10th-grade education; he loved a good crossword puzzle and was a whiz at math. As others were punching keys on a calculator, my dad had most of the time already worked out the answer in his head.

He was a graceful dancer; he and my mom would turn heads as they waltzed around the dance floor.

He loved to laugh, particularly at Archie and Edith Bunker.

After retiring from trucking, my dad took a job at Campbell’s Soup Company. He was assigned to work the yard, where farmers would send load after load of tomatoes for Campbell’s famous soup. Knowing my dad had a trucking background and seeing that he possessed a disarming, quick wit, the company put him in charge of scheduling deliveries.

One particular day, there was a bottle-neck of trucks. Long delays caused frayed nerves. My dad was stationed at his usual post, a small building in the middle of the yard, when he got a call from an irate trucker.

“I’m coming back to run your shack over!” he screamed.

“Okay, give me a minute to get out first,” my dad retorted.

They both laughed. The situation was defused and the two were pals after that.

My dad was by nature, curious and bold, which often led to mild trouble. If there was a Do Not Trespass sign posted, my dad figured there must be something beyond it worth seeing. Take for instance, the time he nearly caused the lockdown of a military base by boarding a nuclear submarine without authorization. The U.S. Navy was incredulous, which made no sense to my dad. After all, what’s wrong with just looking around?

My dad was proud of attaining his G.E.D. and was one of the commencement speakers at his graduation. Most men in their fifties would be too proud to admit they never finished high school. Not my dad. He insisted on wearing a cap and gown.

So many memories…

Marvin Brandt passed from this earth on Sunday, September 28, 2014 at age 87.

Today is his funeral. I will be with my mom, sister and brothers and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. At 11 a.m. the service will begin. We will hold his hand one last time and then lay him to rest.

Today, my family and I will cry; we will laugh some, but mostly cry.

Mercifully, in time our tears will dry and our grief will fade. What will remain are cherished memories.

As we say goodbye to my dad, I am grieved. But, I am also filled with hope.

I am filled with hope because I know that I will see him again.

I can say that with confidence because I know that my salvation is secure and I am convinced that his is, also.

My dad is walking streets of gold. He is finally free of a cruel disease that stole his mind but left his body untouched. He has met Jesus and the thought of that brings me to tears.

By now, he has also reunited with his siblings, met his mother-in-law for the first time and hugged his infant son.

I have written this in memory of my father and what he did for us. But, more than anything I want this message to be about the Father and what he did for all of us. Everything in life—this life and the next—points back to our God.

Frankly, I am struggling to pick a Scripture that best underscores the point of this writing; there are so many that are appropriate. What keeps rising in my spirit at this moment is…love.

So, I will pick a verse about love. And, to me there is no better Scripture about love than John 3:16:

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.

Because of God’s great love for us, he sent Jesus. Because of his love for us, he sentenced his only son to death so that you and I might live. Because of his great love for us, you and I have hope. Because of his great love for us, I get to see my dad again.

Father, I love you. I miss you. But, I know we’ll spend eternity together.

Onward, Christian soldier. You fought the good fight, you finished the race, you kept the faith.

Goodbye…for now.