Dear Dad:
Among the treasures of bygone years there's a faded old letter you wrote to me when I was a puzzled country boy away at college. I answered it then, but tonight, across the span of years, I'd like to answer it again. A lot of water has run under the bridge since, with scratchy pen, you put down those words of counsel to help me on the straight and narrow way. You have long since gone and I know you need no letter, for you see quite clearly from heaven's grandstand what is ofttimes so foggy to us who still run the race. A letter from me can give you little information, but one from you could certainly throw light on many a subject!
But just the same, I'd like to thank you better than ever I did when you were here for what you did and what you were. I am so glad that you believed the authority in the home belonged to you and not to me. I remember that time when your little boy tried just once to talk out loud to another little boy at church and disturbed the service. You handled that well: I never talked out again! I thank you for reading the Bible at bedtime before the old fireplace and then on bended knee committing us all afresh to our Father in heaven. My knees grew tired sometimes, but you built a wall around my soul that the devil was never able to tear down. I know you never kept up with the styles, and that funny fur cap I wore off to boarding school lingers still in my recollections: but I never knew the difference then and I get a good laugh out of it now, so no harm was done. You didn't have a lot to sell in your grocery store, but you gave away a lot in helpful words and godly counsel: you cast your bread upon the waters and some of it is coming back still today.
I remember the times I heard you praying in that little store, reminding God that you had given me to Him and asking Him to remember His Word to you in which He had caused you to hope. I think you got a little shaky about me a time or two: it looked as if I were going to miss the track in spite of everything, but God didn't let you down, for He never lets anyone down. I'm preaching that old-time religion that you always hoped I'd always preach and partly because my father's prayers have followed me. As I look back over the road I've come and see how near I came to leaving it, I know that something greater than myself had a hand in it all; yes, not something but Some One, for the God of my father had an understanding with you and His eye was on me.
I've thought a lot of how you used to meet me when I came home from my preaching trips. When the train rounded that curve at the depot I could always see you standing beside the little old Ford, in that old blue suit that never was pressed again from the day you bought it. It never seems right to round that curve and not see you there. But there are other curves ahead, and when I get home for good I don't know how close to the gate of glory you can stand, but I'm sure you'll be on hand. I have wondered what you'll look like, but I'm sure I'll know you. And there'll be plenty of time to catch up on the conversation that was interrupted years ago.
You always liked to sing, though neither of us was unusually gifted that way. I am sure you're in great trim now, after all these years of practice. I am anxious to get over there and try out my brand-new voice with you on "Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Sound." From the looks of things down here, it probably won't be long till Jesus comes. I'll see you in the morning!
(From the book, THE BEST OF VANCE HAVNER, originally printed in 1969 by Fleming H. Revell Company and reprinted in 1980 by Baker Book House Company; 49-51)
