I Choose Joy

When you don’t know where to begin or how to wrap up the abundant and far-reaching life of a quiet giant, I guess you just start at the beginning.

For some reason I just assumed my beginning was an oopsie considering nearly 8 years had gone by after Stevie came along. But my dad rest assured me that I was planned and that I wasn’t just the one who got into the toys or blew up the family rules of basketball.

My dad was always assuring and reassuring me. Encouragement was in his blood and at the core of his character. It was second nature, and he would always go the second mile to make sure I not only knew this with words but felt it deeply on top of the verbal applause or a timely written letter.

Those letters and post it notes from my dad were oxygen to a young boy though. Especially when the 5 of us turned into 3 by the time I was 11. Dad knew precisely when to pull out the Jim Whitmer Photography letterhead and his signature black felt pen to give me the fuel I needed to take the next step through adolescence. He used this pen to commemorate youth athletic achievements, embolden me in front of big performances, or simply tell me he was proud of me.

Dad’s favorite story of verbalizing his pride was during one of my high school basketball games. In a defensive effort to take a charge, I got pummeled and hit the hardwood with a thud. Of course the ref got the call wrong and called a foul on me, to which my dad immediately rose to his feet and screamed at the top of his lungs “THAT’S MY SON!!” Refs probably don’t hear that one very often, nor was it typical for my dad to get so worked up. But it spoke volumes about how Dad relentlessly stood by me through every charge of my life.

He was so proud of all 3 of his boys, the women beside us who turned us into men, and his 9 grandkids. He would bring a smile to give us a smile, and bring joy to give us joy.

The phrase “I choose joy” became a special one for Courtney and me with Bubba. Using original artwork from a lifelong friend who also went through the cancer gauntlet, he created a bookmark that says “Today I choose joy.” The joy that poured out from my dad was overwhelming, even in these last few months when we was able to reflect on so much good in his life in the midst of persistent stress.

But the greatest part of my entire childhood was that my dad was fully present. Both literally and figuratively. He chose to work from home long ago, well before I was even born. Our house was actually designed to include the studio and darkroom, which I figured was just as normal as anyone’s living room. It was not normal, particularly 40 years ago. It was special. And the best gift my dad ever gave me.

Now that I’m a father currently working from home, I’m simply amazed at the patience and grace Dad gave us while we barged into the darkroom or hijacked a photo shoot at the wrong time. There was no wrong time with Dad, and there was no such word as interruption. He both expected and welcomed every knock that would set aside his focus so he could step into whatever we were focused on. Even 30 years later, he would drop everything on his plate and jump in to help when called upon. And we always called upon Bubba since he was both willing and able to step in the gap. This is the textbook model of a servant’s heart. When Jesus talks about loving one another to the point of offering your cloak, I see my dad.

While most of us would quickly recognize the Barnabas encourager in our lives or the servant leader behind the scenes (typically with a camera in hand), I actually think the best word to describe my dad is STEADFAST. This word is covered through the pages of scripture, particularly in Psalms in context to our unchanging and eternally faithful Father.

My father was blessed with a mantle of steadfastness that was both hardwired and experienced. Dad once memorized the entire book of James, and I’m convinced his unwavering faith indeed produced such profound steadfastness prescribed by James that spilled over into all of us. Which to me has shown its full effect, perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. This is what I saw from my dad as he relentless battled through his cancer all the way to the end.

Following my own cancer journey, Dad would repeatedly like to acknowledge our shared experiences with so many doctors, needles, treatments, and side effects. “You know what it’s like” he would say. But it was the hope that we shared in the midst of cancer that he was really talking about. That His power is made perfect in our weakness.

Dad was always the first to send me an email after each of my cancer posts, each one better than the last in his mind. But there was one that stood above the rest to him that he kept coming back to and quoting even 2.5 years after I wrote it.

In my last Caring Bridge post immediately following my post-chemo scans, I was drawn to Romans 8 where Paul writes that “we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.” Dad deeply resonated with the Rend Collective song More than Conquerors as well as the following words from Oswald Chambers:

“The things that we try to avoid and fight against – namely tribulation, suffering, and persecution – are the very things that produce abundant joy in us. We are more than conquerors through Him in all these things; not in spite of them, but in the midst of them.”

And then I signed off with the words that echoed for my dad that also ring true for me today: “clean and conquered.” I have a sneaky suspicion those might have been the first words Dad said to Jesus on Sunday.

I lost it yesterday morning when another Rend Collective song shuffled onto my phone while writing this. I was startled when hearing the phrase “this has made us conquerors” and started uncontrollably weeping before I even realized what I was listening to or understanding the context of the lyrics.

Once I collected myself, I replayed the song “Your Royal Blood” to fully capture what I figured was one of those God moments in the midst of my grief.

Your blood will never lose its power

Your blood will never lose

Your victory will stand forever

Your blood will never lose

This was won upon the cross

This was written on his scars

This has made us conquerors

Nothing but Your royal blood

Now by this we’ll overcome

Now by this we’ll reach our home

Now our sin and shame are gone

Nothing but Your royal blood

Now that my dad is home with Jesus, I know without a shadow of a doubt that He wants each of us to be washed with His royal blood. To be clean and conquered with conviction.

Jim Whitmer Celebration of Life Service

https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=9OdEaMIEfow