Dale Riddle – A Birthday Tribute: The Power of a Picnic and a Portrait of Fearless Faith

My Dad is on the cusp of his 75^th birthday.  He has always believed he would die young.  He’s had this “imminent death” expectation for as long as I can remember, which was a little mystifying as a kid, but now that I am an adult, I can appreciate it.  My Dad has always talked openly about death and has always lived like he might not see tomorrow.

Most of the world is frightened of death and works very hard to avoid it, so looking back, I’m grateful that my Dad lived every day like it was a gift.

But then, Dad has always had this knack for tackling things head-on that everyone else seems to avoid.

He didn’t have a death wish.  It felt more like a life wish. 

The man has REALLY lived.  

And because he is my Dad, I feel like I have really lived too.

I could tell you SO many entertaining stories about my Dad.  His grandchildren are riveted by his tales of growing up on the farm.  He can make any story come to life!  It’s one of the gifts that served him well as a preacher.  I still remember his sermons in vivid detail because of his stories and illustrations.

He went from the grueling life of rural farming to the glamorous life in a rock n’ roll band (lead singer and keyboard, eight years) before deciding that he and my Mom were going to college and seminary so they could do full time ministry (and he did lots of fascinating odd jobs during that time – sometimes it seems that he has lived 10 lives instead of one!).

But to me, his craziest endeavor was becoming a vocational evangelist.  That’s when his stories become my stories because we lived many of them together.

It feels impossible for me to pick just a few stories to capture who he is to me.  Life with someone like my Dad is a string of nonstop stories because he is the kind of person who makes life memorable.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “He doesn’t act like a preacher” or “I never would have guessed your Dad is a preacher” and I take that as a compliment.  Dad never fit any mold and he was/is unrestrained by societal norms and expectations.  I was well into adulthood before I realized what a gift it was to be raised by someone that free.

And I have to add here that both my parents are gifts, but for different reasons.    Dad had big dreams and didn’t accept obstacles, but I’m convinced he would not have made it without the steady, grounding, subtle presence (and talent!) of my Mom to keep him tethered to earth, paying attention to the practical things, the little things that allowed him to do the big things. Her caring, joyous nature, humility and big smile were perfect complements to my Dad’s big, brash personality.  They were a great team.

 

With my Dad’s birthday around the corner, I’ve been revisiting stories and trying to decide how best to “ sum up” my memories of him, and the word that surfaces time and again as I look back: fearless. 

Dad was a bit of a dragon slayer to me – nothing seemed to scare him.  As a kid, it was comforting to have a Dad who was fearless because it made me feel fearless too.

In our travel days, my Dad was a large, bearded man with a big voice and larger-than-life presence, who had lived anything but a mild-mannered life before going into the ministry.  He was jovial and charming most the time, but could be a bit intimidating, if you didn’t know him well (which, by the way, always got him pulled out of the line and searched at airport security – ha!).  Dad was a preacher, but he could kick your ass.  He didn’t go around looking for a fight, but if he ever found himself in a confrontation, he could handle it.  Thankfully, I only saw this a few times in strange circumstances, always stepping in as a protector, and no one was dumb enough to call his bluff.  But seeing him in those moments, unflinching and resolute, gave me a glimpse of who he was before he became a Christian.  He told me that if he hadn’t been transformed by the love of God, he probably would have ended up getting killed in some sort of confrontation.

But beyond physical courage, what I remember most is his fearless faith.  If he believed something was right, he was not going to back down, no matter the consequences.

He pushed limits, invited the unexpected, loved to laugh and have fun, was not afraid to rock the boat, and never tried to protect his “image.”  (Oh how I wish I had time to tell you stories of how I saw these things unfold!).  Most Christians I grew up with were obsessed with properly representing God and setting a good example.  Dad never tried to pretend to be something he was not – he knew he was flawed and I think people were drawn to that honesty.  Sometimes he was honest to the point of making me cringe (I still have moments of “Oh my Lord, did he really say that?”).

  

Dad was always willing to address the elephant in room.  We visited hundreds of churches through the years, each with their own history, personality and baggage.  We sometimes ran into odd situations, like the “pee church” (sorry, this is how I remember it).  This was a quirky little rural church with constant distraction during the worship service as (what seemed like) the entire church would get up at random times during the service and walk up to the front right corner of the auditorium to exit and go to the bathroom.  After a couple of services, Dad realized this was an ongoing problem, so he announced, “Before I preach tonight, I need to address something.  It appears that this church has a bladder problem. (thankfully, lots of laughter ensued – my Dad had a way of being direct and funny which was a gift!), so I’m going to do something I’ve never done, and before I preach, we are going to take a 10 minute bathroom break.”  For the next 10 minutes, the entire congregation got up, did their business, and then, miraculously, sat through the rest of the service.  He incorporated the bathroom break into all the subsequent services and It solved the problem.

My Dad was brilliant that way.  He never ignored things – always addressed them and tried to do it with compassion and humor as often as possible.  There were lots of pastors who were grateful to my Dad for saying things to their congregations (and sometimes specific congregants) that they were too afraid to say (of course, some pastors were also mortified – ha!).  Dad often said that he felt like a big part of his ministry was to encourage pastors and their families –  being a pastor is a tough, thankless job.  Dad was only there for a week, so he could say things and get away with it.  As he often told congregations, “I don’t care if you don’t like me; I’m leavin’ anyway.”

Dad was teachable, which I think is part of his fearlessness.  It takes bravery to remain teachable because that means you have to admit you don’t have it all figured out.  It takes confidence to tell your kids things like, “This is what I believe, but you need to read the Bible for yourself and decide what you believe.”

Now, let me be clear, even though he was teachable, he wasn’t going to let anyone TELL him what to believe. If you were going to try to tell him what to believe, you better be ready to defend it, because he was going to put you to the test (he loves a good argument and will play the devil’s advocate just to make you squirm).  If you are also teachable, he can be pretty patient, but if you are a pretentious know-it-all, he will chew you up and spit you out and not feel the slightest bit bad about it.

He says his natural skepticism and his passion for the truth made him a lifelong learner.  But for someone as headstrong as my Dad, being a skeptic was probably a gift because it helped him remain teachable.  Rigid certainty cannot take root, if you are always willing to ask questions. (I wrote about a specific experience with his evolving faith in  The Blessing of Uncertainty)

I’ve gone on too long, so I’ll wrap this up with one of my favorite memories.  Late one night, about 4 am, while driving overnight from Missouri to North Carolina, our van broke down. Morgan and I woke up and, in our groggy state, started to understand what was happening.  Mom asked Dad what we were going to do, and Dad said, “Let’s have a picnic.”  So we did just that.  We got out the food, sat in the van and ate while my Dad contemplated the situation.  He happened to remember a preacher who lived nearby and, after going through the phone book at a pay phone and waking up a few wrong numbers (with the same name), he finally reached help.  The preacher was kind enough to bring us his station wagon, and we made it to the next revival on time.  The van was fixed during the week, and the following weekend, my Dad met the good Samaritan pastor halfway, in Kentucky, to switch vehicles.

That’s not the most colorful or exciting story I could tell about my Dad, but I love that story because of my Dad’s reaction:  “Let’s have a picnic.”

He never got rattled at the unexpected.  When he got worked up, it was usually because he was frustrated, but I never saw him wring his hands in angst.   In the stresses of life, he was a cool customer.  He used to preach a sermon where he asserted that worry is a sin because it means that we don’t trust God.  There’s practical concern (when things don’t add up and there’s reason to act) and there’s worry (dwelling on things you can’t control or worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet).

He used to say he didn’t worry about anything, and, believe me, I watched closely through the years to see if there was a hint of hypocrisy.  There wasn’t.

I don’t know if it was his faith, or his fearless personality, blissful ignorance, or some combination of the three, but he really didn’t worry.  He’s the only person I have ever known who lived like that, and I’m thankful for his example.  In a frantic and anxiety-ridden world, at least I know that it is possible to live differently.

When I was a kid, I didn’t think much of it – that was just my Dad.  But now, as an adult and a parent, I see things through a different lens.  Not only did he choose a career that seemed crazy by societal standards, he was never bothered by the opinions of others, and he was joyful in the midst of it.

Among “serious” pastors, he was playful.

Among the heaviness of the world, he was joyful.

Among the anxious, he was peaceful.

Among the insecure, he was confident.

Among the distractions and minutiae of the religious world, he was laser focused on the Gospel and the good news for all.

Among the cookie cutter masses, he was unique.

Among those grasping for power and money, he was content.

Among the hidden agendas and hypocrisy, he was unapologetically authentic.

Among those pontificating about what they believed, my Dad was living it.  In his words, “If Jesus is real and the Gospel is true, then I have to spend my life sharing it.”

Happy 75^th birthday, Dad!

Thank you for making life a fun adventure.  Thank you for challenging us, making us laugh, showing us the way to freedom and joy, and for being flagrantly imperfect.

And most of all, thank you for your fearless faith.  I know that faith was a gift from God, but instead of denying or rejecting that gift (as many of us do), you said, “Bring It on.”  You took God at His word and He took you at yours.  I’m forever grateful.