True Love Waits

My grandfather Laurence Withington and grandmother Esther Bobier married each other on Valentine’s Day. The story of how they got together is one I have heard so many times from my grandmother that I could probably type it out, but am afraid that I would leave out a crucial detail that would make it seem like I wasn’t paying attention during story time. It is quite a story, second only to the story of how my parents got together, which I have also heard MANY times. But when I think of Valentine’s Day, I think of my grandparent’s anniversary. I think about my grandfather. He died of cancer in April of 2004 at the age of 80. His life was significant to our family in so many ways that I cannot even begin to count them. Great Grandma White was the first person from the Withington side of my family to become a Christian. Her son Laurence went into the U.S. Air Force as a chaplain and served for a full 25 years. After he retired he taught chemistry for awhile at Covenant College, was a chemist at a soft drink factory, pastored a church, and was a ruling elder in my father’s church (that’s the short list). Like every other person that the Lord connects me with, by blood or otherwise, his role in my life was vital. There is no other man that I respect more on this earth than my father, and there was no one who he respected more than his father, and I recognized that at an early age. As I grew to know my grandfather personally over the years, I came to have that same respect and love for him. I worked with him over many summers on different construction projects. One summer we worked together insulating my grandparent’s entire attic, which was enormous. He would tell me stories about my grandmother, my father, my aunt Susie, Japan, Iwo Jima, Covenant College, California, me, the Lord’s providence, and hundreds of random stories I wish I had written down at the time. I am thankful that the last 8 years or so of his life were spent near my family, so I got to know him as more than the “Grandpa” I only saw once a year for 2 weeks. I have been blessed to know all four of my grandparents on a very personal level. In many ways they have had just as much influence on my life and the shaping of my character as my parents have. Grandma Withington and both of my mother’s parents are still living. Grandpa Withington was the first person close to me to pass away. I remember how hard it was to drive him to and from his chemotherapy treatments, and not knowing what to say. He was always strong though, and would make jokes about how he preferred me to drive him (Dad’s driving made him nervous). I’ll always remember our last conversation, and how I knew he was getting towards the end, but thought there would be at least one more time to talk. And then there wasn’t. I still wish there had been, but I know that God’s timing and purposes are beyond my comprehension. The final word is that there will be conversations to come. Conversations of uncountable number.
I wrote these songs in the summer of 2004. Someday Ben and I will make proper studio recordings of them.

Troubadour

He raised my dad,
The only one I have,
And made him the only one I need.
Though it seems sometimes,
That we were made to be sad,
With strategically timed seasons of relief,

His season has just begun,
And will never end.
For those of us who remain,
We will sustain fond memories of him.

He finished out,
With no inward doubt,
His last days in the shade of Woodbine,
Though I wish that he could’ve seen,
What I might’ve been,
Had he been given just a little more time.

That which is me was passed down the tree,
It ran through his limbs,
Keeping us all over 6 foot tall,
And solid, yet slim.

Though he was not a troubadour in life,
In everything he did, he was our guiding light,
And now he’s singing with the angels,
And shining on this troubadour tonight.

I feel I need some,
Inspiration,
When I play to empty seats,
But I know that he would be proud,
If a never drew a crowd,
So long as my heart keeps the beat.

Though he was not a troubadour in life,
In everything he did, he was our guiding light,
And now he’s singing with the angels,
And shining on this troubadour tonight.


Gloria

Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, Gloria,
We sing Gloria.

No more yawns from fatigue at the start of the day,
No more longing for peace with wars underway,
No more storing possessions subject to decay,
We sing Gloria.

Always knew you were just a stranger on this earth,
To the end of your walk from the day of your birth,
All your merits still don’t add up your Worth,
We sing Gloria.

Gloria, Gloria, Gloria, Gloria,
We sing Gloria.