I lost my dad in 2009 after a very long battle with scleroderma. Time does not permit me to tell you the particulars of what the terrible disease did to his body over his final years. Once a hard-working mechanic and family man, the disease broke him down to something not unlike a human skeleton. He died a very slow death over a number of years. Days before his body finally gave out, dad weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 65 pounds. With little effort I was able to scoop him up from his hospital bed when I needed to. I can remember well the shock on the faces of visitors who stopped by to see him who hadn’t been by in a while. My dad just didn’t look like himself. I couldn’t blame the folks for the surprised look on their faces. He wasn’t easy to look at. At times, he didn’t even look human. It was hard to see him like that.

During his final months I sat by his bed many times thinking about the countless things he had tried to teach me along the way. I wish I could tell you that I listened to and placed great value on everything he sent my way. But the truth is I was young and arrogant, even as a child, and didn’t need his instruction. I made good grades in school. Surely that meant I was smart enough to face whatever the world would throw at me. I hope and pray you understand how hard it was for me to write that last sentence. Don’t get me wrong…I didn’t disrespect him…I just ploughed forward with my own agenda and would pretend to take in his unwanted advice. Trust me, those final months of watching his life come to an end, I felt like the worst son on earth for not listening more to this man who had loved me in ways I could not understand…until my own son, Nathan, was born…then things began to click and make sense. My dad had loved me, Brian, and Joy as only a father could. When Nathan came along, I finally understood how deep that went. Every tiny particle of Nate’s newborn body mattered to me. I’m sure my dad felt the same way. It just took me a long time to see it.

A blog is not a place to unpack your life. It’s not a place to confess all your mistakes or to try and right all the visible wrongs. But I would like to address one of my dad’s greatest lessons, a one-liner he repeated a few hundred times as I was growing up. Tragically, it was also one of the many lessons I was too busy to listen to. Though he would often phrase it differently on numerous occasions, his point remained the same–“Mark, you need to pay attention and realize life goes much faster than you think it will.” To be fair, Dad’s words of wisdom were not profound in and of themselves. The Bible teaches that very truth. Philosophers of old touched on it. And, well, 4 out of every 5 people you run into will say something along those very lines.

I do care what the Bible says. The philosophers and the street ramblers…well…not so much. But my dad’s words are carved into my heart forever. Just recently they left a lump in my throat. I was invited to preach at Clear Creek Baptist Bible College just a couple of weeks ago. I graduated from Clear Creek in 1996. I was given the opportunity to preach in chapel there as a senior. That was the only time I had ever preached there until this recent invitation. One of my favorite pictures on earth is one of me standing with my parents at Clear Creek on the day of my graduation. My parents looked so proud. Without question it was truly one of those special days a person never forgets. It was definitely a day this son never forgot.

As my friend and fellow church member, Rodney Woods, drove me over to Clear Creek to preach the sermon 2 weeks ago, it suddenly hit me as we got close to the campus that it had been 28 years since I had graduated…and 28 years since I had preached in Clear Creek’s chapel. Oddly enough, I hadn’t thought of that until we were about a mile from the campus. As the campus came into view, one of the first things I saw was the very spot where my family took the picture on the day of my graduation…it was still there…undisturbed…28 years later.

My dad is gone now. I miss him. I miss him more than I can say. I wish I had listened more to what he tried to tell me. I was too busy being Mark. U2’s Bono says, “Shooting off my mouth, that’s another great thing about me ” in their hit single, “You’re the Best Thing About Me” — a personal favorite of mine. That’s a lyric I know all too well…especially when I was growing up. I was a Jedi Master at closing my ears and shooting off my mouth. But the years have brought more changes. Dad is not the only one missing. My in-laws are gone as well. Several of my aunts and uncles have gone on. I have no grandparents left. Many of my cousins, neighbors, classmates, friends, and church members have all made departures from this place. My goodness it happened all so quickly…just as Dad said it would.

I was truly grateful for the invitation to go back to Clear Creek. My dad’s words were actually a welcomed blessing for the day. For dad did not just remind me how quickly time passes…he also encouraged me to “pay attention.” These days I try to do that. I’m not always good at it…but I try. I am blessed with a son who I love to pieces. I try to share things with him. I’m fairly certain he will follow his dad’s path of hearing a few things, ignoring a lot of things, and will later recognize a great many things. Isn’t that how it goes for most of us? I just hope he doesn’t take as long as I did. I left Clear Creek feeling very much like an old man as many of the students called me “sir.” I hated that. But I appreciated it.

In closing, I just want my dad to know that I’m sorry I was such a slow learner. I want to thank this godly man who raised me and poured wisdom into me, my brother, and my sister. He taught us many things…not the least of which was pointing us to Christ, the great hymns of our faith, and a work ethic woven into the Helton family name. Heaven knows I’m older…I feel it…but I’m also wiser. Thanks Dad. We’ve not forgotten you.