Cussing the Cow and Changing a Life—Thinking about our Dad—Roy Blumenberg

It was sometime in the mid to late fifties—that idyllic time between the Korean War and the turbulent sixties. I was in the barn on our farm home in Southeast Missouri with my father. He was trying to milk a cow whose calf was stillborn and whose udder was swelling painfully from the abundant milk that was not being used. She was a young, fearful heifer who had never been milked and was no doubt painfully aware in some way that animals understand but cannot communicate, that her calf was gone. She was afraid of us, and was, no doubt, in intense pain, but the last thing she wanted was for somebody to milk her. She didn’t understand Dad was trying to help, or what he was trying to do and she did everything she could to prevent him from doing it, including kicking wickedly with her hind feet.

Dad was suffering from some of the licks she had gotten in and was about as angry as he could be. Some of the words I heard him say that day were not appropriate for a Christian to say and I was surprised to hear them. Dad had become a Christian just a few years before and I didn’t think he talked like that any more. I was, to say the least, a little bit shocked.

After more than an hour or so he got her milked enough that she was out of danger and finally got her to accept another calf he had purchased at the sale barn to replace the calf that had died. It was a tense, action packed morning, but it was finally over and came to what appeared to be (and later proved to be) a satisfactory conclusion. And then the most amazing thing happened.

My father, who was never a particularly articulate man, apologized to me for the language he had used. Rather awkwardly and stumbling a little with his words, he said something like this. “Rick, I know I said some things this morning that a Christian shouldn’t say. I lost my temper and used words I’m ashamed of. I’m sorry you had to hear it. I hope you know its not right for a Christian to talk like that. I’m trying to live a Christian life and I’m doing the best I can, but sometimes I fail pretty bad.”

I don’t remember if I answered Dad or responded in any way to his apology. I think I was too dumbfounded to speak. I also don’t remember any of the bad words he used. I know he didn’t use God’s name in vain, but they were words that were not appropriate for a Christian. What I do remember vividly was the humility of my father and the honor he showed me by his apology. There were times when that memory helped me ask my children to forgive my shortcomings. It was much easier for me because I had his example. Dad saw himself as a failure that day, but I’m convinced his heavenly Father was justifiably proud, as was I, that this fledgling Christian was growing into a genuine man of God and helping me along in the process.

I don’t remember ever again hearing my Dad use inappropriate language—other than an occasional "Son of a Buck!". (Those who knew him remember that very well.)

But there is something about confessing our sins in genuine humility to God, and when it has affected another human being, confessing to them as well, that cleanses us of that sin and gives us victory over it. God doesn’t ask us to confess our sins to embarrass or shame us, but to give us victory.

Quite often, “the things my heavenly Father teaches me” have come through my earthly father. Thanks, Dad. We were blessed to have you as our father.

I'm Rick Blumenberg . . .and that's My View from Tanner Creek.

The Gift

My great-niece Molly Beth wrote on Facebook about her boyfriend giving her books and she said how much she loves reading. It reminded me of the incredible gift we received from our parents...a love of reading. We passed this love of reading on to our girls and I know Barry (Molly Beth's grandfather) and all my siblings did the same.

Years ago I contemplated what a marvelous gift Mom and Dad gave us, what a blessing it has been and what a privilege it was to pass that gift on to our daughters Kathy and Twyla. As I thought about it years ago, the Lord gave me an idea for a poem, I entitled it "The Gift". Here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

The Gift
By Rick Blumenberg

I received it from my parents
a lifetime ago.
The family read together—
It was part of being home.

One reading, others listening,
Or each with a book alone....
In summer ’neath the shade tree
In winter by the stove.

We gave it to our children—
this gift of love received,
before they could know or understand
the words that we would read.

Dr. Zeus and Eggemeir,
The Train that Tried and the Little Red Hen—
We watched their bright eyes sparkle
When reading would begin.

And now our children's children
Are readers once again.
I don't know when it started.
I hope it never ends.

I'm Rick Blumenberg . . .and that's My View from Tanner Creek.