By James L. Lambert
June 17, 2005

(AgapePress) - One week ago last Sunday, my father (James Lambert III) would have celebrated his 90th birthday. Just as many sons who have lost a father, I have found it easier to deal with his death by holding onto the fond memories I have of him.

On June 5, 1915, my father was born into a large family that lived in a small rural town located along the Ohio river in western Kentucky. Henderson, Kentucky, was home to small grocery business run by grandfather, John Lambert. My grandparents had five children including my father, who was their only surviving son.

Times were hard in the early thirties. My father's oldest brother died at an early age. My grandmother was very religious and a positive influence in the family. However, my father's belief in God was tested at an early stage in his life. While my father was attending boarding school in Tennessee, his parents were involved in a fatal car accident as they were on their way to visit him.

With the help of relatives and his three older sisters, my dad made it through high school and was accepted to attend the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. There, in college, he met his future wife (a Pennsylvania native) whom he married after graduation.

It wasn't long after this that America plunged into World War II. As did many from his generation, he gallantly participated in the war as a U.S. Marine and served as a weapons and gun instructor. The U.S. Marines maintained a large staging area in the west coast at San Diego, where both of my parents decided to move.

Once the war was over they decided to stay permanently in Southern California to raise their family. It didn't take long for them to integrate into their new community in San Diego. Eventually my father became a real estate agent. My sister went on to attend Stanford University and married a successful newspaper executive.

Looking back, I am sure that someone prayed for my family -- because I now see God's fingerprints in our past.

When I was nine years old, I was involved in a local Presbyterian church -- but only nominally. It wasn't until I started asking some thoughtful questions about life (about ten years later) that I began to see God intervene and really make Himself known to me. (In all truth, this was the last thing I expected at the time.) After realizing that I needed a change in my life, it didn't take long for God to make Himself real to me. It happened one Thursday evening in my dormitory room in Oregon where I had an encounter with the living Christ.

God extended His love to my sister and her husband about ten years later. While both my wife and I had been praying for years for our relatives' salvations, we often find that God is a gentleman when it comes to spiritual matters. He will not "force" Himself on anyone who doesn't want to hear about Him. Yet, He is faithful, and He knows the minds and hearts of those who we pray for. He knows the perfect time to come to them.

It must have been my dad's turn in the mid-1990s. He had just returned from a visit to New York where he saw his wife's brother who was gravely sick and close to death. It was in those circumstances that Dad told my uncle how important it was for him to become a Christian, like himself. My dad actually witnessed to my uncle, who for years had struggled with alcoholism.

Upon his return to California, my dad freely and joyfully told me of his experience with my uncle. It was at this point that God made it clear to me that He was working on my dad and that my father was open to a new relationship with the Creator of the whole universe.

Even after more than 50 years of doubt and pain from his own parents untimely death, my dad was coming home to the One who truly loved and cared for him.

God cares for us all. I guess we need to trust that He knows all of our hearts. He knows the time and best way to reach out to our loved ones. He will extend His hand of grace and mercy to anyone who needs His love. On February 9, 1997, my dad went home to be with our Lord. He left behind a legacy of a son who saw him as a great and good man who had lived an honorable life.