Category: Family

“Praise the LORD! Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!” —Psalm 106:1

Sometimes a whisper can be so loud. “God is so good.” Short of breath and soft of voice, my dad was shouting this the last Saturday we spent with him. Again and again, with tears in his eyes, he told us, “God has been so good to me.” Dad didn’t get the opportunity to tell of the Lord’s goodness to him in his last hours. Who does? So here’s my feeble attempt to capture a smidgen of God’s final kindnesses to him.

“Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.” —Psalm 116:15

To understand his last days we need to back up a month or two. While dad’s death came suddenly, it was an expected visit, like family showing up early for Christmas. You expected them, just not so soon. As dad prepped to cross that bridgeless river over to the celestial city, he essentially had four prayers requests. First, he asked that he finish well. He wanted to testify with Paul, “I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing” (2 Timothy 4:6–8).

His second and third requests were wed together. He asked for peace. He asked that he not have to struggle. Lonnie had watched his brother Donnie battle this same foe. Donnie had to fight for air. Lonnie did not want to have to endure that. Dad didn’t fear death. It was the dying that caused him anxiety. He was certain of his soul. It was what his body might have to endure that needled his mind. “I don’t fear death, but if you ask me about dying, that’s another matter,” writes R.C. Sproul. “If I could just close my eyes and step across into heaven, that would be glory for me, but none of us knows the route we will take. It may be one that includes great affliction, pain, and suffering. But the travail will be for a moment compared with the other side.” Dad was prepping for a struggle, but he was not seeking it.

Finally, dad asked that we pray for the one he had wed. Expressing gratitude to God for how his suffering had brought them closer, he asked that we pray for mom. He wanted them to continue to grow to be one flesh. He didn’t want to suffer. He didn’t want her to suffer. He didn’t want her to suffer seeing him suffer. Besides prayer, the only thing he asked of me was that I be there for mom at the end. If he was to pass like Donnie, dad didn’t want her to have to endure that alone.

Four requests. Everyone of them answered exceeding abundantly beyond what was asked. God is so good.

Friday, March 7th, 2025

“Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” —James 1:16–17

Friday was hard. But some days were. And there is goodness even in the hardness. All the time, God is good.

To avoid a coughing fit dad was constantly sucking on a piece of candy or a cough drop (but aren’t Luden’s really just covert candy?). Having always been so active, my now sedentary father became concerned about gained weight. He blamed the candy. So he had mom buy him some sugar-free stuff. Friday evening he choked on one. He panicked. He asked mom to call Carolyn, a friend, church member, and EMT who lives just a couple of miles away. By country standards that’s a next door neighbor, and Carolyn would soon prove herself to be the best kind of neighbor. But she was unnecessary that evening. Mom calmed him and got him some warm tea. The candy dissolved. The fears were slower to dissipate.

They were both worried. Dad had been sleeping in his recliner for some time. It made it easier to breath. That evening mom decided to sleep in her recliner near him. Because his voice was so weak, they agreed that he would throw a pillow at her if he needed her. If it wouldn’t have caused unnecessary panic, I know there’s a part of him that would’ve loved to have thrown that pillow just for kicks. They made it through the night without incident. God is good.

Saturday, March 8th, 2025

“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The LORD is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him.’” —Lamentations 3:22–24

Saturday was better. Some days were. God is so good.

Because of the rough night, mom pressed that they put off signing lease papers for the farms until Monday. But dad was insistent. It had to be today. The papers were signed. He was getting his house in order. The papers would sit on the arm of the sofa next to him until Sunday dawned. God is so good.

“3-8-25.” There are a smattering of dates in dad’s Bible, but to my knowledge, most all of them are accompanied by the name of the pastor who preached that text. Dad’s Bible is full of personal notes, but this is the only one I’ve found that he dated. He underlined these words, “I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied when I awake, with thy likeness” (Psalm 17:15) In the margin are two notes. “Lord is my Rock.” “My destiny.” The next morning Kim and Kris would separately go down to his office to find his Bible still open to this spot. They left it for me to see later that afternoon. God was so good to him. He was so good to us. With his life, dad preached the message that does not die. Through faith, being dead, yet he speaks (Hebrews 11:4). He testifies still “God is so good.”

Friday was hard. Saturday was better. Mom and dad talked it over. She would sleep in the bed and get some needed rest.

The Lord’s Day, March 9th, 2025

Sunday was best.

Mom woke and came down the hall to find dad poised comfortably in the recliner. His mouth was open and she was readying to remind him that the oxygen did him no good when he was breathing through his mouth, but then she noticed that his chest was not moving. Overwhelmed, she didn’t know what to do. “Carolyn!” If dad had never asked for her on Friday mom isn’t sure she would’ve had that thought. Carolyn, like the best of neighbors, rushed over in her pajamas, consoled my mom, and made the necessary calls. Carolyn and Andee (the caring owner and director of the local funeral home) both agreed that dad had not struggled. He died peacefully, with a half-used sugar-free candy laid neatly on his sweatshirt by his collarbone. God is so good.

Dad loved Sundays. It was for this farmer, as the puritans would say, the market day of his soul. This farmer went to market. Dad loved to sing. He loved to praise the Lord. But he had been unable to sing for some time. He had not been to market in weeks. He sorely missed church. But early that Lord’s day, as his body breathed its last, his soul breathed its first breath of unhindered praise. The Lord’s Day dawned with the light of the Son who is the Resurrection and the Life. Dad woke satisfied. His eyes feasted on the glory of Him who is altogether lovely. “O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise.” God is so good.

Sometime in the weeks before this, mom went down to the study to find dad listening to a Gaither singing. He loved such singings. He and mom went to several concerts over the years. Growing up, it was rare to get ready for the Lord’s Day without a Gather VHS being played loud enough to be heard throughout the house, dad’s voice being added from the bedroom, or the hallway, or the living room, or the kitchen. But this day he told mom he didn’t think he could watch them anymore because he got too excited. His excitement would make it hard to breath. But on that Lord’s Day, March 9th, 2025, he awoke to heaven’s praises, and there was no need to curb his excitement. He could join the choir. He could let ‘er rip.

Friday was hard. Saturday was better. Sunday was best. God is so good.

This Is My Story, This Is My Song

by Lonnie King

I’ve lived two lives: thirty-six years I lived without Christ; thirty-four years with Christ Jesus. Two completely different lives. I really don’t like to talk about my life before Christ, because some things are easier if left unsaid.

Let me just say, life was hard for me. I considered myself a misfit, never really at home in this world. I struggled with most every part of life—school, family, relationships, and life in general was difficult. To a large extent, I isolated myself in my little world. My shyness became worse with each new challenge of life. I had no one to confide in. Even in a crowd of people, I was alone and I hated myself.

This confession may sound silly to you, but I am convinced that there are lot of folks just like me who have struggled with life to some extent. In Adam, in our natural birth, we are all born broken, separated from our great Creator-Savior God. Even though I had great advantage over others, my problems were real. I longed to be like others, but I was stuck in my little world of loneliness and despair.

Chapter One: The Beginning

“Be still and know that I am God!” (Psalm 46:10).

The most important and greatest thing that mom and dad did for me, was to make sure that I was in a solid Bible church. Of course I hated it in my youth, but that is where I learned about God and saw broken people changed and made whole.

My shyness created a prison for me with no means of escape. I hated myself. I longed to be like others, but I was stuck in my little lonely world. I had no idea that my silence would someday become an asset. One thing I learned in my silence is that most people who talk a lot, don’t really have much to say. However, the greatest benefit of my silence was that it forced me to listen. Isolated in my silence, I heard wonderful teaching and preaching in this church. I also heard dynamic testimonies and was an eyewitness of faithful followers of the Lord Jesus! During those days of my youth there was another voice that came to me, a voice from above, the voice of my unknown Friend.

He did it countless times over and over again. My silent world was interrupted repeatedly by His still small voice not only in church but in private and public places. My unknown Friend came to me, over and over again, for He wanted me, He wanted to help me, but I just couldn’t believe that anyone would want me. I hated myself.

Chapter Two: The Lie

“A man that has friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticks closer than a brother” (Proverbs 18:24).

In 1965 an altar call was given here at Oakdale. I and three others went to the altar that night, but by the time they got to me, my shyness, my fear had kicked in. Someone asked, “Are you saved?” I responded with a lie. “Yes, I’m saved.” But I wasn’t. I lied to the church. I lied to my dad later that night. I lied to myself. And I lied to my unknown Friend, and He knew it and I knew it. The church baptized me and gave me a brand new red Bible that I never read, for it was all a lie.

No one else really understood what was happening on that night when out of fear I lied. I carried that lie with me, which made me hate myself even more. I was a coward and I was alone with my lie, filled with shame. Once you start down a road of bad decisions and lies, it’s hard to to get off that road, for one lie leads to another. I became a very good liar!

The good news is this: my unknown Friend knew what I had done and had every right to walk away and never come back to me again, but He was different. He chose to come back, in spite of who I was and what I had done. I was a liar and a fake, yet he chose to set His love upon me, to not give up on me!!! That’s amazing, undeserved grace!!!!!!

Lots of folks tried to help me down through the years and I appreciate them so much. I had good parents who tried to help. Some good school teachers who tried to help. Coaches who tried to help. Even strangers tried to help. But they all would eventually move on when I failed to respond. However, my good Friend that I did not know kept coming back to me over and over again, for He wanted me like no other could or would.

Think about this: I violated my Friend’s perfect law. I violated my Friend’s Holy Table. I dishonored my parents. I lied to classmates and to my church, but my good Friend was different from everyone else. He did not quit on me! He chose to be merciful, He chose to be gracious, He chose to love me, a scared little boy who grew to be a scared man living in darkness, alone and ashamed of what he had done, but I could not find a way out.

Chapter Three: Running From God

“Take heed brethren, lest there be in any of you  an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God” (Hebrew 3:12).

As a young adult I began to make those big life decisions that set our course of life in this world. If you think life gets easier as you age, you are wrong. I found myself falling into sin over and over again. Booze became my new friend, and all of the things that come with that lifestyle, I embraced. It got to the point that I became self-righteous, defending my sin as normal and good. I defended booze and laughed at those who opposed it. You see my life became darker and darker with each new found sin. I did things that I never thought I would do and am still ashamed of today.

As I slipped deeper and deeper into darkness, that still small voice that I had heard so often and so clear as a child was drowned out by my sin. I was running from my Friend that I knew not, yet even in those days, from time to time He would break through, reminding me that He loved me and wanted me!

I married and had a family, which I was completely and totally unprepared for. I was a terrible husband and dad. I failed over and over again. The struggles that plagued me as a child were still with me and it wasn’t getting any better.

I pursued the American dream of riches and wealth and found no peace. I still depended on the booze to make life tolerable, but it brought no permanent relief. I needed help. I needed a Friend who could lift me up, who could change my life, my heart, and my destiny. I needed a Friend who could remove my guilt and shame. I needed a Friend who could forgive my lies. I needed a new beginning, a fresh start, but how it could ever happen, I could not see.

Chapter Four: A New Day

“Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess, but be filled with Spirit!” (Ephesians 5:18).

Running from God gets old. I filled my life with things—new home, new cars, and new tractors—but none of these things brought peace to me. My health began to change and I thought about death more often than I ever had. I was scared, fearing the unknown, fearing death!

April 1st, 1990, laying in my bed on a Sunday morning, my unknown Friend showed up once again. The church that I had lied to as a child, the church that I had abandoned for years was in revival. I have no doubt that they had been praying for me! I was thirty-six years old and I was scared of the dark. I was still carrying my shame, my lie, and all of the sins that I had added to my dirty laundry list of life. The Holy Spirit was calling me to salvation, calling me to go back to the church that I had lied to and abandoned so long ago, but I didn’t have the strength. The Lord provided a crutch for me in the person of my son Josh. I asked him if he would go to church with me and he replied yes! I am convinced that had he not said yes, then I would not be writing these words of joy and deliverance.

When we got to church, we sat on the back pew. The Holy Spirit was calling me to salvation and when the invitation was given, I walked down to the altar where my unknown Friend who never gave up on me was waiting. I kneeled at his feet and cried to Him for help. I told Him of my sinfulness. I told Him that I believed in Him. I told Him that I needed to be saved, that I wanted to be saved, and then I simply asked, “Please, save me!”

Instantly, in a split second, my shame, my fears were relieved and a peace from above came down and gave me a new life, a new beginning, a fresh clean start. For the first time in my life, I knew my unknown Friend personally; His name is Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, my God, my Savior, and my best Friend forever! He was what I was missing for thirty-six years. He was what I needed and He gave me life and a new start. For the first time in my life, I started living with joy and purpose. And now I am with Him, made perfect in Christ Jesus by His wondrous grace.

This is my Story, this is my Song! What about you? Do you have a story to tell? Do you have a song to sing? Do you have a testimony before men concerning the Lord Jesus? In other words, are you saved? Have you be born again from above, have you received the risen Jesus as your personal Savior?

If not, then do it. Right now. Right here. Answer the divine call of the Holy Spirit, confessing your sinfulness to the Lord, then run to our risen Savior by faith, trusting in our great Savior God who died in our place, so that we could live in His place.

My prayer today is that no one would leave here without Christ Jesus in their hearts. Trust Him right now and be saved!

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:8–10).

My dad was diagnosed with “farmer’s lung” about five years ago. Of the six little peanuts sown into this world by Floyd L. King, Lonnie was the third to ripen with lung disease. It progressed slowly for years, then the orange handle was thrust from tortoise to hare. The first time I watched him take a breathing treatment I had to look away. I was a sickly kid. I was small. I was weak. I went to the doctor all the time. I was asthmatic. Dad was always healthy. Dad was always big. Dad was always strong. Dad never went to the doctor. Dad had a set of lungs. I know this because he frequently used those lungs to wake me to “move pipe” (irrigation pipe), singing “O What a Beautiful Morning.” I was not entertained then. I am thankful now.

It’s true that most every little boy thinks that their dad is big and strong, but I never grew out of this. Through junior high some folks told me I’d get taller like my dad. False prophets. Dad was six foot two. Mom never broke five. I fell in-between. Dad’s shoulders were broad and his arms were darkly tanned from hours of hard work in the sun. My skin grew darker, but I neither grew taller nor broader. And so I never grew up. My dad remained big and strong. I never suffered any disillusion about taking my dad.

Until I saw him taking that first treatment. That hit hard. At first. But then he would speak and act, and I saw not weakness, but multiplied strength. The voice grew soft and the body frail, but this only amplified the glory of his strength. Embraced weakness—that was the source of my dad’s true might. This Sampson had lost his hair long ago, but God gave him new eyes to see His glory in Christ. That glory both humbled my dad and lifted him up. His body was big, but his soul was gentle, and his strength was rooted not in his strong body, but his gentle soul. He was meek before the Lord. Humility was his glory. My father decreased. The Lord increased. As there was more death to his body, there was more resurrection in his soul. 

“Unless a [peanut] falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). Dad died with Christ. He rose to newness of life. He was not alone. By faith, he clung to the vine. He bore much fruit. Suffering sent his roots deeper into Christ. His soul bloomed. He was ripe for harvest. Not because he was weak, but because he was strong.

In one of his classic tales, George MacDonald has this paradoxical take, “…it is so silly of people to fancy that old age means crookedness and witheredness and feebleness and sticks and spectacles and rheumatism and forgetfulness! It is so silly! Old age has nothing whatever to do with all that. The right old age means strength and beauty and mirth and courage and clear eyes and strong painless limbs.”

My dad never really grew weak. He grew stronger. This was not because my dad was strong. It was because he knew he was weak. As another departed saint put it, “Weakness is the way.”