Tales of Sweet William--Love Looks Like a Rose

My Children,

Baby Emma was born to Judge Wayne and Mrs. Laurel Cobb when your daddy was a teenager. Totally captivated by this wee beauty, Bill made a visit to Emma’s home when she was but two days old. He brought with him an elegant gift: a single rose in a glass bud vase.

“Bill placed that rose in the corner of her crib with such tenderness,” Laurel Cobb recalled years later. “It was one of the most manly acts I’ve ever seen.”

In the months that followed, Bill made many visits to the Cobb household. “He was so taken by Emma, Bill would just stand there a watch her sleep. He even offered to babysit her for free!” Laurel marveled.

Bill loved roses… and children. When I met him in the mountains of NC in 1980, Bill was a Jackson Perkins volunteer test grower who painstakingly tended trial specimens and submitted the results. We enjoyed many a fragrant bouquet from his garden. Years later, when we suffered a number of miscarriages among the beautiful, healthy babies the LORD gave us, Bill and I embraced the healing process by creating a rose garden. We planted a specially chosen rosebush for each of our living children and then one for every baby we had lost.

I had the privilege of seeing Laurel Cobb again in the summer of 2013 at the funeral of Bill’s ninety-eight year-old mother. After the service, Laurel shared the story of Emma’s rose with our youngest son, Ethan.  “You remind me so much of your father,” she said with joyful animation.  “I’m going straight home to find that vase so I can send it to you. I’ve saved it all these years!”

“Whatever became of Baby Emma?” I asked with a smile.

“She became a Christian homeschooling mother of six, just like you,” Laurel said, with a hug. 

Tales of Sweet William--Love Looks Like a Clothesline

Bill was a homebody. He often said the only hobby he had outside of woodworking was his family. He didn't care to go golfing or bowling with the guys. The gym didn't interest him either. By the time he got home, he had already put in quite a workout by walking miles on job sites or climbing up stairs and ladders. No, settling into the midst of his family after work or on his rare days off appealed to him more.

One weekend, I was washing breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink and looking out the window.  “I sure miss having a clothesline. Wouldn't it be lovely to smell sun dried sheets again?” I mused aloud to baby Sarah, who was in her high chair, mashing up Cheerios in a puddle of apple juice.  I daydreamed about this for a few moments, imagining glorious sunny days with lines of wash flapping in the breeze. Bill, who was busy lacing up his work boots at the dining table, agreed. Then he gave the baby and me a kiss and headed out the door to his workshop to finish gluing up a project.  And that was that.

Or so I thought.

Twenty minutes later, I watched in amazement as a parade appeared in the yard before me. Bill was at the head, carrying two long poles and a sack of concrete. Luke was next, manfully wrangling a shovel across his young shoulders. Hannah proudly brought up the rear, lugging along a roll of nylon clothesline, her golden curls bouncing with each little step of her cowgirl boots.

Astonished, I quickly cleaned up Sarah and went outside. Bill had already sighted up the location for the clothesline—a nice, long one!—and was digging the first hole. “It’s going to take a couple of days for the concrete to set up before we can string the line, but I think this’ll do the trick for you,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. Luke and Hannah grinned up at me, pleased to have been included in the conspiracy.

Tears of gratitude welled up in my eyes. What a kind thing to do on a day that was already packed with chores and errands! I watched as Luke and Hannah raced over to their playground and began clambering on it, singing snatches of happy little songs. Surely there no greater security than for children to be assured of their parents’ love for one another, I thought to myself.

I hung hundreds of baskets of wet wash on that line in the remaining years we had together. After Abby and Ethan were born, Bill strung a second line in the yard to handle the increased demand these new little additions generated.  A friend once asked me if I minded doing so much laundry week after week.  I smiled at her and said that I really didn't. How could I? Every time I went out into the yard to hang up or take down another load, the testimony of my husband’s love would greet me, instilling in my heart a fresh appreciation for the wonderful man I had married.

Kay O’Hara
April 13, 2013

Tales of Sweet William: Love Looks Like a Pocket Knife

My Dear Children,

Bill was working for a large electrical corporation in Atlanta when he first met Jim Gallagher, the owner of Gallagher Electric and Engineering. Both companies were working in adjacent areas at the same location, and on that day there was a crisis at the Gallagher site. During the course of his workday, Bill became aware of the problem. Once he was off the clock, your dad approached Mr. Gallagher and offered to fix it at no charge. Bill was confident that he possessed the necessary skills to make the repair and felt it was the right thing to do. He loved helping people.

It only took your dad a few minutes to get everything up and running again. Afterward, Jim Gallagher gave him a business card, a one hundred dollar bill and one of his signature Gallagher Electric pocket knives as a thank you. Then he spoke these words, "Son, if you ever need a job you just give me a call."

Months later, your dad refused to take a dishonest shortcut for the other company, even though he believed his integrity might cost him his job. A few weeks later he was laid off. Over the weekend, Bill calmly took that business card out of his jewelry box on the dresser and made the call. On Monday, he went to work for Jim Gallagher and never looked back. 

Bill stayed with "Mr. Jim" until the day he died. Your dad's loyalty was unwavering, and Mr. Jim's care of our family exceeded our expectations. He gave Bill time off with pay when members of our family faced health challenges, kept him on the payroll during the economic downturn of 2001, and often gave him unexpected bonuses for a job well done.

Fifteen years have passed since Daddy's death. Most of his personal belongings have now been handed down to you children. At some point along the way, however, Bill's original Gallagher knife was misplaced. 

Last year, when my husband-to-be (also a Jim) and I were packing up in preparation for the sale of my house in Acworth, I came across your dad's work knife in a storage box. The leather case had rotted, and the knife was tarnished and covered with green mold. I lingered over it for a few moments and then set it back in the box. Without saying a word, Jim picked it up and tucked it away.

Fast forward to this morning, Christmas Day 2016. Our family has gathered together and is exchanging gifts with traditional merriment and goodwill. All of this is about to change, however. Moments before he hands a small box to Ethan, my husband leans over to me and quietly explains what I am about to see, so I won't be caught completely off guard. Tears spring to my eyes and begin rolling down my cheeks.

Ethan unwraps his present from Jim and opens the box. Inside is a beautiful leather knife case. Since knives are a common gift in our family, no one is anticipating anything out of the ordinary. Ethan then lifts the flap to reach inside... and draws out his dad's work knife. Though it is worn with age and years of use, it is shiny and clean and looks like Bill just set it down for a moment.

"Dad's knife..." Ethan whispers, eyes filling with tears.

Suddenly there is not a dry eye in the room. "How is this possible?" Ethan asks in awe. Jim tells the story of restoring the knife and waiting until just the right moment to give it to him. All of us girls are openly crying at this point, and a Kleenex box begins making the rounds.

Ethan stands up to give Jim a bear hug. Thank you so much," he says in a voice choked with emotion. "I've always wanted something special that belonged to my dad."

Today something extraordinary happened in our family. It was as though the mantle of compassionate leadership visibly fell into place upon the shoulders of Jim Heinz. This man has been behind the scenes for months tirelessly encouraging, helping, counseling, and praying over you children, but this act of kindness was huge. Whether our appreciation has been private or public, each of us has been gradually acknowledging that our family is a better, healthier, happier unit because Jim is part of our lives. Today's act, however, crystallized those feelings.

In Christian circles, the concept of love languages is a familiar one. It is the manner in which each of us most easily expresses and receives love. Mine is words of affirmation. Your dad's predominant love language was acts of service. I've only recently understood that Jim's primary love language is also acts of service. It took me a while to figure this out because he expresses all the other languages so well.

An ordinary man might feel threatened by the memories of a good husband and father, but Jim Heinz does not. He celebrates stories of Bill O'Hara with all of us and looks for specific ways to affirm each of you children as you navigate through adulthood. He is accomplishing this in a manner much like your own father might have done: by observation, preparation, and service. This is because of Jim's faith in Christ and his desire to be a servant leader to our family.

I've been blessed to know two great men in my life. One is now gone, but the other is walking alongside me by faith and gently bridging the present with Eternity. For this, I will always be grateful.

Merry Christmas with love,

Mom

Tales of Sweet William: Love Looks Like a Skyscraper

My Children,

I was talking with a friend this morning about my favorite Atlanta landmark. I see it every time I travel between Marietta and Decatur. The Concourse King and Queen Towers are a living testimony to your dad's incredible craftsmanship, work ethic, and personal sacrifices for our family. Bill commuted there every day from our home in Powder Springs and helped the architects and engineers construct the towers from the time they were cavernous, muddy holes in the ground until they were finished, and the brilliant crowns of light on top were finally lit during their dedication. Can you imagine what it felt like to complete that size job, Abby? 

When the electrical inspector arrived for the first of many walk-throughs and got a glimpse of the perfect, symmetrical pipe bends snaking through the interior of the building, the first words out of his mouth were, "OK. Where is he? Where's O'Hara? This has to be one of his jobs!" He automatically knew your dad's work because excellence was his signature. Sarah, you can see evidence of these same style bends over the road at one of your own favorite places to visit and think about Daddy--Champion Papers in Canton, NC.

Ethan, while it is true that your dad dropped out of college after one semester with a dismal G.P.A., he never let that closed door stop him. Once Bill discovered the career path that interested him, he went after it with everything he had. You know the rest, Hannah. You shared it with one of your new hires at work just the other day. "Show up early, stay late, clean up after you're done, and leave it better than you found it." That summed up your dad's work ethic. 

Jim Gallagher often said that Bill O'Hara made him a very wealthy man. Just one indication of how he accomplished that is reflected in the bottom line of the last big job he completed in October 2001. He brought it in six weeks early and three hundred thousand dollars underbid. As a gifted numbers man, Seth, I am sure you appreciate what that took. 

Luke, you and Hannah (I was expecting her at the time) went with me to visit the King and Queen Tower job site on more than one occasion to just tell Dad we loved him and bring him a home-cooked meal, so this photo should be especially meaningful to you. When he had his lineman boots and hard hat on, your daddy was literally seven feet tall! You had to look up a long way to see his big grin. 

So here you go, my precious children. I give to you the most joyous Christmas sight I know of in all Atlanta--Dad's legacy buildings lit up for the holidays.

Much love,

Mom 

photo credit http://www.df-photographe.com/contact/

God Plus Nothing is Enough

It was the Christmas season, many years ago. I had agreed to attend a Steve Green concert at a local church one evening in an attempt to elicit a spark of interest in the holiday. I was despondent over the loss of twins at seventeen weeks and so enmeshed in the grief of what might have been that I was incapable of giving thanks for the numerous blessings that still surrounded me. 

I was being held captive by the enemy in the Garden. All I desired was a piece of seemingly good fruit from this one tree, and I was incapable of tasting anything else. Grief had become anger, and anger had morphed into the all-consuming bitterness of an ungrateful heart. 

I recall the festive red and green decorations and the tang of the pine boughs scenting the sanctuary. I remember how the brass of the live orchestra flashed with reflected light. I was aware of the skill of the assembled chorus as music that once gave me such joy resonated around me. Yet I felt nothing. I was like the dwarves of CS Lewis' Last Battle sitting at the great, heavenly banquet and tasting only sawdust.

Then Steve Green spoke. 

He quietly addressed the audience with compassion and brought a transparent, startling message that at first glance did not align with the pageantry and abundance of the Christmas season: God plus nothing is enough. Everything we had could be lost. People, possessions, and position could vanish in a moment. All that we value, all those who we hold most dear, all the things that give us the illusion of security or the fleeting sensation of pleasure could--and many times would in the course of our lifetime--vanish. And, if we held on to them too tightly instead of clinging to the Cross, all that we are in our created wonder and purpose, could vanish along with them. 

God plus nothing is enough.

Wow. That was radical. Did I believe that? Could I thank the LORD for all that I had--my husband, my children, my health, my security, my possessions, my freedoms, my life--and freely entrust it all to Him to do with as He wished? Would I still love and follow Him if everything in the Garden of my life withered? If my health failed? If my husband died? Worse yet, if my children died? If our finances failed and my security vanished? If my freedoms were lost? Would I still praise Him in the hour of those losses? 

I wanted to.

So I prayed to the LORD and gave everyone and everything back to Him with childlike faith. I wanted to be thankful for His presence in the Garden with me once again. And, as I was carried out of the church by the joyful tide of Believers, I began to feel the stirrings of peace and hope in my heart once more.

How are you doing this holiday season? Have you lost your home to fire or flood? Has a relationship you cherished ended due to death, divorce, or differences? Have you experienced a financial correction or reversal? Are you fearful of the future? Is your job situation tenuous? Is your health suddenly failing? If so, you are in a perfect position to experience the wholeness of life in the center of His will. He is the Alpha and Omega, the One who created and endowed you with all the gifts you possess and the One to whom you will someday return. No one loves your more or cares so tenderly about the details of your life. He can be trusted with your today and all your tomorrows.

Let go of the tree and cling to the Cross. Rediscover peace and joy this Christmas season.

Kay O'Hara
November 2016

Falling... Into Grace

Two serious health issues I have observed in the elderly as they approach the end of life are difficulty swallowing and frequent falls.

I find myself holding my breath when I see an order for a swallowing evaluation in a patient. The inability to swallow properly can be a temporary setback, but sometimes it is not. Unfortunately, once we lose the ability to swallow, our options become limited: a feeding tube (rarely a good choice) or comfort measures and the opportunity to say "goodbye" to those we love. 

Similarly, when falls enter into the picture, medical interventions may improve the quality of life for a season, but the majority of elderly patients who fall will have another fall within six months. Some can be serious--even fatal. Like swallowing issues, the circumstances behind frequent falls often herald the beginning of the end for geriatric patients.

I received a call at the front desk one morning from a patient who needed assistance setting up her breakfast tray. The tech and nurse were busy in an isolation room, so I went to see if I could help. 

As I entered the room, I met a charming patient in her mid-eighties, who had been hospitalized after a terrible fall. She had a massive contusion and a row of stitches across her forehead. Most of her face was swollen and bruised. I introduced myself and bent over to gently take her frail hand in mine. Tears welled up in her eyes, and I asked her if she was in pain and needed her nurse.

"No," she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I just hate being here and looking like this!"

I smiled at her and said," I understand. But I would give anything to have your beautiful head of hair. It is so thick and such a lovely shade of silver. Not a curl is out of place!" I marveled. 

A faint smile passed over her face, revealing a set of flawless dentures that the dental hygienist in me could not help but admire. They were a work of art. 

Miss Sally* struggled to sit up, so we worked together for a few moments to get her situated. I began a dialogue about what was on her tray and asked her where she would like to begin.

Discomfort and frustration prompted more tears, so I stopped opening containers and asked what I could do to make things better.

"I'm really alright," she replied. "I'm just so frustrated that I can't do for myself. I've been independent my entire life, and hate asking for help. I've become such a burden." she said with bitterness.

I silently asked the LORD for help and thought for a moment.

"Miss Sally," I said gently, taking her hand again. "I understand what you are saying. It is amazing that you have been able to live alone at home for so long. I know you are proud of that, but your body is getting tired. This is a natural part of life. But instead of thinking about yourself as a burden, I would like for you to consider something else entirely."

She looked up at me expectantly.

"This new season in your life is a blessing. Your circumstances are an opportunity for others to exercise compassion, perform acts of service, and learn how to grow older with dignity. Your sickbed is now a ministry to others. Your family and friends need this experience of caring for you in order to grow."

She did not break eye contact with me as I said this and gripped my hand afresh with hope. 

"I never thought of it like that," she reflected.

A few moments later, I resumed preparing her tray and addressing her preferences. By the time I returned with a couple of packets of sugar for her oatmeal, she was tucking into her food. 

"Good for you!" I encouraged.

She smiled up at me and said, "I need my strength. I've got work to do."

The next day, I was walking down the hall and heard a chorus of laughter from Miss Sally's room. I poked my head in and looked around. An assortment of pleasant people were gathered around her and visiting. Miss Sally turned to look at me and smiled. 

The transformation in her face was startling. She looked like she was a week into healing from her injury. "Why, Miss Sally, you look marvelous!" I enthused.

"Makeup is a wonderful thing," she chortled with a wink at one of her granddaughters.

She reached out her hand to me, and I took it in mine. "This is my friend, Kay," she said by way of introduction to her family. 

"I'm having a good day today," she said when she looked back at me. She squeezed my hand strongly and smiled. "I'm going to have another one again tomorrow, too." 

"I am so glad," I replied. After a minute, I took my leave of this happy crowd and closed the door. 

Thank you, LORD, I thought. And thank you, Miss Sally. You have no idea how much I needed you this week.

*not her real name