I have two fathers. One is known by his poems. The other is known by His Names. To my earthly father, the writer of poems, was entrusted two wee babies to raise and guide and nourish. Dad loved my sister, Alenda, and me. He took great joy and pride in all that we did, unless what we did was naughty! At those times we discovered that his leather razor strap could be used for other things besides sharpening a razor!
It must have been after one of those times when we were naughty that he wrote a “Primer for Children:”
Children should always be pleasant and dutiful,
Polite to their elders, well-mannered and beautiful,
Keep their hands clean, trim their nails and their cuticle–
Be visibly seen, but inaudibly heard.
They should in school love their teacher and study hard;
When on an errand, they should scurry hard,
And never, oh, never, play out in a muddy yard.
But be, as you see, absolutely absurd!
Little girls should when they’re able,
Always help to clear the table
And they should, if mother wishes,
Also help to do the dishes.
They should sweep the floors and mop them,
Unless mother wants to stop them,
So, to teach them how to make things,
Roast and cook and learn to bake things;
And to launder all their clothes and
Sew on buttons, darn their hose and
Make their beds; do all tasks gayly,
Also, properly and daily
Just as though there really was.
Any girl who never does!
Boys should be happy when washing their ears,
And, if they’re too little to scrub them,
They should be glad when big sister appears.
And brings a rough wash rag to rub them.
When daddy gives them some work they must do,
They should find in it more pleasure
Than sailing the seas with grim, gory crew,
And sacking the ships for their treasure.
They should help mother and do all they should,
And not hide away where a book is;
Nor act like a bad boy, instead of a good,
And get into mother’s fresh cookies.
They should not climb trees or fences because
To do so will cause them to tear rents;
Their clothing will look like ‘twas tailored with saws,
Which often times vexes their parents.
They never should eat till their stomachs cry, “Stop!”
And the puddings inside rock with laughter;
There might all at once come a terrible pop;
And where would their stomachs be after?
They should be still in the house, and they should
On Sunday go gladly to church.
In Sunday School learn all the ways to be good…
But wouldn’t it be tough on the urchin!
Matt Lawrence Leach: My Earthly Father
My father, Matt Lawrence Leach, was born in Troupsburg, New York on August 30, 1896, the son of William and Gertrude Wiley Leach. He lived on his father’s farm until joining the Army in World War I. After his discharge, he came back to western New York state, where he lived most of his life. In 1963 he retired as foreman for the New York State Highway Department.
Following my mother’s death in 1973 he divided his time between his daughter, Alenda in South Carolina, my family in Iowa, and his home in rural western New York. From March 1988 until his death he lived with his my wife and me in Iowa.
In a letter to a friend he once wrote:
“The high spots in my pseudo career are the first time I ever sold a poem, the last time I fell in love, the time I took an active part in the inaugural parade, March 3, 1919, the time I almost went to France, the day I was married and the night I sat in the visitor’s room in a hospital waiting to hear the news of a daughter’s birth.”
“My favorite recreation is reading. I hate drivel. I prefer science to nonsense. I like psychology. I like the best in poetry, I never read trash. My favorite magazines are Poetry, Literary Digest (I used to work for Funk and Wagnels, Forum, Bookman, Mentor and Century).”
“I play several instruments (or used to). I played for nearly two years in the West Point Military Band. I can play mandolin, piano, Hawaiian Guitar, banjo, ukelele, trap drums, violin and mouth organ.”
“I have written stories as well as poems. I have sold poems, greeting card verse, and jokes. I never tried to sell myself though I am the funniest joke of any.”
The stranger, meeting my father, would see a quiet man, a private man, likable, who had a way of making you feel good about yourself. But he rarely shared his inner thoughts. It was in his poems that you saw his joy of life, the depth of his thought, the strength of his feelings. His poems could catch the joy of a birthday:
Six years old today!
My goodness, how she ‘s growing!
In my room at break of day,
“I’m six years old, ” she ‘s crowing.
Six years old today,
And this on Easter Sunday!
Who’d have guessed this curious thing?
She was only five last Monday.
Six years old today!
Ah me, these years go briefly;
But not to one small vixen
Who boats and chuckles chiefly.
Six years old today!
Count the candles, count ’em,
On a cake as high as a hat;
And frosting high’s a mountain!
Six years old today!
My, but she puts a show on:
“Daddy, you’ll have to spank me now,
Six times and one to grow on!”
…or capture the wonder of a little child:
Where do you go little boy, little boy,
When you go away from me?
Have you a secret hiding place
Under the somewhere tree?
Have you a house by the whispering wind,
And a door with a special key;
And a path that only a wish can find,
And only a tear can see?
Do you borrow the moon for a lantern by night,
And the sun for a candle by day;
And ride on a cloud by the northern light,
And gather the stars on your way?
Do you go by the curve of the rainbow bend,
Or follow a wishing star;
And what do you find at the end, at the end,
When you journey away so far?
Is there silver and gold and an autumn leaf,
And a fountain of sparkling joy;
And magic enough to build a world,
A world just for you, little boy?
Are there castles made of the dreams you dream
When you’re stopping in sleepy t own?
Do the raindrops dance on the crystal floor
Whenever you call them down?
Oh, may I go with you some day, little boy,
Just you and I together?
I’ll bring the grandest things to eat;
You bring the right kind of weather!
And no one shall know, but you and I,
Where the partridge hen is nesting;
And no one shall know, but you and I,
Where the lazy fox is resting!
Others may know how the acorn grows
Till its heart is a mighty oak;
Others may know how the powder mist ·
Changes the river to smoke;
But only you and I shall know
How time, though it tarries never,
Can keep one day in the palm of its hand,
And hold it forever and ever!
Some of Dad’s poems, like “Topsy-Turvy Town,” were written to delight children:
This is a topsy-turvy town,
Things that go up ought to go down;
Things that go down never go up
Even a saucer can’t find a cup.
Some poems were written to make you laugh, like this epitaph for a tomb stone:
Harold Sweeter stole my girl
He had a way with ladies–
The gates he enters won’t be pearl.
I hope he goes to hades.
Dad had the ability to catch the deep feelings, the heartbeat of people. The hills surrounding Dad’s home in New York, where I grew up, are hills of special beauty. In a very real sense those hills nourished, inspired, comforted and strengthened the people, who in turn loved the hills.
In Romans 1:20 Paul reminds us how creation reveals God, just as David- wrote in Psalm 19:1 (KJV) “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork.”
Dad saw God’s hand in the hills of home. He saw how the strength of the hills flowed into the people.
In his poem, “These Hills,” Dad put into words the heartbeat of the people:
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills
The Hills of Garwoods and of Dalton
The Hills of Swain, of Portage and Nunda,
The Canaserega hills and Birdsall’s woodland wilds…
For these are the hills of home
And in them there is strength;
Strength to believe, strength to endure,
Strength to return to the crowded avenues of living.
And now under the magic of Autumn
There is beauty immeasurable!
Every road and every trail is an ambush of color,
Spilling a thousand breathless wonders ,
Recalling anew the bittersweet of heartbreak,
The yearning and nostalgia for all the counted years.
Up on the hillsides the sumac and poplar and ash,
The maple and oak and beech
Splash innumerable colors among the pines
Which are quietly unperturbed by all the changing patterns.
Surely Heaven must love these hills
To pour out its essence so freely!
Here is the mood for memory,
Here is the philosopher’s stone.
Here are the moments to recapture the soul’s integrity.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills:
For here is an awareness of eternal things,
Here is fulfillment and understanding
And here is peace.
In his youth, Dad received Christ as his Lord and Savior. He was willing to become a pastor if God called. He read and read. He thought and thought. In his own way he dealt with all the questions and doubts that trouble most people. He was convinced that God was real, and that what God did for us in his love gift of Jesus Christ was priceless beyond measure. But did people really understand what God had done? Dad challenged us to stop and think. What if? What if there was no New Testament, and all that’s recorded never was?
What if the story had ended there
In the far off long ago,
With the light of the world forever lost
In time and the river’s flow?
What if the way to Bethlehem
Was only the way of a stranger;
And only the sweet-breath cattle knew
The glory that came to the manger?
What if the shepherds, guarding their flocks,
Had not seen the heavenly light,
Nor heard the angels in rapture sing
Of the mighty things that night?
What if none had seen the star,
Nor followed it to the place;
And none had seen the halo there
Surrounding a baby’s face?
What if the ripening years had fallen
Like autumn leaves into dust;
And the wondrous deeds were treasures lost
In the slow decay of rust?
What if the story had ended there
With nothing left for the morrows;
And none remembered the diverse roads
That led to the street of sorrows?
And none remembered the epic pain,
Nor the consummation of glory –
What if man, through the centuries,
Had even forgotten the story?
Dad understood the Bible truth that man is a spirit – a spirit that has a soul and lives in a body. Bodies grow old. Bodies wear out. This mortal must put on immortality. This perishable must put on the imperishable, Dad knew. And so, he penned these lines:
Soon I must go, and in some other guise,
Discover worlds unseen by earthbound eyes.
My earthly father is known by his poems. But I have another Father, and to know Him is far better. To know Him is Joy that surpasses all joy. To know Him and His love is “Joy unspeakable and full of glory, and the half has never yet been told.”
My Heavenly Father
My second Father is known by His Names. What His names are is what He is. My Father is Jehovah-Tsidkenu, Jehovah my righteousness. God knew my sin. God knew the wages for my sin is death. There was nothing, absolutely nothing I could ever do to atone for my sin. I was lost, with no hope. But my heavenly Father- loved me. Even while I was yet a sinner, He loved me just as much as He loves Jesus. My heavenly Father was not willing that I should perish. And so, for my sake, and yours too, my heavenly Father made Jesus, who knew no sin, to be sin for me, so that in him I might become the righteousness
of God.
But it wasn’t enough just to be declared forgiven, redeemed. I needed to be changed, transformed on the inside so that sin would no longer tempt me. And so, my heavenly Father became Jehovah-M’gaddishcem, Jehovah my sanctifier. He washed me, sanctified me, justified me in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and by the Spirit of our God. He has done for me what I could never do for myself.
My heavenly Father has still another name: Jehovah-Shalom, Jehovah is peace. Like many people, I was a walking civil war. But it pleased my Father, through the blood Jesus shed on the cross, to make peace, to reconcile me and all things to himself. Now, I have peace, for my Father is my peace.
And then, wonder of wonders, just as I am, God has made His permanent dwelling in me by His Spirit. I am wall-to-wall God on the inside because my heavenly Father is Jehovah-Shammah, Jehovah is present.
I am more than just a spirit being. I have a soul, and I live in a body. My soul can get bent out of shape and do foolish things. I keep falling short of the goal of my high calling in Christ Jesus. I keep missing the mark. I let the locust, the cankerworm, the caterpillar, eat and devour. But I rejoice, for my heavenly Father is Jehovah-Rophe, Jehovah my healer, who heals, restores, cures, physically, spiritually and morally. I rejoice because Jesus was wounded for my transgressions. I am so thankful that He was bruised for my guilt and iniquities. I count it all joy that the chastisement needful to obtain my peace and well- being was upon Him, and with the stripes that wounded Him, I am healed and made whole.
I also know my heavenly Father by his name Jehovah-Jireh. Jehovah my provider. He teaches me that if I will look to Him, and Him alone as my Source, He will provide. By the Blood of Jesus, He set me free from the curse of failure, the curse of frustration, the curse of futility, and the curse of inferiority. As He provided a big fish to save Jonah’s life when Jonah was running away from Him, as He chose me in Christ Jesus before the foundation of the world, my heavenly Father supplies my every need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
Now, wherever I go, I have a great banner flying over me for all to see. My banner is my heavenly Father Jehovah-Nissi! Jehovah my banner. On that banner is “His banner over me is Love.” That love tells me that my Savior, Christ Jesus has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.
Lastly, my heavenly Father is Jehovah-Rohi, Jehovah my shepherd.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever.
-Psalm 23 (NKJV)
God Can Be Your Father Too
Is my heavenly Father your Father too?
You can know Him like I know Him – by His Names. He wants to be to you all that His names say He is. If my heavenly Father isn’t your heavenly Father, you can make Him your Father right now. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
You can make Him your Father right now by receiving His Son as your Lord and Savior. Simply pray this prayer:
God, I believe that Jesus is Your son. I believe that He died on the cross for my sins and was raised from the dead for my justification. I receive Him now as my Lord and Saviour and I thank you for now making me a new creature in Christ Jesus and becoming my Heavenly Father.
