This was written about my daddy, not long after is death, he was a fisherman, he never went anywhere without a way to go fishing.
He was also a gemologist, he collected stones for many years, he had a full bag of rubies at one time, I have no idea whatever happened to those. He also had lots of other stones, but he always seemed to like the rubies and emeralds best.
He was a chain-smoker for many years, he was also an alcoholic for many years, he died with pancreatic cancer.
He loved to read a lot, he also loved to play chess, and talk, he never met a stranger.
As everyone does he had his good points and his bad points.
When my oldest son passed away I asked him again probably for the last time, as I don't remember asking him again after that, if he knew Christ as his saviour, he professed that he did, I pray that his words that day were true.
The last time I saw him alive was Thanksgiving of 2009, he died in January of 2010. He did not have a funeral, instead he was cremated and his ashes were cast out into the ocean.
He lived a hard life partly of his own making. Partly due to circumstances that came into his life.
http://voices.yahoo.com/did-happen-meet-daddy-5383305.html?cat=10
Did You Happen to Meet My Daddy?
Gone Fishing"
There once was a man who loved to fish.
He loved to fish, and unravel a long tale,
Traveling far and wide, he'd weathered many a gale.
Searching for gemstones was his second pleasure, his best he kept in a little dish.
He walked far, and long, many a place he found, to fish.
A little bag he kept filled with precious gems, rubies, sapphires, emeralds...
A fishing pole in his pocket, another in his hand, flies he'd made in a little box.
A sharp knife in another pocket, soon a full fishing line, held up with pride.
A cigarette at the ready, a smoke, a puff, all the daylong; refusing to see the deceptive fox
Laughing in disbelief, when told cigarettes will take him one day on a fatal ride.
Taking a little rum in a glass of milk, perhaps for relaxation, or perhaps to numb an unspoken pain-
Early to work, staying late, working harder than most-
Making a friend or acquaintance with ease, often found engrossed in some tale.
An opinion, advice unheeded, advice unasked given, a bit of wit, seldom returning with a fish.
Often tanned and dark, wiry and agile, rode many a horse, climbed many a mountain trail.
If only this man would of sooner cast away the cigarette dish.
Perhaps the cancer would have never came.
What failed in the stroke, and other ailments too, gave in at last to death.
Maybe it wasn't the cigarettes or alcohol that increased the risk. What trigger can be we positively name?
Frail and thin at last walking the final steps ever expecting mail, ignoring the sickle that reached forward with death...
Death watched in amusement knowing the time was nigh.
The man had plans, he'd defeat this cancer he knew, and it was just a matter of time.
But an appointment had long ago been made. A date that no one will ever deny.
Death it comes to us all a thief, it steals away all our plans, death is the penalty for all our crime.
You and I we will all one day look the Reaper in the eye.
The Harvest is plentiful and bountiful; many of us have turned a deaf ear...
The last words of our Saviour were to go and tell this he said as he received up into the sky.
So oft we delay, through misplaced fears, fatigued and weary, yet we pray another year.
Swiftly and silently time marches on, sweeping us all in to the Reaper's hand.
Young, old, rich or poor, it matters not. Soon we'll receive our reward or a debt we'll pay.
If on Jesus Christ alone we stand, we'll enter into the Heavenly gates, and walk along the way.
If on self we trust, or anything else, we'll be cast out into Hell's fiery waste land.
Death is sudden, death is swift, and death never misses an appointment with us.
Expected death, unexpected death it is all the same, someone is left behind who will cry.
Such a short time we have, yet we linger and fuss.
Wasted time, wasted opportunity, many are guilty of this, it's no lie.
Time in a vacuum twirls around and around.
Like the dust we are, we are pulled away, soon to be sifted through the Master's Hand.
Sifted and washed clean we stand, covered by the blood. If in Him we've trusted.
Soiled and muddy we will stand uncovered if in Him we've never accepted.
The wind whispers through the pines. And we wonder did the one who passed truly believe.
The snow falls, the cold settles, and we long for time that's far withered and rusted.
A lone fisherman stands by the shore, casting out, watching we remember it's some other.
As we begin to turn away, we look back again, and see a solitary man.
Slowly we begin to walk his way, remembering another.
Introducing ourselves we shake his hand. Listening to his stories, we watch as another fish he brings to land.
Carefully we listen, with interest it's true.
Finally it's our turn to tell this man of our Saviour. Hoping he will hear.
Fast is coming the night, soon we'll take flight.
If we believe, if we care, it is of upmost importance we remember the lost, and their plight.
To find gold is good, to fish is beneficial, but to win souls is wise.
A friend is no friend who seals away truth, in order to maintain a false peace.
A profession of faith is of no benefit if no life is changed.
The snow is falling, the night is falling, silence today, will never quench another's wailing.
Stand in the gap for those you love, look for those who stand alone.
Take time to listen, but take care to tell, take effort to live what you say...
My friend you may be the only one standing in the gap for your lost loved one.
The sickle of the Reaper is large, and it's ever nearer, even at someone's door.
The Reaper is standing beside someone today, is it you? Or is it another.
My friend you'll never know until you hear the final rattle.
The man in this story is he in Heaven above or Hell below?
A profession he made, one day if truly true we'll all know...
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