Fall of 1982: A few weeks before, my mom had died in a single car accident on 101st street in South Tulsa. We, as a family, were all still in shock, grieving the loss of the anchor of love in our home. I was still eight at the time, and Grandma Law had come down from Canada to step in as a motherly caretaker while Dad maintained his ministry travel.
“Ding-dong”, the doorbell rang. I am sitting at the dinner table doing homework, and I look back over my shoulder as Grandma answers the door. “Is Terry Law available to talk?”, the man asked. “No, he is not available now,” Grandma answered.
The man suddenly became belligerent and began shouting, “There is sin in the camp! Terry’s wife died because of sin in the camp! Terry or his wife had secret sin and that is why his wife is dead!” My father came rushing down the hall, heading for the entryway as Grandma Law slammed the door shut. She stood in the way and didn’t allow Dad to go after the village idiot who continued spouting his inane denunciations on the front porch.
Dad turned around and saw the horrified look on my face. He hugged me and sat me down on the couch. Through frightened tears I said, “Dad, sin is bad. Is it true? Did Mom die because of hidden sin?” Dad held me close and whispered in my ear, “Scotty, that man is foolish and he is listening to the wrong spirit. I don’t know why your mum died, but I can assure you God did not kill her because of some hidden sin.”
Looking back at that moment, I needed to know from Dad that everything was going to be okay. My very soul ached with the loss of my mom and Dad knew he needed to be a comforting father in that frightening moment. As I now walk through similar loss, this time of Dad, I need some comfort in my heart that can only come from Father God.