I wanted to take the opportunity to post my reflection about my dad, which I read at his funeral and memorial service. But I couldn't resist also posting this beautiful photo of Myles smiling at my folks' house...a reminder of how life moves forward and my dad lives on.
I was recently asked by one of my dad’s colleagues, “So…what was it like to grow up with Bob Voss as your father?” His question would have seemed somewhat simple to me just a few years ago, before my dad was diagnosed with incurable cancer. But as I see it today, growing up with Bob Voss as my father was both ordinary and extraordinary. Ordinary, because he was just “dad,” plain and simple. He did the ordinary things that dads do, like mow the lawn, go for an evening run, make my mom laugh, pay the bills, offer advice. In our teenage years, sometimes he did things that were excruciatingly embarrassing, like the time he snapped a photo of my sister and her friends in their homecoming gowns outside the Olive Garden, then turned and banged headfirst into a flagpole that brought him to his knees. That was my dad.
But growing up with Bob Voss as my dad, I continue to discover, was also extraordinary. He loved my mom with a fierce love that safeguarded his marriage. My dad taught me that I could be anything I wanted to be in life, then offered the support and love to help me get there. When Seth and I purchased our first home in Atlanta, we soon discovered it was infested with termites and in need of a major structural overhaul. The month before we were married, my parents drove to Atlanta nearly every weekend to sheetrock, mud, paint, and tile every square inch of the house so that we could move in the day after the wedding. On my wedding night, my dad and I danced to a song called “Blessed to be a witness,” by Ben Harper. I didn’t know why I was drawn to choose this song for the dance with my dad. He had never heard of it, but as it turns out the words convey exactly the point I want to make about my dad on this day when we honor his spirit and celebrate his life—I am blessed to be a witness.
Growing up with Bob Voss as my dad was like having a strong anchor to steady me in rough waters and a faithful compass to guide me on a moonless night. But my dad was more than a father, as I have learned through his Caring Bridge website, which has now been visited nearly 18,000 times with 760 heartfelt messages posted from guests across the country. I have read these kinds of testimonies about my dad:
“My life is better for having Bob in it. Everyone who met Bob came away with some type of knowledge from him. It was an honor and a privilege to know Bob Voss. One could talk with Bob and feel like you had known him for years. His unfailing optimism and constant support for outstanding teaching and leadership has left an incredible legacy. Words cannot express how much I thought of Bob. He was an exceptional spirit who made everyone’s way lighter. Bob was a real deal Christian. I owe him a great deal.” One teacher recalled, “When I was first hired I sat in Bob’s office and he offered me his fatherly advice on which health care plan would be best for a 21 year old fresh out of college. That conversation was one of the kindest most wise advice I have ever received.” Another said to my dad, “Because of you, I have been able to make a difference in the lives of so many unique and wonderful children.” Another: “You are a litmus test for my life.” Another: “Where I am in my life—both professionally and personally—are in part due to your presence and gentle guidance. When I think of people that I look up to, that have all the qualities that a human could possibly have, I count them on just one hand. Bob, you are among the few I think about that way. You helped shape my life.” Others said, “My time teaching with Bob was one of the most significant experiences of my life. When I think of Bob, I see his welcoming, smiling face—the keen listener who made me feel that what I had to say mattered. Our lives are fuller, richer, and blessed because of Bob Voss. Our loss is heaven’s gain.”
A few weeks ago when my dad’s health began to decline, I sat with my folks watching tv one evening, and the conversation turned to death. My dad said—I’ll never forget it—he said to my mom and to me, “At some point, you have to look beyond the sorrow and suffering and see the beauty of it all.” This from someone who, in his final Caring Bridge journal entry, said: “Regrets, I have none. Sadness and tears, we’ve had plenty, but beyond it all incredible joy and hope. I am truly blessed.”
As I have witnessed my dad’s life and the sheer impact he has had upon the lives of others, I know that the blessing he has bestowed upon me is far greater because of the courageous way that he looked death in the eye and continued to live and love and learn. The truth is, as a family we’ve had more love in the years my dad was alive than many families have in a lifetime. The truth is, my dad died a man who was at peace with God, content in all circumstances, and joyful even in the shadow of the valley of death. And I am so grateful to God for his life, his courageous, contagious joy, and the lessons of his beautiful, difficult death.
Because of my dad, I will forever be a different kind of mother, a different kind of wife, a different kind of pastor. I have been incredibly, immeasurably blessed to be a witness. Many of you know that the morning before my dad’s death, he had a vision in which he called out to Jesus and proclaimed, “It is so beautiful. I am so happy.” A friend of mine said that these are words to embrace in daily life, “It is so beautiful. I am so happy.” She concluded, “What an amazing affirmation of both life and death.” Through my dad’s struggle, I believe I have learned how to live all over again. I want to complain less and listen more. Because God’s mercies are new each day, I want to offer up my gratitude with both hands each morning.
My testimony about the blessing of witnessing my dad’s life and death wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t give all the glory and honor to God. My dad’s goodness was not for his own sake, but always pointed the way home to the God who is infinite in mercy, unrivaled in compassion, the author of love, the source of all that is good and whole. It is because God is always bringing new life out of death that I can offer gratitude even for this day, a day when I miss my dad with an indescribable ache. My dad’s death is the beginning of something new in my life, and it is so beautiful.
Even as I wade through this river of sorrow, I celebrate with the angels that my dad has found his way home and is feasting at the heavenly banquet. Hallelujah! Amen.
Last year, Myles slept through all but the first 5 minutes of trick-or-treating. This year, we went in our neighborhood, up and down Montford Avenue, which is known for its large houses, many of which are now bed and breakfast establishments. For Halloween they were done up in spiderwebs, we saw a flying bat and even a birdbath full of bloody eyeballs...what fun! Myles was a very shy cowboy, so Seth carried him most of the way. He did enjoy his first sucker (well, two) and was very interested in all the kids out and about. In Asheville, we had some pretty wild adult costumes out there too. We discovered that families from all over the Asheville area drive in to trick or treat in Montford, so it was nice to just get in the stroller and not have to drive anywhere. When we first put on his eyeliner mustache, we showed him what it looked like in the mirror and he cried for five minutes, I guess he didn't like how it looked. But make no mistake, he was the most charming cowboy I've ever laid eyes on. 
