My Father, Billy
Randolph Shoemaker grew up without a father, and was from a large, dirt poor
Kentucky family. As a youth he was a high school basketball rock star, and as a
young man served in Germany with Elvis Presley. He ended up marrying my Mom who
already had two girls from a previous marriage. Not many men back in the 70’s
would do that. But my Dad was not just any man. He loved my sisters as if they
were his own and then I came along.
The last decade or
so of his life he was very ill.
My Dad was not
perfect and he had his faults like everyone else, but he loved the LORD with
all his being and served him till his dying day. If he only knew how many lives
he touched. I was floored when at the calling hours; the line was out the door
and into the street. Over 300 people signed the guest book. And there were some
relatives from Kentucky and elsewhere that was not able to attend!
He has been with
Yeshua since September 5th, 2008. Though I miss him as much as ever
I would not wish him back for the world, for I know he is well and whole with
Yeshua and that I will see him again one day.
The following is a
free verse poem I wrote in tribute to my father.
The Leaf
By Rabbi Yehudah ben Shomeyr
The Leaf was the
color of maze, wilting and buffeted by the wind on the Tree. Canker worms had
nibbled the edges and bore holes in the leaf here and there.
The Leaf was
tired, its grasp weak and loose, like a fatigued climber hanging on the edge of
a cliff with no one to rescue him.
The Leaf fell
asleep and rides a spiral vortex to the ground below and what remained of the
moist life begins to turn to dry brittle decay.
With a gasp of
breath, like one breaking the surface of the water, or breaching the womb, the
leaf awakens to find as if it were an all to real bad dream. Its color moist,
green, radiant and vibrant; you can almost see the veins in its leaf pulse. It
is whole. Even the strong wind that once buffeted feels as if it were a gentle
caressing breeze. It’s grip as a stalactite.
The Leaf awakens
to see bright, almost glowing Leaves he hasn’t seen since his dream which he
only vaguely remembers; Leaves who fell asleep before he did and had been
nearly forgotten in the mulch below.
The Tree he had
occupied before was fading and sparse. But this Tree is lush, thick boughs and
alive; though he cannot find the vibrant leaves that surrounded him before he
slept.
The Leaf looks
below to see if he can see the vibrant leaves he left upon sleeping and what
should he spy, but a dim rippling pool, almost like tinted glass. He sees a
pale, yet opposite portrait of the tree he now thrives from.
He sees as a
soaring hawk who spies a grey mouse in the thicket of the field and sees those
who surrounded him as he fell asleep now droop.
HE begins to see
leaves from the faded Tree fall as if up, only to touch the surface of the dark
mirror below and make ripples in the sheen of the glass only to disappear and
instantly sprout near him, as if a butterfly spreading its wings as it emerges
from the cocoon.
Then the Leaf
notices that the wind passes through the collective foliage as if a flute. This
Tree does not clap, clamor or rustle with complaint, but sings, vibrates like
strings on a harp. The sheen of the collective Leaves is iridescent, shimmering
a rainbow of color. Then the Leaf rubs its eyes only to wonder if he is not
still dreaming. But he says to himself that he has never felt so “real” in all
his life! He sees various different species of fruit hanging from the Tree in
which he find himself. Even the Leaves are a collage of variety. This never
occurred, that he noticed, in the Tree reflected below.
The Leaf then discovers
an amazing thing. At will, he could close his eyes and open them to find him
self at any point of the tree he desires. From afar it looks as if the Tree had
countless dancing flames, for the Leaves traveled as he did at will from branch
to branch.
The Leafs eyes
began to examine the branch from which it effortlessly held to, and he traced
it all the way down the trunk and he was awed at what he saw; a pattern as if
black fire on white fire, and intricate design of an ancient holy tongue that
weaved itself up and down and around the Tree making the bark look like a royal
tapestry. And low and behold it appeared to breathe! As his eyes pierced the
murky mirror below and as he continued to trace the Tree to its opposite image,
the trunk appeared to be as chiseled, petrified stone, faded and peeling like
the parchment of a birch.
Then he noticed
the pulsing sensation surge pleasantly through him as if he could “feel” light!
Warm serenity and indefinable love radiated through every fiber of his new being.
This he thought is
the Tree of Life that Adam should have tasted first. This is the burning bush
that was not consumed that Moses saw. This is the Tree that heals the nations
in the book of Revelation in the World to Come.
Then my Dad
realized he was finally home.
