My Dad
Since humility is our proper posture in life, we might as well humble ourselves. Since the Lord humbles, we might as well choose humility. In any endeavor, it helps to have examples and the leadership of others to follow. In the case of humility, the list is probably shorter than in other endeavors. However, there are names and stories that we can look to for inspiration as we pursue humility. A few names and stories passing through my mind include Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln and Booker T. Washington. I don’t know a tremendous amount about these individuals other than what I have read or seen on television or in movies. There are others that I know more intimately, either through deeper study or a more personal encounter. These have set a high bar for me personally and I would like to introduce one of them to you. He is one of my “heroes of humility”, though I’m sure he would hate that title.
My Dad’s full name was James Donald Kittinger and he went by the name Don. Dad was quiet and unassuming, much like the small Kentucky town on the Ohio river in which he was born and raised; Owensboro. Dad was very bright as demonstrated in the fact that he graduated at the top of his class at the University of Kentucky and that he married my Mom. I have a few trophies on my bookshelf at home that my Dad won because he had the highest score in Air Science in back to back years.
The one passion of my Dad’s life next to his love for my Mom was his love of flying. He would rather be flying than anything else in life and it was what he loved about his job in the United States Air Force. Dad was a decorated fighter pilot who flew over 240 missions in the Vietnam War in the F4 Phantom.
He was also a man of few words. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t talk, he just didn’t talk much about himself. After I had graduated from college, I realized that I didn’t know much about his Vietnam experience. I was back home one summer and while driving from our Mississippi home to a friend’s lake home in Alabama, I asked Dad to share some memories of the war. The only story he told me was a self-deprecating one, that while bombing an enemy supply line he almost blew his plane up. That was Dad. Instead of telling me any successes, he told me his failures.
Dad was a kind man and a hard worker. He took care of things without fuss or fanfare. He was a good man and lived with integrity. He would never cut corners or cheat. When he retired from the Air Force after a 20-year career, he began looking for a flying job. However, the pastor of our church, whom we affectionately called Brother B, had other plans. My family was extremely involved in our local church and my parents were dearly loved there. So much so, that Brother B did not want to lose them to another job or another city, so he offered my Dad a job as an Associate Pastor.
At first thought, Dad could not imagine going from fighter pilot to pastor and declined the offer. He had no pastoral qualifications or training and had a heart to fly. Yet, after much prayer and consideration, Dad accepted the job. This was an act of humility on his part as never in a million years did he believe he was the right fit for the job, a job which he held for over 20 years.
Dad handled many responsibilities at Cedar Lake Christian Assembly, originally known was Central Assembly in Biloxi, MS. Through the years, as the job unfolded, his main responsibility and the one that made him most beloved to the people in the church community was his role as a minister of pastoral care. So what is a minister of pastoral care? I am not sure what it is elsewhere but what it looked like for Dad was driving our orange VW bus around the city of Biloxi on Wednesday nights picking up some of our elder members who were too old or feeble to drive themselves and bring them to our midweek church services. He would go to each home, escort them to our van, help them in and out of the van with a step stool, and drive them to church. Afterward, he would drive them home and lovingly insure they made it safely home. He did this week after week, year after year.
It also looked like He and my Mom making phone calls to visitors who came to the church, at least those who signed a guest card, to greet them and make them feel welcome. He and my mom would offer themselves to the visiting couple and ask if they would like a home visit so that my parents could offer their hospitality and see if they had any questions about the church community. And finally, if anyone in the church was sick or hospitalized or shut in their homes due to disability, sickness, job loss or injury, my parents would offer themselves in friendship and comfort.
They wanted the folks at Cedar Lake to know they were not alone. They wanted them to know that they were loved by God. My parents thought that the best way to show that love was to be there for them. My parents spent countless hours and countless miles driving up and down the Gulf Coast to homes and hospitals. They also spent countless hours in living rooms, and family rooms, drinking coffee in kitchens and waiting rooms, just being with people. On multiple occasions they crossed state lines driving for days to sit with families while a loved one had surgery.
Mom was always right by his side. Everything I have described about my Dad is equally attributed to Mom. My parents were one. They were best friends and partners and were a shining example to all of what a marriage should look like. I never heard them criticize the other. When the church hired Dad, they basically got two for the price of one as Mom was with Dad in most everything he did, even though she did not receive a paycheck from the church. Dad could not have done what he did at the church without Mom. She was his support, help and strength.
Dad never really felt that he was successful at this job or that he was good at ministry. It is because he was just being himself. Dad was humble.
On this Father’s Day, I am remembering my Dad, a true hero of humility.