No More to Roam

Standing before his men as the onslaught of the Barbarian hordes closed in, in the midst of the sound and fury of battle roaring around him, General Maximus Meridius stilled his brothers in arms with but a few words: “What we do in life, echoes in eternity.” And with this, the will to fight, and to live, burned on.

With another Father’s Day coming around the bend, I find myself thinking more and more of my own father. He was a great man; I would not be the person I am today without him. After Jesus Christ, I can safely say that much of my character is owed to the example left behind by my father, my Tata. Upon his passing, my father left this world with a rich legacy of godliness; one that has profoundly shaped my own walk with Christ, and the lives of countless others also. 

The life that my father lived here below sent ripples of righteousness throughout this world and into eternity. His example permeated not only my own life ever so deeply, but the lives of many all around him, even of those who never rubbed shoulders with him. My wife, who never met my father, though she catches glimpses of him through me, is inextricably blessed by his example by way of her union with me. My father’s life to this very day bursts outwards yet still into unseen and unknown generations. Indeed, “What we do in life, echoes in eternity.”

What lies below this brief introduction is the eulogy that I delivered on the occasion of my father’s funeral, some six years ago. I do not think that this is my best work, for surely I have written better things since then. However, what this piece lacks in sophistication it makes up for in significance. I look at these words now as a monument of the past, a breaking of seasons as it were; a transition from one season of life into another, with these few words marking the divide between the two.

My dear father shall be remembered by a great deal of things, least of all my writing, but I invite you to catch a glimpse of him once more through these feeble words all the same. Albeit a glimpse that may be fairly outdated; for he is now doing far, far better than any memory of mine can recall, or the finest words suggest. Enjoy.

—

Regardless of how eloquent they may be, mere words always seem to fall short when given the task of honoring my father for the man that he was. To capture one man’s life with words is much like taking a photo of a sunset. The image, the product, no matter how beautiful, can never compare to the glorious reality. It is my delight, however, to stand before you all and give this brief eulogy in honor of John (Yoka) Budimlic, whom I knew as Tata. 

Given my father was a watchmaker by trade, it seems only fitting that his favorite passage of scripture was found in Ecclesiastes 3. You do not have to be a watchmaker, however, to appreciate the sheer beauty with which our God has penned this passage: 

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven… He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,11).

“He has put eternity into man’s heart…” Every one of us has a craving for that which is infinite and eternal, and our hearts cannot find rest until they rest in Him who alone is the Shepherd of our souls. First Peter 3:8 speaks of our Lord as One who is untouched by time, for to Him one thousand years is as one day, and one day as a thousand years. I draw great comfort from the reality that my father has now found rest for his soul in the presence of the Master Watchmaker, the One who tends the seasons of all things beneath heaven. 

Now, my dad was a brilliant watchmaker, but to say the least his talents are no longer needed in such a place as heaven, where time itself is no more, for it has been washed away on that everlasting shore. It is worth mentioning, however, that despite my father being a watchmaker, he was notorious for being late nearly everywhere he went. A fond memory of mine is arriving at church several years ago nearly an hour early because my father had forgotten to account for daylight savings time. 

My father did everything with a rare excellence, there seemed to be no place in which his talents and skills would run dry. Where my father’s passion truly lied, however, was in carpentry. Him and I spent many long days in our backyard crafting furniture out of the wood we had gathered in our forest. I was as young as ten years old when my dad had placed an axe in my hand and sent me off into our backyard in search of cedar trees long enough, and to my dread, straight enough, to make a bed with. 

With his own hands my dad built the roof under which my family lives, the bed that I sleep in, the table that he had his morning coffee on, and no doubt many other countless pieces of furniture that he has crafted over the years for family and friends. Much of what my dad made for others he did free of cost, merely out of the love and goodness that so readily poured out of his heart. My dad was eager to help others; you didn’t have to know my father long to consider him a close friend, even a brother. 

He delighted in making others laugh and smile. When asked at a grocery store what method of payment he would like to use - cash, credit, or debit - my dad would always respond with, “I’ll put it on my health card.” Sometimes the cashier gave a little chuckle but many times they responded with confusion and often would excuse themselves in search of their manager to see whether or not you could buy 2L of Pepsi and a dozen eggs with your health card. 

In light of my father’s love for carpentry, however, I cannot help but think of our Lord Jesus who Himself was a carpenter by trade. With every stroke of my dad’s axe and every nail that was confounded by his strong hands upon a hammer, my heart drew back to our Lord Himself in a quiet workshop of His own in the hill country of Galilee. 

However, it would be a lie to say that a love for carpentry was where the similarities ended between the Lord Jesus and my dad. I speak for many when I say that one cannot properly appreciate my dad without first taking the time to talk about his Lord. 

In Christ I see a chivalrous husband who is sensitive to the needs and desires of His beloved wife, the church, going so far as to taste death for her, that she may feast on life. The same can be said of my father who seemed to stop at nothing to ensure that his wife was happy and well, all the while never taking his eyes off of Jesus as the supreme example of chivalry.

The tender love of my father towards myself and my three sisters has always warmed my heart and in many ways has helped me comprehend, at least in part, the infinite, eternal love of our Father in heaven towards us, His children. At times in my own life when I would wrestle with plaguing doubts regarding God’s love for me, I always seemed able to look to my dad and think to myself, “If my Tata, a man, can love me as much as he does, how much more does my Father in heaven love me?” My dad’s love for his children was perhaps only a lingering shadow in the light of God’s love, but it was nevertheless the most precious thing in all the earth to my sisters and I.

Jesus Christ is the eternal Son of God, equal with God the Father in glory, beauty, wisdom and holiness, and yet in unwavering obedience to His Father Jesus had emptied Himself to become a man. Our Lord, the Author of Life, had offered His life for us to satisfy His Father. This is staggering, and yet throughout my dad’s entire life he served as an example to us all of what it means to be a man who honors his father and mother, even as his Lord had done many years before. 

I have exhausted my vocabulary in attempts to praise the man whom I loved so much, but perhaps nothing greater can be said of my father than this: he loved Jesus Christ, and he tried with all his heart to be like Him. Colossians 3, verses 9-10 read: “Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its Creator.” The new self...After the image of its Creator... I can say with confidence that there is no man in whom I saw Christ more, than my father.

In light of His glory, however, we must not forget that the Lord Jesus was also One who was well acquainted with grief and suffering. In many ways, He was a man of sorrows. For on the cross His heart was filled with joy at the thought that He was dying for His beloved friends, His people, and yet at the very same instant His soul was overcome with agony as He endured the wrath of His Father upon the tree. Had my dad never been diagnosed with cancer I would still say he was a man who tasted sorrow many, many times; a man after Christ’s own heart, one who had fellowship with Jesus in suffering. And yet through even the darkest of valleys I have no doubt that our God walked hand and hand with my father. For though the journey to heaven is paved with suffering, the narrow way is still wide enough for you and God, remember that.

Beyond his God, my father often turned to another one of his close friends during times of hardship: a man named Charles Haddon Spurgeon. Charles Spurgeon was an English preacher during the 1800s and though my father had never met him, nor did the two ever hold a conversation with one another, they were friends indeed, brothers even. Especially in his sunset years, my father exhausted Spurgeon’s wealth of wisdom and he often expressed to me with tears in his eyes how much comfort he found in the writings and sermons of his dear friend. I cannot help but smile at the thought of my dad crossing paths with Charles in those halls of glory above. 

Several days after my father’s 56th birthday, his health began to take a turn for the worse, so much so that I feared I would never see him again if he was taken to the hospital. A crushing weight developed deep in my soul and I trembled at the thought that this may be one of the last moments that I had together with my father. In tears I gathered myself and read to my dad a devotional that Charles Spurgeon had written. It reads as follows:

“Death smites the best of our friends; the most generous, the most prayerful, the most holy, the most devoted must die. But why? It is through Jesus’ prevailing prayer - ‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with me where I am.’ It is that which bears them on eagle’s wings to heaven. Every time a believer mounts from this earth to paradise, it is an answer to Christ’s prayer. Many times Jesus and His people pull against one another in prayer. You bend your knee in prayer and say ‘Father, I will that Thy saints be with me where I am’; Christ says, ‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given me, be with Me where I am.’ Thus the believer is at cross purposes with his Lord, for the soul cannot be in both places: the beloved one cannot be with Christ and with you too. You would give up your prayer for your loved ones life, if you could realize the thoughts that Christ is praying in the opposite direction - ‘Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me where I am.’”

With these fair words I said goodbye to my dad, yet through the tears I could still sense eagerness in the eyes of my father, eagerness and excitement to see his Lord. As He often does, however, the Lord had other plans and my father instead spent the following weeks in the hospital where his condition continued to deteriorate. He expressed his desire to us near the end of his life that he simply wanted to come home - no hospital, no hospice, but home. Our family then put plans in place to bring him back to his home once the weekend had passed.

...a time to be born, and a time to die… Before my father had the chance to come home once again, the season of his life had passed, the time to die had come, and the prayer of the Lord Jesus prevailed, for my dad went to be with Christ where He is. My father went home.

​“From all earthly tumult and sorrow we flee

With hearts full of yearning, O Savior, to Thee;

In all Thy great blessing we sit at Thy feet

And share with the ransomed this fellowship sweet;

Home, home, home, home

No more to roam!

Grant us, Our Redeemer, this heavenly home!”

​Until we meet again, my dear friend.