Mr. Command (King - God the Father)

My daddy was a Mr. Command Man. He was so much so that he teetered on selfish. When he walked in the door at 5 PM after being at work he assumed a home-cooked dinner would be sitting on the table and his iced tea would be poured. He expected the TV would be on the news channel. No one was allowed to speak while we ate because he was watching the local news and would hit the ceiling if we caused him to miss hearing something. Our ceiling was in poor shape due to the fact that I could not keep my mouth shut. He had the best chair in the house and when he walked into the room if someone happened to be sitting in that chair, they LEAPED out of it. I could write a lot on this subject, and you would think he was a real jerk, and, in some sense, he was, but there is the other side of the coin.

He worked like a dog all the time. He provided well for his family. He made sure we had great vacations and were thoroughly entertained. He went out of his way to help serve in the church in hard, physical-work ways. He wasn’t given the gift of teaching or preaching so he wasn’t in the front, but he controlled everything from behind and kept the whole thing together. He gave when other men quit. He took responsibility and looked for anything that needed doing and did it. He expected it of himself.
When I woke up at night and didn’t hear him snoring, I was afraid. I knew if he was there, I was safe. I knew without anyone telling me that if there were an attack from anything—man, beast, or natural disaster—he would lead the charge without thought of his own safety.

For over 50 years at a certain time of the year, a man who had been my dad’s World War II buddy would come to visit him. And every year that man would sit in our living room and with tears in his eyes thank my dad again for saving his life. He retold the story so many times I felt like I was the one who was saved. He said that their ship was hit, and he was thrown into the ocean and his life vest malfunctioned. He said he couldn’t swim and would have drowned, but Smithy (my dad) dove into the sea and shared his life vest with him and kept them alive for hours with his strong tread. The man said they were stationed together all during the war and he saw Smithy save many other men with his bold action. It wasn’t sympathy or even compassion; it was a Command Man doing his duty. It is who he was created to be.

As God ordained, I married Michael Pearl. He is a Command Man extraordinaire. He does things that are seen of men, but he does a thousand times more that are not. He is the doer. He builds the building other people use. His sweat paves the way so others will have what they need to make ministry better. He never keeps records. He doesn’t enjoy fancy restaurants, plays, or other fine entertainment. He doesn’t like parties or get-togethers, unless they have an end to study the Word or witness. He wants to make every minute count. He expects me to do likewise. Taking care of the sick is not his gift. It is not that he doesn’t care; nursing someone is just outside of his scope of duties. If he can’t make it better, then he leaves. It often perplexes people. He doesn’t enjoy small talk. I am thankful I had 20 years of training with my dad, or it would have really caused me some hardship. I am also thankful that my mom was Mrs. Cheerful, always ready to see the bright side of things. Her example went a long way in my response to my Mr. Command.