Kathie's Kith & Kin

Part One

What someone does to earn a living can be called many things – a job, a career, a profession, or a vocation. But the ministry is totally different. It is a calling, and in Lutheran circles, it is a Divine calling from the Lord himself.  For my dad, his work was his life and his life was his work. When my mom was in the nursing home, the staff referred to my dad as Martin. But there was one nurse there, who happened to be a member of his congregation, who would always call him Pastor. I remember him saying he appreciated that. Just because he was retired, he was still a pastor. In fact, at nearly 87 years old, just a week or so before he entered Glory, he was still conducting Bible classes at a retirement home.

Dad was my pastor from my birth in Cicero until my marriage in Round Lake in 1974. And then our family had the opportunity to return to Round Lake in 1979 and he was our pastor at St. Paul until he semi- retired in 1984. So for 27 years of my life he was my pastor even though I called him Dad. Although Dad’s ministry began many years before I came on the scene and continued in another congregation, the ones I am personally acquainted with are the years that I attended Redeemer Lutheran Church in Cicero and St. Paul Lutheran Church in Round Lake, so those years are what I will be referring to in this post today.

As a young child I didn’t realize his importance until the first day of Kindergarten when I met Vivian. Her family obviously was new to our church since I hadn’t ever met her before in Sunday School classes. Before class began that day, our Kindergarten teacher sent Vivian and me on an errand to the school office. We had to go down a staircase to the first floor when we met my dad coming up. She excitedly greeted him “Hi Pastor Lopahs!” and he replied to us “Hi girls!” As we continued on our way, Vivian proudly pointed out to me that SHE knew Pastor Lopahs! I guess I must have burst her bubble when I informed her that he was my dad. But I learned that day from another five year old girl that my dad was an important person to know.

We left Cicero when I was 8 years old and just beginning the third grade so I don’t have many memories of his ministry there. My parents had made many friends in the Redeemer congregation and they traveled often to Round Lake for family get-togethers. While we were in Cicero, one of the ladies became sponsor for my brother’s baptism and another of the men was sponsor at mine. So some friendships became life-long ones. Those were busy 14 years for my dad with a fairly large congregation of 700 and a parochial school where a new addition was erected within the last year we were in Cicero. I know that at least in his early years there he held services both in English and in German. And it was a custom to show the Martin Luther film every year as you see in the flyer below.

Our move to Round Lake was a welcome one for our family. Mom particularly was anxious to get out of the city and enjoyed being so close to a lake which we frequented often during the summer months.  But of course Dad got right to work with all his ministerial duties. There obviously were the Sunday sermons to prepare for and deliver for the two weekly services. And in between services he taught adult instruction classes during the Sunday School hour while laymen taught the adult Bible classes. During the year there were also special weekday services during Advent, Lent, and on Ascension Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day.

Also during the school year he held Chapel services every Wednesday morning and taught confirmation classes three days a week for our parochial school students in grades 6-8 and Saturday mornings for the public school students. At home my dad was, in my opinion, a strict disciplinarian and when I began confirmation classes myself I found out that he was even more so as a teacher. Students learned pretty quickly that during confirmation classes you didn’t talk to your neighbor or get out of your seat to sharpen a pencil without permission. It was to your advantage to keep a low profile during class. (I have heard that he mellowed a bit in later years! In fact, the dad I grew up knowing was not the grandpa my children knew.)

A story Dad liked to tell was when a student had the audacity to yawn without attempting to conceal it in any way. Dad paused his lecture only long enough to give the young fellow an assignment of writing 100 times “I am not a hippopotamus” due by the end of the day. When school was out that day and Dad was in his office, the assignment was turned in as requested. Dad asked the young man, “Now what did you learn from this assignment” and he was given the answer “I am not a hippopotamus!”

At the time I can’t say I appreciated growing up as a P.K. (Pastor’s Kid). There were times when I would join a group and someone would whisper “Shh! Kathie Lopahs is coming!” So I went through my growing up years without hearing bad words or off-color stories until I attended Round Lake public high school.  Now I know what a blessing being a P.K. actually was! My last couple of years in grade school I enjoyed the results of the construction of the school building program Dad was instrumental in bringing about.

What I have related so far of my dad’s ministerial duties is only a part of how he spent his days. Afternoons he made his sick calls to the area hospitals and the homes of shut-ins who could not attend services taking them communion. Sometimes he would attend pastoral meetings with other area pastors and also synod conventions.

There were also the monthly meetings in the evenings of Sunday school teachers, voters, PTA, and the boards of the Elders, Education, and Trustees. He would have devotions at the beginning of Ladies Aid monthly and the Dorcas Society weekly. I believe he also met with the day school teachers on a regular basis. He was involved with instructing the VBS teachers in the summer and organized two children’s Christmas services, one on the Sunday before Christmas for the younger children and the other on Christmas Eve for the older children held before the Candlelight service. The only church groups in which he did not participate, I believe, were the adult choir and the youth group which was called Walther League led by John Barth.

As if this was not enough to keep one man busy, Dad also performed baptisms, weddings, and officiated at funeral services. He did pre-marital counseling and marriage counseling. In fact he was available to talk to anyone who came in with a problem any time of the day or night, although his weekly day off was on Mondays and he tried to protect that time except in emergency situations. Also, there were a couple of years in Round Lake that Dad was given the opportunity to train and become a mentor to seminary students during their year of vicarage.

I plan on posting more about Dad’s ministry in future blogs as I have more photos, letters from members of each of his congregations in Texas, Cicero, Round Lake, and Muskego, and some video footage some might be interested in viewing. In closing, I would like to mention at this time an amazing connection that has resulted from this blog. About a year ago, I received an email from one of his former confirmands who found my blog and wanted to show his appreciation. Upon asking him how he happened to find it, he replied that he had been facing some medical issues and was thinking about my dad when he decided to Google “Pastor Lopahs” and was led to my blog! How awesome that Dad’s ministry is still having an effect on former members some 50 years later!

I am posting this article on the 100th anniversary of my mom’s birth, February 28, 1923. She entered the heavenly gates shortly after her 90th birthday.

Throughout my childhood my mother sewed. Mostly it was clothes for my sisters and me, sometimes matching, especially for Christmas or Easter. Her sewing machine was a White (although the color was actually black) which had no “bells and whistles,” it just sewed forward and back. There may have been an attachment for making buttonholes but I’m not sure about that. She taught me to sew on that machine and I am forever grateful that, of all the skills she possessed, that is the one she passed on to me. At one time she was employed by a Singer Sewing Center in Waukegan, IL as a sewing instructor and held classes for teenage girls.

 As an adult she still sewed for me on occasion. We had been going square dancing early in our marriage, before starting a family, and so she made me a square dance dress. Then, since my husband Ang had a hard time finding clothes for tall men that were reasonably priced, she made him a suit! Also, besides clothing, she made a card table house for my older daughter Laura as shown.

 While at St. Paul, Round Lake, Mom was the pioneer in establishing the Dorcas Society. A Dorcas society is a local group of people, usually based in a church, with a mission of providing clothing to the poor. Dorcas societies are named after Dorcas (also called Tabitha), a person described in the Acts of the Apostles. This group was founded by missionaries in the early 1800’s in America. The ladies at St. Paul met weekly, enjoying a Bible study with my dad, and then putting together quilts of all sizes and patterns. Sometimes they would get an order for a quilt but most of the time they made them and donated them to the needy. Mom also made several baby quilts when my children were born.

She could also do other needle-crafts such as knitting and crocheting, and I remember at one time she taught herself to do hairpin lace using a special loom. She enjoyed cross-stitch and later did counted cross-stitch projects. Here are some of the items I still have today.

It wasn’t until the 1970’s that she took an interest in the fine arts. I remember her going to a drawing class at the College of Lake County and later became interested in working with watercolors. But I didn’t know she had these items tucked away until I cleaned out her apartment when she entered the nursing home after her stroke.

Sometime in the early ‘80s she discovered the art of china painting and fell in love with it. At first she learned from a teacher but did a lot of experimenting on her own, purchased a small kiln and later another larger one, and eventually taught a class of her own.

After Dad retired from St. Paul in Round Lake, he became the visitation pastor of St. Paul in Muskego, where there was talk of someday a senior condo being built close to the church. My parents, along with other members of the congregation, were very interested in getting in on the ground floor.  So when the building process actually began at Stoney Creek, my mom requested to be able to provide hand-painted tiles for the kitchen and bathroom in their unit. Permission was granted and I’m happy to be able to provide photos of the results. It was lovely!

Mom completed numerous china painted items from plates to trivets, ornaments, vases, and piggy banks. But her biggest endeavor which, thankfully was completed not too long before she suffered her stroke, was painting a tea set for each of her four children and fifteen grandchildren! We are all blessed to have these remembrances from Mom. She easily could have painted and sold items to the public for they were of a professional quality. But she chose not to do that as she wanted to only paint for family and friends. Here are just a few of the tea sets but I will post photos of more of her china painting and other art items on the Gallery page. Please go there and enjoy!

As mentioned above, at one time Mom worked at a Singer Sewing Center and she had a boss there who had a difficult time remembering Mom’s name was Verona. She called her many other names that began with a “V” until Mom said she could just call her Vera. So that is how she got her nickname at 40+ years old and so used that name professionally thereafter.

Hope you enjoyed this post! Thanks for reading it!

My father, Martin Charles Lopahs, was born in 1918 in Chicago, IL to Charles and Emma Lopahs. His father, Charles, was also born in Chicago in 1892 to Charles and Minnie Lopahs. His grandfather Charles was born in 1856 in Germany. This is the information found from one source. However, in another source both his father and grandfather are shown as Carl Lopahs and, my dad did confirm that although on his birth certificate he is named Martin Charles, on his baptismal certificate it is Martin Carl William Lopahs. I did find a William on his mother’s side of the family. In any case, he went through life as Martin Charles in every instance from birth certificate to marriage certificate to social security card to death certificate and everything in between.

Now where did his name Martin originate? I have not seen that name at all in the family records before Dad. But I would guess that growing up with a Lutheran background and having relatives set on his becoming a minister, he may have been named for Martin Luther himself. I know that in his younger years he had dreams of being a shortstop for the Chicago Cubs but at some point the idea of following in the footsteps of the Reformer became the focus of his life.

But the name Martin did not end with my dad in our family. My brother is named Martin John and he too followed in the ministry of the Lutheran church. His son is named Andrew Martin and also a grandson from daughter Deb became Lucas Martin.

In my own family we named our second son Daniel Charles, and our older son named his first son Warner Martin. My sister Ginny also has a grandson named Jared Martin.

Dad enjoyed the privilege of baptizing all four of his children as well as many of his grandchildren. Three of our four children were baptized by my dad with the exception of our oldest son, Michael, who was born 7 weeks prematurely in Kankakee, IL and so was baptized by our pastor in the hospital.

During his ministry he had baptized countless children, and adults, but not many people are aware that he had his photo taken by a professional photographer that was published in World Book Encyclopedia. The photo was taken after a baptism at St. Paul Lutheran Church in Round Lake, IL.

This page was taken out of the “R” volume under the subject of Religion. Since the encyclopedia was published in 1978, I am assuming that this picture was taken some time in the 70’s. Does anyone from St. Paul in Round Lake know who this baby is? Or the parents/godparents? Please leave a message in the comments and thank you for reading!

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please be sure to read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

Welcome

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please be sure to read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

The Christmas season is generally a busy one for most of us, but more so for a Lutheran minister. In addition to the weekly Sunday services and Bible classes, monthly meetings for various church groups, catechism instruction for both day school and public school students, counseling church members and visitation of the sick, Dad also had to prepare for the extra services between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. Those included, besides these two, services for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve, and midweek Advent services. Plus he organized the rehearsals for the children’s services held on the Sunday before Christmas for the younger children and on Christmas Eve for the older ones before the candlelight service.

Mom was also busy in the preparation of the music for many of the services as she directed the children’s choir for many years, and later a teen choir, and she taught kindergarten for the day school so was involved with them for the children’s service. But that’s not all! For several years she was busy sewing matching Christmas dresses for the three of us girls and baking probably a dozen or so kinds of Christmas cookies including her favorite cut-out spice cookies, spritz cookies made with a cookie press, cookie canes, checkerboard squares, pin wheels, Mexican wedding cake, and almond ice-box cookies. Many cookies were boxed up and given as gifts along with her famous Anise candy in red, green, and yellow chopped up and put in air tight jars. For Christmas morning we always enjoyed her Christmas Stollen.

Family activities during the month were the annual trip downtown Chicago to see the decorations and standing in line to see Santa. We decorated our tree with lights, ornaments, and tinsel. When I was little I couldn’t put on the tinsel since it had to be meticulously hung straight strand by strand, but I remember getting to put the Rudolph on which I actually still have after 60 some years. For the most part our trees looked pretty good except the year my sister Ginny was rocking a little too close to the tree and rocked right into it! She came out of it okay but the tree never looked quite right again. The only outside decoration was a lit-up group of carolers which we put in the front window. Not too impressive but, as you see, Mom and Dad were pretty busy!

We opened presents on Christmas Eve between the children’s service and candlelight service. Dad took us for ice cream while Mom went home to arrange the gifts from Santa. That is, except for the year my siblings got bicycles. Then Mom took us for ice cream so Dad could bring the bikes up from the basement. Christmas Day we sometimes drove to our grandparent’s home in Milwaukee after church. Other times they came to our home with our Uncle Ed and Aunt Evie, first in Cicero and then in Round Lake.

When we all became adults and started our own families, Mom crocheted little personalized stocking ornaments for each child, in-law, and grandchild. She also made this angel counted cross-stitch wall hanging. Later she started china painting and made many beautiful items. Here are some of her Christmas projects and, over the years she also worked in pencil and watercolor. Two of them Ginny took and made into Christmas cards to send out to friends and relatives.

As time went on and the families grew, Mom and Dad downsized their living quarters after leaving Round Lake and my sisters and I started hosting the family Christmas celebration. (Marty lived too far and had his own Christmas services to officiate.) When Mom had a stroke, at first we built a wheelchair ramp on our house and hired a driver to bring her over in a van, but it became too much for her to be in the wheelchair that long. So our family arranged to use a private downstairs room at the nursing home and brought in the Christmas dinner in crock-pots. In time this included the great-grandchildren as well so we were quite a group! Close to this room was a small chapel with a piano so we ended our day singing Christmas carols with Mom and Dad while our daughter Laura accompanied us.

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please be sure to read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

It’s hard for me to believe that it’s been nearly five years since I last posted here. What have I been doing in that time, you may wonder? Well, I’ve been working two part-time jobs, doing some traveling with my husband, and a lot of procrastinating! But I’m back now, having retired from both part-time jobs, and decided for my first post back to honor the memory of my sister Ginny who passed into glory on August 30 this year. She wrote the following story after the death of my dad. It was then added to a number of other stories compiled by Cecil Murphey and published by Guideposts in 2012. Enjoy!

HEAVENLY COMPANY

Virginia Garberding

Over the last years I had prayed many times after visiting my folks, “Dear Lord, I don’t know how this can end well. Mom is in the nursing home and Dad, who has always been there for her, is now failing fast. His memory problems are becoming so much more apparent. You know how fearful Dad is of Alzheimer’s disease. He’s always been a bad patient and now he dreads the possibility of having to be dressed, fed, bathed, and becoming dependent. I’ve seen this many times before with others. I don’t see how this can end well. Help us, Lord.”

In the week after Dad had the stroke, he remained in a coma. My brother Marty and his wife, Mary, agreed, to share the vigil. I took the day shift and they took the nights. The time seemed to fly, with pastors, church members, and people from the nursing home coming daily. I passed the days reading to Dad from the Bible and singing. I especially liked singing his favorites, “How Great Thou Art” and “Heaven Is My Home.”

At night, when my brother came in for the switch of shifts, Mary said, “I’m so glad to be here for Dad. I never was able to do this for my folks.”

After a week, the hospital sent a nurse from hospice to talk to me and give me papers to fill out before the transfer to a hospice unit the next morning.

Standing there with the doctor who had come from intensive care because he had heard that Dad was “someone important,” I said, “Yes, he was a pastor.”

I asked the doctor, “How long can a person last like this without food or water?”

The doctor took a long look at Dad, the still clear urine in his drainage bag and lack of respiratory distress and said, “It’s going to be a few days yet.”

After the doctor left, I was determined to get down to that paperwork, because we needed it the next morning. But realizing that it was now after 6:00 PM, I decided to call my sister, knowing she would be home from work and waiting for the day’s update.

I went over to the large window ledge and leaned toward the window, where I knew I would have the best reception with my cell phone. As I was telling her what the doctor said, I sensed a movement behind me. I turned around, knowing Dad had stopped moving several days before.

The door was closed, no one had peeked inside to see if I wanted anything, and Dad was lying there just as still as before. I turned back to stare into the night sky and that’s when I saw a reflection in the window of something behind me.

I wanted to see if there was an obvious or natural explanation for the heavenly phenomena I witnessed in that hospital room. I quickly looked down the five floors to see if there was any way something was shining up to that room. Below I saw only the typical street traffic coming and going to the hospital. Nothing unusual there.

As I turned and looked behind me, my first thought was, Oh, it’s you.

The memory came flashing back. In October 1987, I was the night nurse on a Medicare floor, sitting there at four in the morning charting. I looked up at various times to watch the three nursing assistants walk back and forth across the dimly lit hall in front of me as they went to change linen and turn debilitated patients.

The next sight was strange. I watched the three come out of one room, cross the hall in single file and go into the next room. They did this several times, but I looked up and there were four of them.

The fourth figure was much taller than the other three and towered above them. He was a man, but he didn’t so much walk as glide across the hall. I can’t describe him, but he was extremely tall and slow moving.

As I sat there, I thought, They walk with angels and don’t know it. Should I tell them?

I didn’t say anything that night. But over the years that sight never diminished from my memory. Whenever I had a chance to do so, I would tell caregivers, “You know you walk with angels.” They may not have grasped what I meant, but I knew.

In the back of my mind I often wondered why God had allowed me to see the angel that night, but as I sat beside my father, I suddenly understood. It was so I wouldn’t be afraid and I’d be clear about what I was seeing.

As I watched, that tall man from years earlier was there. I knew it was an angel, and as he passed directly over Dad, I was once again caught up in his large size and the slow graceful movements.

I now knew why I saw what I had seen in 1987, and why I saw it now. It was for my comfort. I felt a great sense of peace. As the angel appeared to pass right through the wall, I knew I wouldn’t be able to see it again.

I turned back to the window. I didn’t tell my sister what I had just seen but said simply, “Dad will be gone tonight.” She never questioned how I knew.

When Marty and Mary came for their nightly vigil, I also told them, “Dad will be gone tonight.” I knew that God had not only spared Dad from the life he had been so much dreading, but He had given me what I didn’t know I needed–comfort and deep-settled peace.

I left those hospice papers untouched on the night stand. I took a last long gaze around the room so I would always remember the look and feel of that night.

Marty sat in his usual place next to the bed. Dad was peaceful and still, his breathing regular as though he were sleeping. Mary leaned over him, whispering, “Take Jesus’ hand, Dad. Take Jesus’ hand.”

I said “Good-bye, Dad,” for the last time and left. He died shortly after I left the hospital.

            The ninety-minute ride home that night was different from the previous seven. The feeling of comfort, peace, and knowledge of how senseless worry is has stayed with me every day for the past six years since Dad died. When trouble comes, in whatever form—standing next to my car with a flat tire, hearing of a loved one diagnosed with cancer, or family conflicts—I take it to the Lord and leave it there because I know He can and will handle it.

            After Dad died, I didn’t tell everyone I had seen an angel. Just like many years earlier, I would mention it whenever someone seemed to need to know. As time passed, I read Bible passages referencing angels and read a few books about people seeing angels. But I consciously didn’t want to be caught up in the pursuit of angels. However, I have taken much pleasure in the thought that nurses are referred to as “angels of mercy.”

This article was published in the book Heavenly Company Entertaining Angels Unaware written by Cecil Murphey and Twila Belk by Guideposts in 2012. I received permission to post it here by Cecil Murphey who owns the copyright. This may not be reproduced without permission.

Please note: Since I am just getting back to posting after a lengthy absence, I have to get reacquainted with doing formatting and the changes in this website since my last post. I have not found how to let you add comments but I’m working on it!

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please be sure to read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

When cleaning out my parents memorabilia, I came across these two Mother’s Day cards my mom had saved from my dad. This first one is a Hallmark card with glitter covering the flowers and leaves. I don’t know what year it is from – probably the ’70s since the artwork is from an original 1971 painting.

The following Mother’s Day letter was written by my dad in 1994 and I am showing you the unedited copy just as my dad typed it with the added graphics. (I don’t know how he got those in there since he had never used a computer in his life!) But it is evident why my mom kept it. It was definitely written from his heart as no store-bought card could ever be. I’m sure my parents would be in favor of my sharing these with you. Enjoy!

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please be sure to read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

The Lenten season was a busy time for my dad. Beginning with Ash Wednesday, there were the six mid-week Lenten services to conduct, then, during Holy Week, we had a Maundy Thursday service, Good Friday services (one in the afternoon and another in the evening), and multiple services on Easter Sunday. After awhile the afternoon service on Good Friday was eliminated and the evening service became a Tenebrae service. This was one of my favorite services. And at least one year he engaged the help of John Bendull in constructing an almost life-sized cross and preparing nail pins which the members wore and then inserted into the cross on Good Friday. I still have a pin and have been wearing it this week while working at the library. Here are shown Dorothy and John Bendull at St. Paul Lutheran Church in Round Lake with the cross (on left) and pin (on right).

                           

Easter morning was also a busy one for Dad. It began with the 6 am Sunrise Service followed by an Easter Breakfast prepared by the ladies of the congregation. Then there were the two worship services with a special children’s service in between. After Dad conducted those four services on Easter morning, we either headed for Milwaukee for dinner or hosted it at our home in Cicero, and then later in Round Lake.

 My earliest memories of Easter are dressing up for church. Mom usually made a new dress for me and my sisters, adding new patent leather shoes, white gloves, a purse, hat, and sometimes a corsage. Of course she “helped” prepare baskets for the Easter Bunny to deliver and we always colored eggs. Whether we hosted the Easter dinner or it was held at my grandparents, Mom was involved in the cooking and it wouldn’t have been complete without her lamb cake. I have since inherited her cast iron lamb mold and taken on that task for my own family.

Some Easter mementos I have from my parents include this figure of Jesus in Gethsemane, a portrait of Christ which includes scenes from His life engraved in the face, a china egg and cross hand-painted by Mom, and a wooden butterfly with a cross in the center made by Mom’s cousin, Edwin (Whitey) Gohr.

    

  

If you enjoyed reading this, please leave a comment in the section below. And consider adding your email address to get automatic updates on my posts. (Email addresses are not shared.) Just click on the Follow button above on the right. You may also contact me personally on my Contact page in the menu at the top of the page. Thanks for joining me today!

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please be sure to read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

Today is the anniversary of my Dad’s birthday, March 15, 1918. In recognition of this, I decided to publish a poem written upon his death in 2005 by Lois Guhr. Lois and her husband George were members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Muskego where Dad was the visitation pastor during his semi-retirement. Dad never actually completely retired since he was still teaching Bible classes until just the week before his death. The Guhrs were active members of the OWLS group at St. Paul’s and the superintendents of Stoney Creek where my parents lived. I hope you will enjoy it!

THE ALPHA AND OMEGA OF

PASTOR MARTIN LOPAHS

 

A.   Angels, he believed were always watching over him

B.   Believer in the Bible in its entirety

C.   Cubs & Bears favorite teams, Chocolate favorite treat

D.   Directed his life to serving the LORD

E.   Eternity with his savior – his greatest desire

F.   Family, next to God, was foremost in his life

G.   God’s grace was sufficient to him

H.   His home was his castle wherever he lived

I.   Individually, he led people to Jesus

J.   Jesus, Jesus, Jesus only

K.   Kids, grandkids and great-grandkids are special

L.   Love for life was always evident

M.   Martin Luther was his namesake and his mentor

N.   Never a dull moment when he was around

O.   OWLS, he found joy in his organization of OWLS

P.   Played the piano, golf and loved to bowl

Q.   Quick with his “comebacks” when he was teased

R.   Reading & searching the scriptures always enjoyed

S.   Stoney Creek was very special to him

T.   Ties that he loved to wear were bright & bold

        & beautiful

U.   Understood & was compassionate to friends when

        grieving or rejoicing

V.   Verona was the love of his life for over 60 years

W.   Wonderful preacher & teacher of God’s Word

X.   X-ray vision was his to discover what others needed

Y.   Yearned to be with the LORD

Z.   Zealous teacher & preacher

         He was always loved by all and now missed by all

                                                                        By Lois Guhr

If you enjoyed reading this, please leave a comment in the section below. And consider adding your email address to get automatic updates on my posts. (Email addresses are not shared.) Just click on the Follow button above on the right. You may also contact me personally on my Contact page in the menu at the top of the page. Thanks for joining me today!

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under previous posts.

My mother, Verona Lopahs, was taken home to heaven four years ago today.  The following is a copy of the bulletin from her funeral service on March 16, 2013 prepared by my brother, Pastor Martin J. Lopahs.

Many years ago both of my parents wrote out their choices of hymns and texts for their funerals. Obviously, at least one or both of them would not be in attendance for these services, so what would it matter? Well, I think they did this not only to make things a little easier for us children in planning the services, but also to share a last message from them as to what was most important in their lives as they thought about “Going Home.” When my dad passed away and we chose a headstone, Mom wanted a picture of The Good Shepherd engraved on the front and the words “He Leadeth Me” on the back. Their grave site is right along the driveway of St. Paul Lutheran Church in Muskego for all to see as they drive out. So my parents continue to proclaim the Gospel message!

How many of you have your funeral services planned? I think I’ll have to add that to my to-do list as well. Please leave a comment in the section below. And consider adding your email address to get automatic updates on my posts. (Email addresses are not shared.) Just click on the Follow button above on the right. You may also contact me personally on my Contact page in the menu at the top of the page. Thanks for joining me today!

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under this post.

The following is a story of the events which took place the last day I spent with my dad. I wanted to remember them so I wrote this during the few days between the day of his death, March 9, and the day of his Victory Celebration, March 12, 2005.

     THE LAST WORDS OF MARTIN CHARLES LOPAHS
On Wed. March 2, 2005, at 12:30 pm, I was taking my father to a doctor’s appointment. We never made it into the building as my father had collapsed in the parking lot. At first I thought he may have stumbled, losing his balance and falling straight backward, hitting his head on the pavement. Later we found that a cerebral hemorrhage had occurred which caused the fall. I felt helpless as I realized he was going down. When I knelt at his side, I saw that he was unconscious and began to yell for help, but there was no one around. I ran into the building yelling until I got to the doctor’s office, opened the door, and shouted that my father had fallen and was unconscious. I then ran back out to him and he had his eyes open. He said “Help me get up. Help me into the car so I can go home.” I told him to try to relax and that help was on the way. As he struggled to get up, I tried to hold him down since I didn’t know how extensive his injuries were. He asked “What happened? Tell me what happened?” I explained that he had fallen down and needed to stay still until help arrived. He kept repeating that question over and over. Also, several times he asked “Where are my glasses?” and I replied that I had them. When about 4-5 people ran out to us, they tried to ask him about his injuries but he only repeated those same questions.
I could not focus my attention on him for the next few minutes as a rescue squad and the police arrived. They asked me many questions concerning the fall and his past health history. Once he was moved into the van, they let me go inside too so I could be near him while they continued questioning me. He said “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Kathie, my daughter?” I took his hand and reassured him that I was right there. He kept alternately asking “What happened? Could someone please tell me what happened?” and “Where’s my daughter?” When they were ready to transport him to the hospital, I got out and followed them in my car.
Once I joined him in the emergency room, I was again-and many times throughout the day-questioned about the fall and his general health background. As I stood by his side, he continued asking “Could someone please tell me what happened?” The staff attending him tried to explain it to him, but he was not responding to their answers. I then tried asking him if he could hear me and if he could understand me, but he still didn’t respond. His eyes were open and I knew he was able to see us. Once when a nurse came up to him he said “Hi there.”
Before they had put him on the stretcher in the parking lot, they fastened a collar around his neck to protect it and a padded block on each side of his head, joined across his forehead. These were still on him and, as he reached up to feel the band, he pulled on it and said “My head hurts. This is hurting my head.” After they removed those blocks he never again mentioned that he was in any pain. The staff continued to come in and out of the room while I stayed at his side. He began to pull at the collar around his neck and asked “Could someone take this off? Please take this off.” We tried to explain to him that it needed to stay on until they could take an x-ray of his neck to make sure it wasn’t injured. But he persisted in pulling on it and asking for it to be taken off. Once when several of the staff were around him he said “Please take this off me. Pretty please?” They smiled and I commented on how he’s always been very polite.”
His questions continued about what happened and his requests to have the collar removed. Once or twice he quieted down, looked up at the ceiling and in a frustrated tone said very softly “Oh joy!” (This was a common phrase he always used when things were not going well.) Since I was right there at his side, he would look at me sometimes and ask me to take the collar off. When he said “Lady, would you please take this off?” I realized that he did not know me. He wasn’t hearing me, understanding me or recognizing me. I felt that my presence was not comforting him because he only saw me as someone who was not helping him.
While we were alone for a brief period of time, he almost pulled the collar off his neck. I called for help and they decided they would need to restrain his arms. He was taken out of the room once for a CT scan of his head and then I was able to make a few phone calls to Tudor Oaks and home. Once he was back in the room he no longer mentioned the collar. As we waited for the results of the CT scan, he strained and tried to undo the restraints and called out periodically “Help! Will someone help me please?” His voice was loud and strong. He kicked his legs continually, sometimes way up toward the ceiling, and finally was able to kick his shoes off. His socks were black and blue! (One was black, the other blue.) They put a blanket over him which I tried to keep on him without luck. The room felt cold to me but fortunately he still had his shirt and pants on.
When the CT results came back the doctor was not very hopeful of any kind of recovery. They needed to do a neck x-ray before taking the collar off but he was too agitated. They gave him some medication to help him relax and later another dose. He remained agitated although his eyes were no longer open and he stopped calling for help. Once I noticed a tear in the corner of his left eye. They tried a different medication and, while we waited for it to take effect, his speech became mostly unintelligible. He had learned several languages during his lifetime beside English – German, Latin, Hebrew, and Greek – so even though I could not understand what he was saying, it sounded to me like he could have been speaking in a foreign language. He would utter a phrase and end it with Amen.” This went on for some time. I would guess he said “Amen” several dozen times. While the hours passed I tried singing to him any hymn that would come to mind, usually “Heaven is My Home.”
When they thought he had calmed down enough, they took him for the x-ray. I was again alone in the room for a few minutes and so made some more phone calls. They brought him back saying that he was still pretty active so they weren’t sure they got a good picture. One of the staff had to almost lie down on top of him. They told me he even was reaching into his pocket and throwing pieces of hard candy at them.
While I was waiting for the x-ray results and the paperwork to be processed for admitting him, he was much calmer and not quite as talkative. Most of the words he said I could not understand but I very clearly heard him say “Jesus” several times and “Heaven” once. They then took him upstairs to intensive care and got him settled in a room while I waited in the family waiting room. I spent about half an hour in his room with him (it was now 8:30 pm) but he never spoke again. Seven days later he went to heaven.