On December 3, 1939 at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Danville, IL, the same hospital as me, my father, Terrence Carlton Brandenburg, was born to Charles and Nila Brandenburg.  He grew up on a little farm in Indiana in the unincorporated, border town of Foster, Indiana with his younger sister and brother.  His family and everyone else called him Terry, which alliterated well with the mascot of Covington, IN schools, the Trojans, where he received all twelve years of elementary and secondary education.  Covington, the county seat of Fountain County, was a small town of 2,600.

My dad was born before the United States entered World War 2 and as a child, he saw bombers and fighters flying overhead from a nearby air force base.  He grew up in a different era and country than what we have today.   He worked the graveyard shift at a factory for over a decade.  We children tip toed past his bedroom and never played on the side of the house where he was sleeping.  We sat late at night with him before he left for work, watching our black and white TV together as Neil Armstrong took his one small step and one giant leap for mankind.

Until he left his childhood home, his house was without gas, electricity, or indoor plumbing.  North Fork Spring Creek ran through his farm, where daily chores might include milking cows, slopping hogs, and bailing hay.  He often told the story of outrunning the bull, helped by his collie, Laddie, and hopping over a 6 foot barbed wire fence.  Perhaps this helped increase his speed and jumping to set a Covington high record for the 100 and 220 yard dash and long jump.  His senior high school football team won a mythical six man state championship, going undefeated with him at halfback and safety.

As my father grew up, his family attended a local chapel of a now long defunct Plymouth Brethren congregation, where he heard the gospel from a visiting “evangelist” and professed salvation in Jesus Christ.  He progressed some as a Christian but was never discipled.  After graduating from high school, at the age of eighteen, he married his high school sweetheart, Karen.  Glenn Ray, the pastor of First Baptist Church in Covington, came to their newlywed apartment and lead  her to Christ.  They were both baptized into that church and began to grow.

Terry and Karen bore three children, first daughter Kim, then Kent (me), and the youngest son, Kris.  They all began attending church and then faithfully to every service.  My dad learned to preach the gospel and our family became known for standing for Christ.  He took Old and New Testament survey classes at a Bible Institute at a Baptist church in Danville.

My dad had worked on his farm, briefly as a fireman on the railroad, and then for seventeen years for Olin Corporation, a factory between Covington and Danville across the Wabash River.  He was never late to a day of work with one exception as his car broke down and he couldn’t thumb a ride.  His love for Christ flourished and he wanted more of the Bible.  When dad was thirty-five years old, our family sold our house and moved to Watertown, WI for him to attend Bible college.  There he worked several jobs while paying tuition for all three children to finish at a Christian high school.  He graduated from college, then completed a master’s degree in Bible.

Selling our worldly goods and leaving for Watertown made a big impression on my life.  That sacrifice and my dad’s earnest and diligent labor impacted all three of his children in a major way.  My brother and I became pastors and my sister married one.  Even though he was never a good student growing up and school was difficult for him, my dad was regularly on the honor roll.

For a few years, my dad taught Greek and Bible at the Christian school also to help his children finish college.  During my last year of graduate school, my parents moved to Tempe, Arizona, where dad taught upper elementary in a Christian school and coached the basketball team.  After I was married and my wife and I traveled to California to start a church, my dad came in 1989 as principal of and teacher in our church school.  He continued for over a decade doing that work and trained another man to take his place as his health hindered his continuation.

My dad stayed a faithful member of our church, attending every service, teaching Sunday School, going door to door evangelizing, and serving in almost every way imaginable in our church.  He impacted many lives.  Four years ago, it was obvious the my mom needed help with dad, so they moved in with my wife and me.  They moved with us to Oregon when we started a church there in 2020-21.  Then they came with us to Utah this year.

Almost four weeks ago, my dad broke his hip early in the morning.  That day they performed surgery to insert screws to repair the hip.  He went to a rehab center three weeks ago.  He continued physical therapy with hopes of beginning to walk again.  I dropped my mom there yesterday morning.  They have been married for 63 years.  He completed his rehab with the therapists early afternoon, but something seemed different.  I arrived in the late afternoon and they had to put him on oxygen because of a sudden difficulty getting air.   He breathed his last breath on this earth at around 5pm on July 27, 2022 with my mother, wife, and I at his side.  Even though we grieve, we are happy that dad opened his eyes to see Jesus in heaven.

I am so thankful for my father.  He did so much for me and many others in this life.  I look forward to seeing him in the next.