This past weekend we had the opportunity to finally get down to our family’s cabin on the Rock River. As most of us realize that the flooding on the river was particularly high this year, higher than it has been in more than forty years and so the damage to our cabin was incredibly severe.

The cabin is raised up about five feet, however the floodwaters of this year quickly overflowed that distance and the river water found it’s way into the living space of the cabin. For those of us who have seen first hand the devastation of flooding, what I’m going to describe will probably be familiar, however for myself, this was a new and shocking discovery.

When we got into the cabin to look at the effects of the flood we were extremely discouraged. The carpet was filled with silt and dried mud to the extent that it was black and the familiar pattern had completely disappeared under all that mud. 

The built in couches that my father constructed were filled with mold, some of it growing right out of the fabric. The sunken fireplace pit was still full of wet sticky sludge, the rest of the cabin’s content filled with dried mud and dirt from the receding floodwaters.

The waters rose about two feet into the living space wreaking it’s effect on the contents of the inside of the cabin including the chairs, the tables, benches, everything in the cabin.

My boys and I went out Saturday morning and began the cleanup. We wore masks; goggles and gloves as we began to clean out the cabin, rip out the carpet, and dispose of the contents of the accumulation of almost forty years. As we began the cleanup I found a paper from our last year’s Peer Ministry day, when many of us teens enjoyed a fall day together.  As I stared at the paper it seemed as if it were years ago and yet it was just last November before the flooding. 

When we cleared everything out of the cabin, the carpet the last to be removed, the space now empty of furniture, the bare wood now warped in spots where the water had done considerable damage to the flooring, I was struck by the sheer tragedy of it all.

As I looked at the vacant room I saw in my mind’s eye the many people whose lives were touched by this cabin on the Rock River.   I remembered our family outings when the whole family, all my uncles, cousins, and grandparents’ would get together on the front deck facing the river and inside this large room sharing stories and our summer holidays together.

The next moment I closed my eyes and recalled the scores of people my father ministered to and with while he was alive in this place he loved.   I could once again see the many teens that were touched by this man’s desire to create a place for them to enjoy, a place for them to pray together, a place for them to grow closer to God, a place where they could feel our Lord’s presence.

I looked down at the sunken fireplace area and recalled the cold November night 25 years ago where by the firelight I asked Colleen to marry me.

After we were married the cabin became a focal point for our ministry while in TEC and here at Holy Family. I looked at the empty room and recalled the many generations of teens who called the cabin their home. I remembered the cabin overnights where the boys all slept downstairs, and the girls slept upstairs in the dormitory my dad had designed with built in bunks just for that purpose. I could see my good friend and chaperone Bill with his broom at the ready to shoo the girls back upstairs if any decided to come down unannounced.  I recalled the Peer ministry training days, and all the other times we met out at the cabin for fellowship and fun.  The teens that now are adults themselves and are ministering to others. Yes in that moment of quiet reflection I could almost see everyone who spent time in this unique and wonderful place.

After finishing up the large living space, I set out to clear out the carpets in the other rooms that had been wrecked by the flood I walked over to the plaque I had placed in the hallway at the entrance to our cabin in remembrance of my dad.   On the wall above the plaque I placed one of my dad’s tools, an old steel square as a kind of memorial to the place he loved.  The plaque was high enough on the wall that the floodwaters never touched it and I took that as a sign that maybe this cabin could be restored. 

On the plaque are the words:

Some men are measured by the amount of wealth they’ve accumulated in their lifetime.

Others are measured by the great deeds they’ve accomplished.

My father’s only measurement was to be sure that he was walking close enough to His God.

For over twenty-five years he spent countless hours at this cabin with crowds of people in fellowship or alone in peaceful solitude. 

Enjoying the challenge of work around this place or relaxing with his family and friends.

In quiet prayer or joyful song

As each year passed he kept on improving his place in big and small ways to give glory to God.

And for each of these years he used this old steel square to measure and make exact his many work projects around this place he loved

For his only wish is that this cabin that he built with hammer and nail, with mortar and brick be used for one purpose and one purpose only to serve His Lord Jesus Christ.

The only Measure that really matters.

Yes, with God’s help maybe this cabin will survive, and although my dad is gone, His legacy lives on with this little place on the river. It’s going to take a lot of backbreaking work to get this cabin restored after this flood, but hard work never bothered my dad. I can still hear him say, “Let’s go out and have some fun ‘piddling around’ at the cabin.” I used to tell him “piddling around” to me meant hard work, but it never was for him, it was always fun!

Have a good week, Colleen and I are praying for you,

Len