Jeff Adams

Friday evening, October 16th, 2009, Robert N. Adams, also known as Pastor Bulldog, left his cancer-ridden body for his eternal reward. He was a most remarkable man, and he was my Dad. He took his nickname of Pastor Bulldog from his dogged determination that saw him win the battle with colon cancer in the early 90’s. This second battle with lung cancer coupled with his already severely damaged lungs is what ended his earthly life.

From his service in WWI, my grandfather that I never met suffered from a severe case of what we now call post traumatic stress syndrome. My pregnant grandmother left him in Kansas City as her father brought her home to Arkansas City, Kansas where my Dad was born. He was raised by his single mother and her very Scottish parents.

Dad met my mother at a USO club during WWII and married her in her native Virginia, but soon moved to Arkansas City where I was born. Dad’s degree from the Richmond Professional Institute (now part of the College of William and Mary), was in fine arts, but he held a variety of jobs until he solidified his personal faith in Christ at Billy Graham’s 1967 crusade in Kansas City. I had come to faith the previous year. Some years later, Dad would enter the ministry and serve at KCBT in several capacities. He also spent a few years church planting in Florida. Interestingly enough, Dad had seriously considered going to a Presbyterian seminary after the war, and when I was born they dedicated me to ministry. It’s funny how God honors and answers our prayers even when we don’t have full understanding of what we are doing.

Every family has issues and struggles, but I never doubted my parent’s love, nor can I complain about much of anything. Even though our family was always living from paycheck to paycheck and there was never an abundance of material resources, we never went without food and I never experienced insecurity.

As an artist, Dad did not school me in hunting, fishing, sports or the great outdoors. He was totally supportive, though, of anything I wanted to explore and did his best to provide guidance and mentorship through life. Over his years in ministry, God used him to touch many lives. He was a student of the word and faithful to invest his life in the lives of others.

His health was always a challenge and I am amazed he lived for 82 years. In his later years he dedicated himself to Internet ministry and I was proud of his computer savvy for a person of his generation. He had an internet prayer ministry, wrote regular e-zines he called “Blessays” and maintained a number of blogs. A few years ago he put some of his Blessays together in a little book called Off My Chest –From My Heart. It was fun for me to see him muse on the memories of his life and the lessons he learned. It was also funny to see how the liberal-thinking artist morphed into an old man who saw life through series of “Fox News sound bites,” much to the dismay of my brother and me.

Right up until his cancer-ridden body began to shut down, his mind and quirky, sharp wit remained intact. In a short time he had endeared himself to the staff of the nursing home where he spent his final few months and I was touched to see nurses openly and sincerely weeping as the rolled him out tonight. A beautiful young  Ethiopian nurse named Bethlehem wept with sincere grief and said, “He prayed for me.”  I’m proud he was my dad.