July 13^th 2004

Today my father died.  Rodney Grant Wells Sr. was a man that defied the world’s definitions; He was from the banks of the Ohio River in Kentucky – and he walked and talked with world leaders.  He was an untamed philosopher – and he was a stringent debater.  He was annoyingly analytical – and he was an unbridled artist.  He was a crisp Navy officer – and he was a pirate. He had the looks of Santa Claus – and the smile of a child.  He was a politician of the grand ol’ party – and he was a revolutionary.  He was fiercely competitive – and yet he always sought to help others win. He struggled to find himself – and he always treasured one’s –everyone’s- self worth.  He loved the unspoiled outdoors, especially the mountains and the lake – and he felt equally peaceful in front of the glow of his laptop.  He was always awake – and yet he dreamed more than anyone I know.  I know he could be a doubting Thomas – and yet he had the faith of a little child. He cherished the finest detail – and he was constantly consumed by a vast vision that was in God’s proportion to his faith.  He sometimes couldn’t see the page in front of him – and yet he could always see far ahead of everyone else.  He was a writer.  He was an encourager.  He was a mentor.  He was a loving and devoted and passionate husband.  His final email we found on his laptop is included here, but among it were other sweet nothing and loving messages to his sweetheart of over 40 years. He was a father and friend.  He was my Dad.

Many of you know of Rodney’s pursuit of perfection and his tendency to wrestle with others in word-battles the way Jacob wrestled with angels. You know he had a fire inside him to pursue what was right and what was best. He also was a man that was selfless in so much, to so many, seeking to see others be their best. There are many stories that any one of his four children could tell about his lifelong efforts to raise us up and lift us higher, but one of my first memories is very fitting.

"I remember vividly the peripheral events around this fated lesson circa 1971. While Mom stayed up at the pool and relaxed in the warm sun, Dad, my brother Grant and I went to the smaller of the two lakes that lay pristine on the preserve to try our hand at some bait fishing. We loved fishing at American Adventures, and we were able to catch plenty of large bluegill from these lakes. Part of the repertoire in our fishing skills development was finding crickets and worms under the many large rocks on the property. After procuring a bountiful harvest of bait we headed over to the "L"-shaped dock with its wooden posts slipping silently into the glassy surface. The entire lake was wrapped by pines and oaks, so there was a dark and serene look to the water. You felt as if you were seeing the same trees only upside down as the crystal clear reflection undulated, almost undetected, up and down. In these same inviting waters the three of us stepped out onto the wooden planks of the old dock, each step eliciting a deep "clunk" and an ever so slight ripple around each thick post disappearing into the depths. All three of us on the dock walking created a melody of wooden song, "clunck-ca-clunck, ca-clunck". We turned the sharp right along the dock to go out to the furthest end of the "L". Dad sat us down while he began to prepare our lines. Our push button weapons of choice were some of the latest Zebcos on the market while Dad prepared to do battle with weathered Shakespeare rods from Granddad’s prime stable. Dad sat at the end and edge of the dock and was able to get each of us set up with hooks on our fine filament lines, but only after some effort. This was likely because of the fidgety nature of 4 and 5-year-olds, making very tough the effort of meticulously tying a minute knot. With this stress in mind, it was only most unfortunate what happened next. I can only say that I was likely very fascinated by the technique my father was using to bait the hook, and since I was standing behind Dad, tried to lean over him to see exactly how he was working his magic. My attention to related actions was not as well focused, and somehow I allowed my hook to snag Dad’s back.

"Ow!", came the response and whirling he hurled, "Back up!"

Well I did. I was horrified that I had been so careless, and that I had broken a cardinal rule of fishing: hook the fish, not your fellow fishermen, and I was horrified that I had made my father so mad. I was somehow in a trance from my shame, and remember looking down at my feet as the slowly went backwards, one slow agonizing step at a time. I neither looked sideways or back, but only intermittently from my feet back to the end of the dock, the scene of my crime. Still in my cloudy state, I could see the scene of Dad and Grant at the end of the dock suddenly fly up out of my field of vision only to be replaced for an instant with the gnarled and thick wood of the edge of the dock, and then my view was completely engulfed by dark murky water. In my trance, I had backed up the entire length of one side of the "L", maybe somewhere in my brain thinking that the "L" shaped dock was lowercase.

Immersed in the greenish-yellow haze I let go of my fishing pole. I looked up to where the light from above was dimming. I began to crawl – not a swimming "crawl" mind you, but a frantic and frenetic desperate attempt to crawl back to the surface. I churned the water like a turbine engine, and though I thought for a moment that I was maintaining my depth in the water – maybe even surfacing, I was decidedly going down, sinking into the murky depths. My entire life flashed by – and at 5, that didn’t take very long. I was in a strange suspended state where I was going from light to darkness and there was nothing I could do about it. Suddenly, just as I was going into the dim, from the light above reached down a hand from heaven. Sunlight exploded through the water and I felt the strong fingers grab a hold – of my hair. Luckily the 70’s had seen our burr haircuts become shaggy mop-tops. The divine hand lifted me from the water by my roots and placed me back on the dock. Of course, my father was breathless as he looked at me, and I said sheepishly, "I’m sorry", at which he gave me a look and a hug that said clearly all was forgiven, that really only my safety mattered. I knew without question, that he would have readily given his life for mine.

I then realized my most important earthly possession was gone - my fishing pole gone straight to Davey Jones’ locker. Dad consoled me that the fishing pole could be replaced - but that I could not. It was then that dad noticed the same hook that I had impaled him with, stuck in the edge of the dock. "Look!" he cried and started pulling the line. It was a long time because the line went to the end of the reel, but eventually my prized Zebco surfaced from the deep.

A simple story, early in my days, but one certainly lived out with too much regularity throughout my life and in others. Many times, I had wronged or run away from my father and he always was there to lift me back up. Too many times, I have done something wrong to the Father, and then retreated from Him, when He was really only disciplining me to help me mature. I have run away from Him far enough and have fallen too many times to count, and His heavenly hand has pulled me from the bottomless depths many times. I know others have done the same for me. On this day, I thank God for His grace, and His willingness to pull me up by my hair."

And now, we celebrate that our Father in heaven has reached down through the darkness, and pulled Dad, Rodney, up by his tousled hair, to be with him, forever.

 A man of vision

Rodney was always a man of vision. He looked far beyond what might be to what could and what should be, and with God’s help, what will be. Many have said that he was at his finest hour. His Vision - God’s Vision – to take the property next door was one he had faithfully held onto for years. When people of Peachtree Christian Church talked about the challenges of expansion and how they were land-locked, Rodney pointed to the vast IXL building next door. This building is filled with some of the world’s most impressive audio-video capabilities, training facilities, and conference rooms, replete with some of the greatest technology assets of any company from the Internet craze. Like Moses, who told the people that they would see the promised land, a land flowing with milk and honey, he continually pointed to the this proverbial land of Canaan. There were others who continually pointed out the "Jordan river" in front of them, and that the "land was occupied with giants", saying "Rodney, that vision is too big. Besides, someone else owns the building." Dad, would just reply, "With God, anything is possible." Through the years as the tenants left thanks to the Internet bubble bursting, Rodney would continue to point and say, "There is where the people should go. There will be many to serve, and this facility is the tool to allow us to serve them." And still there were the understandable doubts of others, "Yes, Rodney, but do you know what it would cost?" Dad would only reply, "Yes, but my God has a few resources."

Now, as this vision has built momentum, it was Rodney who pioneered a "vision documentary" to take to benefactors and investors. He produced a photographic and digital presentation to represent the incredible tools, assets and opportunity available to take to the community. It was this vision, now captured electronically, that the church is taking to its valued benefactors, seeking the funding of some $25 million dollars. They came to the hospital on the second day of Dad’s coma, and asked Ann in a dire time for Rod’s laptop and documents they needed to present to the benefactors in a meeting that was already set and unbreakable. That presentation was successfully made, some 9 days later; on the evening of July 13th … just a few hours after Rodney had passed away. The name for the project, developed by a separate marketing group, comes from the book of John, chapter and verse 4:14. It is appropriately, the "Wellspring Vision".

From the Old Testament, in Numbers 12, God speaks these words: