I was not born a Pendleton. This is a name I legally took when I turned 18 to honor my step-dad, Richard Pendleton. He raised me, he taught me, and he loved me – and so I consider him my dad.
My mother had previously been married. That man gave her three sons. I was the eldest. And the brother immediately younger than me was born prematurely and never made it home from the hospital. Not long after that her husband, our father, showed increasingly erratic behavior, and his self-destructive and abusive conduct caused my mother to seek a divorce. She felt it was best to remove us from perilous circumstances. She didn’t believe in divorce. Who does? But she would not tolerate violence toward her or her two remaining sons.
A few years later, after leaving California and returning to Hawaii, where she grew up and where she had family, she finalized her divorce. Then she met Richard. He had been in the army and served as a nurse anesthetist, then traveled and worked in the South Pacific. He ended up in Hawaii, working at the Adventist medical center, where they met.
He too was divorced and he had two kids who were older than my brother and me. He loved to sing, do carpentry, hike in the woods, go to church, read his Bible, and quote Ellen G. White.
All human beings have their own unique quirks and eccentricities, and our new dad – Richard Pendleton – was no different. But he was sincere in his likes and dislikes, his must-haves and his pet peeves. He loved to evangelize about vegetarianism, for example, whether or not you were interested.
He also loved eating with chopsticks, especially if it raised eyebrows at potluck. His favorite was either to eat a salad or Spaghetti using his Japanese chopsticks, which he called hashi, as they are known in Japan.
He was also progressive in some ways. He let us snorkel and swim on Sabbath – something unheard of in the 1970s Seventh-day Adventist culture of Hawaii. The general rule for Adventists of that particular vintage was to wait until sundown to swim on a Saturday – or enter into the ocean only up to your ankles until sunset.
I recall being in elementary school and asking him why we could bird watch but not snorkel during Sabbath hours. In both cases we were appreciating nature. He whispered that he “didn’t always sing in unison with the church elders” on that restriction.
In Pathfinders we’d sometimes hike on a Sabbath afternoon when the physical exertion and humidity resulted in profuse perspiration. If we were at home, we could take a shower. But if we were at the Adventist camp at Kokee, Kauai, we’d have to wait until sundown to shower. It was too much like work, ruled the Brethren. If an activity seemed more like “gathering sticks” on Sabbath than worshipping, then it was verboten. (“Verboten” is German for forbidden). Dad literally used that German word. He had been stationed in Germany with the US Army. And he was conversational in the language of das deutsche Volk. I think his choice of words also signaled his disagreement but reluctant cooperation. Sometimes you went along to get along.
Needless to say, he suggested that he might not agree with the opinion of others regarding details of religious observance but there was value in being a part of a community despite minor differences. I grew up viewing religion akin to a list of dos and don’ts. Dad explained them as guardrails to keep one from driving off the road. He had been raised strictly and he was trying to be less legalistic with us. He would bend where possible, but like the father, Tevye, in the Fiddler on the Roof there was a limit to how much he could bend without breaking.
A more grace-oriented spirituality awaited graduation from Hawaiian Mission Academy and enrollment at La Sierra University in 1985. It was in classes with Rick Rice, Paul Landa, Bailey Gillespie, and Fritz Guy that my faith grew beyond doctrinal adherence to genuine relationship with a loving God.
My life’s journey has had many twists and turns, some U-turns, and a dead-end or two. And it is still on-going. My first dad was less than ideal. But we made it safely out of dire circumstances because of a courageous mother. My mother then found a man who was a true partner and treated us all well.
How very blessed I have been to have had a dad like Richard Pendleton. He was not perfect, yet in his own way he pointed me to a Heavenly Father who is.
My dad, Richard Pendleton, passed away during the Covid pandemic. We had many good telephone conversations during that time of lockdown and enforced isolation. We loved each other and always laughed together on the phone.
My dad Richard did the best thing a father can do: He reminded me that wherever we have been, whatever we may been through, we have a “Good Good Father.” Long before singer Chris Tomlin composed the catchy contemporary Christian worship song by that same title, my dad tried to model that for me and to point me to the God of Jesus Christ, who is holy, merciful, forgiving, and loving.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).
That profound truth has been a source of healing and wholeness for countless individuals, myself included. During these 40 days leading up to Easter Sunday, it is my prayer that you remember just how much God loves you too. May these next few weeks be a special time of healing, reconciliation, and growth.
David A. Pendleton is an attorney and alumnus of La Sierra University, where he met his wife Noemi. They have four children.