My parents John and Margaret Morrison at their 50th Wedding Anniversary in 2001
On my way to work the other day, I was listening to a radio show where the speaker asked the audience, "What kind of legacy would you want to leave with your children when you are gone?" I was very challenged by the question and throughout the day, and even to this day, I ask myself the same question. What legacy do I want to leave for my children?
A pastor named John Maxwell really knew what he was talking about when he defined what success means. He said, “Success is having those who are the closest to me love and respect me the most.” Of all the definitions of success I have heard in the world, this one got to be one of the best so far.
In thinking of the legacy, it was very natural that I think of my father, John Morrison, who passed away in March 2006. If my love and respect for my father could be measured by any means, he would be easily considered one of the most successful persons that have ever lived for the great legacy he left for me. This is coming not just from me, but from my four other siblings, and my 90 years old mother who still lives.
I still remember the many precious
conversations I had with my Mom and Dad, and how they always relished in
sharing the stories from their past. My Dad especially relished the story on
how he got me.
One night in early 1969, my
Mom and Dad, who already had three children by birth and adopted a ten years
old Amerasian boy from Korea a year earlier, was looking through a bimonthly
newsletter from Holt and saw many children that needed homes. They were listed with their pictures and
brief descriptions.
My Mom casually asked Dad a
question, “Should we adopt another child from Korea?” She asked the question
partly out of her compassion for the children, and partly to test how Dad would
react. To such question, Dad’s reply was simply, “Which one do you want?” At which Mom was taken back with such a strong
and positive reply from Dad.
Together they glanced through
many pictures of boys and girls in the newsletter. As they looked at the
pictures, one picture of a boy caught the eyes of my father. He looked at him, and something in him pulled
him towards the boy so strongly that he knew as soon as he saw him that the boy
was his son. Dad pointed his finger to
the boy’s picture and said, “This is the one.” But my Mom wasn’t so sure. It was mainly because the boy was described as a 13 years-old, and that concerned her. She said, “Oh no, not a 13 years old, he is too old. But how about this one? He’s only eight.” To which my Dad firmly replied. “No. This is the boy. I know this is my son.” This didn’t please my Mom at all, and she picked another boy of nine years old. Dad shook his head and said, “I made up my mind. This is him.” Mom tried another child, but Dad was very set in his heart.
Mind you my Dad rarely
displayed the character of stubbornness, and it was usually Mom who got her
ways as Dad was always agreeable to please Mom, but not this time. Something in
him told him that the boy, who would later become Steve Morrison, was his
son. Out of desperation Mom consulted
the boy (James) they adopted earlier, and he said without hesitation, “Get
him!” That settled it. Of course James
knew me from the same orphanage.
For many years after my
arrival into the home, Dad would occasionally tell this story before me and
other visitors with such pride, and Mom would go along with great joy at the
risk she took. I never once got bored of hearing the story again and again.
Each time I felt a great sense of gratitude as I reflected on their story.
For many years to follow up
to the time of his death my father set before me a strong role model of a
fatherhood that I never had before. The
way he loved Mom, the way he loved and cared for us, and the sacrifices he made
on behalf of our family. He would get a
special loan just to pay my for my college expenses and would not say anything
about it. He would tell me not to worry about
money, just focus on my studies. My college expense was more than that of all
the other siblings combined. It would be
several years after my graduation that I would learn about the loan. When I finally learned of it, I was deeply
moved.
His love for me expressed in
words still rings in my ears after all these years. “When we adopted you we did it to help you,
as you had no family. But after all
these years, it is we who have been blessed so much more through you.”
I could never forget the time
when he pulled me aside and said, “I have made some very important decisions in
my lifetime. The best decision was to
believe in God, the second best decision was to marry your mother, and the
third best decision was to have you in our family.”
My father left a legacy of
love and respect that he did not try to earn. He simply live it as what he knew
was his duty discharged by God. He set
before me sound principles of life to follow, and what it means to live as a
servant of God.
As I reflect on the immensity
of the legacy that my father left for me, I am challenged to leave a legacy
that will be claimed by my children one day. The legacy that I can only imitate
the one left by my father, who chose me that one night, thousands of miles
across the Pacific.
