father one father two

Here he comes walking down the path
With his arms full new found objects
He bring to life old discarded treasures of rust,
giving purpose to it.
He has fun, he creates,
He plays and he makes.
He's my father, father of mine
Making colors in his world.
He's my Father, Father divine,
With his love unfurled.
Where the stars are hurled.
He holds me close
and his arms are like great tree branches,
Leading me back and forth
My hand in His, He dances.

New life in me He has granted
Teaching me how to be His child,
Giving me skill to make and fashion,
Objects renewed by His own redemption.
He dies and He lives,
He makes new, He forgives.
He's my father, father of mine,
Making color in his world.
He's my Father, Father Divine,
With His love unfurled,
Where the stars are hurled.
He holds me close,
and his arms are like great tree branches.
Leading me back and forth,
My hand in his, He dances.
1990 Karl Marxhausen

My dad was the first one in the pool when we went swimming. My brother and I stood in the dipped edge to see how cold the water was. Then we waded down the slope into the deeper water where dad swam. He let us climb up on his shoulders like a lookout tower. He let us swim through his legs. He drove us to the pool. I remember hot vinyl car seats to sit on an the way home. We swam a lot during the summer time.

My dad took blocks of wood and nailed on new can lids to make toys with wheels for us. I played in the sandbox he made around the weeping willow tree in the middle. My dad walked up on top of the football field to fly kites with us. I remember a red-orange Japanese fish kite with a big mouth. The kites pulled our white strings tight way up high.

My dad mixed clay in the basement of the Art building on campus. I remember the smell of clay dust and the wet clay he wedged on a board with a wire, trying to get the air bubbles out of it for his class. I remember the "funny-looking" miter saw on the corner of his art tables in the basement of Weller, across from the gallery. He cut clay out of wet bricks to make words. After he was done you could read what the words said at the bottom of the steps in Weller basement.

My dad liked to find his own treasures off the ground and he hung them up on the outside wall of his studio, in our backyard. He collected bent wires, rusted metal, golf balls, and stuff. My dad made our living room floor out of colored carpet squares, when we lived on College Avenue. He painted empty orange crates and set them on cans to make shelves. He mixed up paper mache on balloons to make cool lampshades, which he hung from the ceiling in the corner above a reading chair. In that basement he had a darkroom with chemicals he used for developing film. He printed his own pictures. He liked to take pictures with his Rollaflex camera.

Once my dad made a structure for the apple tree with a hole in the bottom to climb up through. It was round and had open holes to peer out of. It had a plastic green skin painted on it. Our tree house was next to his studio building, where he made art.

My dad showed me how to glue wood piece to a panel, how to burn it black with his acetylene torch, scrub off the ashes with a wire brush, and make the wood shiny with cloth and wax. He had Paul and me glue colored glass pieces on panels. He was making a mosaic out of wood and glass. The panel shapes fit together to make a big big picture. Once I was told to glue the whole area with green pieces of glass. I glued the letters of my name down first. Then cut pieces to fill in around it. When I was done you could not see my name, but I knew it was there. When my dad installed the mural in the Nebraska State Capitol, there were scaffolds up high. No one was around that weekend, so we set up our family record player and listened to the Beatles sing while my dad worked.

My dad painted the walls in the old Lutheran church basement, which was turned into the Youth Room, after the new church was built. He made a Life wall at one end and glued layers of pictures from a pile of Life magazines. I remember listening to the "Abbey Road" album by the Beatles and "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon and Garfunkel. The youth were helping paint the walls too. One night later on, a band with drums played in the Youth basement with colored lights. It was very cool to be a teenager when all this happened.

My dad led a Thanksgiving service at the city dump. Grownups and children gathered, wearing a string necklace and a tin can medallion on it. Thanks was given for the food that came out of store bought cans.

My dad had moist eyes as he sat beside on the wooden church pew. I would share that same trait years later, whenever I felt the closeness of God, when the holy pressed himself upon my understanding.

My dad read a devotional to us from "Talks with God" right before lights went out at bedtime. We sat as a family down front at church, where little boys could see and hear what was going on. My dad professed faith in Jesus Christ. He made sure us boys went to confirmation to learn Bible verses, Sunday school and a christian grade school to learn about the Jesus he believed in.

My dad was a communicator of Christ. He was well remembered for the variety of mediums he used--wood, tile, scrap metal, cloth. Still, in the process of creating, he was focused on the message. He sought to keep Jesus fresh and real.