Today my family is celebrating what would have been my father’s 100th Birthday. He went to be with the Lord in 2013, and the following is the Eulogy that I wrote for his funeral service, which was read by my brother.
On August 7, 1920, John Franklin was born to Neil & Josephine McKillop in Dutton, Ontario. He was the youngest of four—three boys and a girl. Ten weeks later his father, Neil, died of complications from pneumonia. The financial burden on Josephine ultimately led to the two youngest children entering an orphanage, while the two older children went to live with other family. Jack remained in the orphanage until he was eight, when the Kennedys, took him to help on their family farm. For the next 10 years, he went by the name John F. Kennedy, even though the Kennedys did not formally adopt him. When he was in the hospital, at the age of 18, to have his appendix removed, another patient asked him his name. “Jack Kennedy,” he replied. “Well I could have sworn you were a McKillop,” the man said. “I AM a McKillop, Jack responded. That revelation resulted in my dad being reunited with his mother and siblings and taking back his birth name.
On March 12, 1942, the Canadian army drafted him and sent him to Jamaica to serve as a guard in a German internment camp. He did not care much for the army and in the memoir he wrote several years ago, he noted that he purposely antagonized his officers.
One thing I often did was to pull out a large red handkerchief on the parade square and blow and blow. I can’t remember ever needing to do it, but simply thought it would spoil the looks of the parade.
On his 23rd birthday, August 7, 1943, while on leave, he married Doris Eileen McKibbin, and it may well be that his dislike for the army was related to the army taking him away from his new bride.
In spite of that, and on behalf of my siblings and our children, I would like to take this opportunity to publically thank the Canadian government for sending my dad to Jamaica. A few years ago Mother, writing in a newsletter, referred to her children as having “sand in their shoes”—some of that good Jamaican sand!
Returning from army duty after the war, and in response to the Lord’s leading, Jack and Doris enrolled at London Bible Institute in London, Ontario. In a memoir he wrote several years ago, he recounts:
After registering at London Bible Institute, the Registrar gave the students a preliminary exam. One question on the paper, followed by a long list of countries was, “Would you be willing to go to any of these countries as a missionary?” At the age of 27 and with my limited education it would be most difficult to learn a foreign language. I believed that God not only had a personal plan for my life, but a practical plan. I took the liberty to add Jamaica to the list and answered with a big “yes.” The registrar asked me why I did that. I said, “I have been to Jamaica, they speak English, I would go there, but not where I had to learn a new language!” She replied, “Do you know that one of our last year’s graduates is just now leaving for Jamaica?” At that moment, my bags were packed!!! It would be five years, but my bags were packed.
On July 14, 1952, Jack and Doris boarded what he called “the largest airplane I had ever seen” and headed for Jamaica, with a refueling stop in Tampa.
He wrote:
I slept much of the way from Tampa to Kingston, but woke up in time to keep watch for any sign of our little island. Suddenly I saw little lights glimmering here and there in an ocean of darkness. I bowed my head and prayed, “Dear Lord, make me a little light in that ocean of sin and darkness.”
That was the beginning of what would be their 24 years of service in Jamaica.
In 1976, they left the island and went to Missionary Acres.
On the morning of my dad’s passing Brian wrote:
Daddy’s life can be summed up in this statement: “He loved the Lord, he loved his wife, he loved his children and grandchildren, and he loved his work.”
I would like to use my father’s own words to show the truth of that statement:
He Loved the Lord
He wrote the following about his salvation:
At the age of eleven, I attended a tent meeting and sat on a bench two-thirds of the way back from the platform. I wanted to accept Christ and, when the invitation was given to raise hands, I shot my hand up and pulled it down before anyone could see me. When the invitation was given to come to the altar, I was too frightened to leave my seat.
Within two weeks, the meetings had moved from the tent into a large casino and I rode in the back of a milk truck to the service. During the invitation time, the pastor’s wife, Mrs. Schultz, said to me, “Jack, would you like to become a Christian?” I don’t need to tell you the answer! I jumped out of my seat, and she walked with me part way down the aisle.
Although several men were on the platform, no one came to talk to us, or pray with us. As the meeting was dismissed and people were leaving, and the girl far to my left had also turned around and started out, and since I had to catch a ride in the milk truck home, I turned and walked out. Something was not right. Was I saved? I had gone forward. Is this salvation? On our way home, I repeated many of the Scripture verses I had learned, and sang to myself many of the choruses I knew. But something was wrong! I had an empty feeling.
A year later, at another revival meeting, when the invitation was given, Mother Kennedy whispered to me, “Jack, are you sure you are saved!” I replied “No!” Before the invitation was completed I jumped out of my seat, squeezed by Mr. Kennedy, and out into the aisle. Tonight I meant business. The preacher was off the platform in an instant. I shook his hand and said in a loud voice that all could hear, “I want to receive Jesus Christ as my personal Savior.”
That was the greatest, happiest night in my whole life. Saturday night, November 4th, 1933! We walked home and for the full two miles I tried to persuade the two boys who lived across the road from our farm house that they ought to do the same tomorrow night!
He Loved His Wife
He wrote the following about our mother:
Our youth group often got together with the group from the Port Burwell and Lakeview churches and there was one particular girl that I thought was rather homely. She was thirteen when we first met, and I said, “That is one girl I will never marry!”
A few years later, I went to work for Norm Jones at Copenhagen. The day I arrived at the farm, he showed me the line fences of his farm, and pointed across the field to the McKibbin farm and said, “There’s a nice girl lives over there.” The girl I had met at age thirteen! It could only have been the Lord. As soon as he spoke, it seemed like something flipped inside me, and I reversed my first decision, and set my goal. She would be mine!
The night before their wedding, my father wrote that they prayed seeking God’s blessing on their marriage, and asking Him to use them to His glory and to make their lives together a special blessing to others.
He Loved his Children and Grand-children
When they arrived in Jamaica they had been married nine years and had no children. Shortly after arriving they had an opportunity to adopt a little girl from the German community of Seaford Town. Margaret was four years old when she became part of the McKillop family.
In December 1953, Kenneth Douglas was born but lived only a few hours and is buried in Jamaica beside the baby daughter of their co-workers, Jim and Edna Green.
In October, two years later, the Lord blessed Jack and Doris with another beautiful gift when Barbara was born.
While on furlough in Canada two years later, Brian was born in February.
Marianne came along in May of the following year.
And then in 1960, just two days before his 40th birthday, Billy was born (that’s me).
A few years later, returning to Jamaica from their 2nd furlough, now with five children, my dad noted that a fellow passenger referred to us as “a millionaire’s family!”
The family didn’t stop growing with the six children God gave them. As a minister, he had the privilege of marrying two of his sons and two of his daughters and watching as their families grew. Margaret has three daughters. Brian and Gloria have two daughters. Barbara and Kieron have three daughters. That’s a lot of girls! Marianne and Daniel have a son and two daughters. Poor Raj was outnumbered for a long time until my two sons were born. Gabrielle was the final grandchild, until Lee and Seth came along. The grandchildren-in-law were welcomed and loved as equally as the others. I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a Grandpa who was as loved as “Grandpa Mack.” He was very affectionate with all his grandchildren. Four of his grandchildren were not able to attend his funeral: Margaret’s three girls, who live in Canada, and Marianne’s youngest daughter, Priya, who was in Spain for a semester of study. That is a testimony to the love he had for his grandchildren. He will be remembered and missed as the one of whom it could be said: “Grandpa gave the best hugs.”
And finally,
My Father Loved His Work
He wrote the following about a farmer he worked for:
I worked for Farmer McQuiggan for a few months, who had only a third grade education. He could frame a building, cutting all rafters and materials on the ground, and fit them together perfectly. He said “All it takes is hard work and good common horse sense.” He taught me many things that would be an asset during the years of work in Jamaica.
About the work they intended to do in Jamaica, my dad wrote:
One question we were asked “What do you plan to do when you go to Jamaica?” Our main goal of course was to establish churches. Little did we realize that we would be involved in building churches, and more so as the years went by. The time would come when it was a difficult choice, whether to be a good builder, or a good missionary pastor.
The first church building project my dad was involved with in Jamaica was Cataboo Baptist Church (a church where I am privileged to preach and teach today).
He wrote:
The men from the Cataboo community went to work early in the morning planting rice along the river. I would prepare the materials, and they would come to church to work on the building after they finished planting, arriving between 8 and 9.
We continued to build until the church ran out of funds, and then began a building project at Forest Mountain Baptist Church. I found the same enthusiasm there, and we worked many long hours, even spending an entire week near the end of the project on the site without going home. I slept in the church, cooked breakfast on a small kerosene burner, and the women of the church cooked lunch and dinner for the men. There were many nights that I told the men that I would work as late as they were able to, and quite often we never quit until 11:30 p.m.
The prayer of my parents on the night before their marriage, “seeking God’s blessing on their marriage, and asking God to use them to His glory and to make their lives together a special blessing to others,” was answered in full measure. As a family we are so thankful that God, for His good pleasure and the glory of His name, reached into small towns in Ontario, Canada, to call our parents to Himself and use them mightily in His service.
To God alone be the glory and the praise!
On July 28, 2014, the youngest of my 2 daughters posted an article to her blog titled For Grandpa
CanJAmerican 