James W. Klassen

September 28, 1936-January 27, 2026

My father passed away a week ago today.

It’s hard to believe he’s gone—two months and two days after my mother passed. 

We held Mom’s memorial service a week before he died. And despite the challenges of his pesky dementia, Dad was more alert at her service than I’d seen him in a year or two. He relished the opportunity to see the family and friends he loved.

A week later, he came down with covid. We thought he would rally like he had many times before. Early Wednesday morning, January 27, Dad decided he was good to go.

I couldn’t have scripted it any better.

Yesterday morning, I received word that my dad’s older brother (by 11 months) decided to join him. Six days apart in their passing.

I am totally at peace with my father’s departure.

But let me tell you about my dad…

He was born on a farm in central Kansas. The family was extremely poor but learned how to get by. Like I mentioned in my last PWR post, dedicated to my mother’s influence on my writing, my parents knew each other as kids.

My older sister and I were born in Hillsboro, Kansas, but soon moved to Denver due to some financial hardships Dad faced after the lumber company he owned went belly-up.

Undeterred, Dad was the ultimate optimist. When asked, “How are you?” he always, always replied, “Never felt better!”

In the mid-1970s he began working as a petroleum landman, kind of like the TV show on Paramount, but without the drama. Because of his background growing up on the farm, he knew how to win the trust of farmers and ranchers from Noth Dakota to Texas.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that he was the best petroleum landman in the business.

Finally, when I was about twelve, he decided to start his own petroleum landman company, which became the biggest in Denver—at a time when oil served as the lifeblood of Denver’s economy. At one point, seventy landmen worked on the field for him.

Dad was a pretty big deal in downtown Denver—and he loved bringing Lori, my older sister, and me to his office when we weren’t in school. When we walked through the front doors, as many as ten people would be waiting to meet with him.

“I don’t care how many people are waiting in line to see me,” he told us, “you’re always welcome to walk right into my office without knocking.”

And I did.

Here’s what my father taught me about writing.

Let’s go.

He Wasn't a Reader But That Didn't Matter

Mom was a reader but Dad was a doer, so he didn’t read much. Nevertheless, his influence made me into the writer I am today.

Dad believed in working hard.

For better or worse, I inherited Dad’s work ethic. Watching him, I learned the importance of discipline, perseverance, and working hard even if you didn't feel like it. 

For eighteen years, I worked as a pastor six days a week and a freelance writer on my day off. Together, we struggled with workaholic tendencies which continued until about seven years ago when my body finally told me “No more!”

By the time I started Illumify  ten years ago, I had a traditional writing resume that rivaled full-timers. 

Dad taught me the importance of prayer.

Dad was a man of deep faith. During my formative years, he traveled three weeks a month. He usually spent six to twelve months at a time living in Texas or the Rocky Mountain region. There, he’d get involved in a local church and invariably became the confidante to local pastors.

He loved to write Scripture passages on index cards so he could memorize them while driving in between sales calls.

Every morning when he was home, I heard him pass by my bedroom door at 4:00 am, walk down the stairs, read his Bible, and literally get on his face before God to pray.

Chris Stapleton sings a song that epitomizes my dad—Daddy Doesn’t Pray Anymore. Makes me weepy every time I listen.

Since then, I’ve written three books on prayer, a value I learned from my father. He created the template that guides me as a follower of Jesus.

Dad encouraged me in my pursuits.

Growing up, Mom was pretty stingy in giving accolades—but Dad told me he was proud of me at every opportunity.

In 1999, when I told him I wanted to temporarily leave pastoral ministry to become a full-time freelance writer, he supported me 100 percent. With a wife and two kids, we moved into my parents’ basement while I got on my feet.

Both my parents come from a Mennonite faith background. They’re first cousins to the Amish and value humility to a fault. In the mid-1990s, I pastored in a Mennonite church in southeastern Pennsylvania. An older couple from the congregation became surrogate parents to Kelley and me, so we were excited to introduce them to my parents when they came to town.

“You must be godly proud of your son,” Willard Benner told them.

After that, my dad told me, probably a thousand times, “I’m godly proud of you, son.”

The last time we spoke, he asked me about Illumify.

“We had our best year ever,” I said.

Then Dad smiled, tilted his head, and with a gleam in his eyes, he gave me a gift I can never repay.

“I’m godly proud of you, son.”

Thanks, Dad, for shaping me into the man—and writer—I am today.

I love you.

The values my father instilled in me guide the way we serve our authors.

We work hard.

We value our authors in the same way I served people as their pastor.

We encourage our authors to explore the possibilities of their book idea.

If you're interested in exploring the possibilities of your book, click below to schedule time with me.

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Let’s create a book that reflects your thoughts, dreams, and perseverance.

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