WOW! What a Ride!

From the time I got my brother's call, the past 48 hours or so have been amazing.  My father's passing has taken me on an incredible ride through bitterness, forgiveness, confusion and brokenness; once again, I am left with no recourse but to be speechless, breathless even, at God's goodness and grace.

I am the type of person that, when overloaded shuts down -- I mean completely.  If I have too much on my agenda, if I throw myself too deeply into a project or relationship, if I am hit with one too many ideas, or issues, or emotions -- ZZZT!  With barely a sizzle or hiss I'm "out" like a lit match in a puddle; I flip on the Boob Tube and go so deeply underground it takes an army of moles to sniff me out. (Or one very persistent husband who means more to me than re-runs of "Gilmore Girls.")  Yesterday afternoon I felt myself starting to slip away; I knew now was definitely not a good time, and that only added to my stress level.  I met Scott in "our office," pulled up a washing machine and unburdened.  I gave him everything -- the pressure, the craziness, the plan -- and as usual, he was gracious enough to listen, offer a few practical suggestions, and kick me back into play.  (God, in His wisdom has created a partnership of two very high-strung friends; now that could spell disaster, but mercifully, He has made those two friends polar opposites in many other ways.  We understand what the other is going through and feel one another's frustration, just not over the same issues; handy for empathy, great for practicality!)  I prayed for God's direction and power on my walk back to my mother's. 

Now, I know family events are a haven for drama, but I still wonder if any family has as much as mine.  Anyhow, one of the key issues in my father's death was my being "forced" to meet my half-brother, Tom, and "forced" to deal with another one of my father's "other lives."  My brother, Paul had contacted Tom years ago, extolled his virtues and I believe, even passed on an e-mail address to me -- I labelled it "Round File."  I couldn't deal with my father's acceptance of Tom and abandonment of me; I couldn't deal with some overly educated, saintly "Wunderkind" slapping me in the face with his Father-Son talks and his "God is Good" serenity.  God's timing is perfect, I know.  I was not in a place to meet "my father's son;"  I'm not sure I am, now, but upon meeting him yesterday I have hope.  I had allowed my anger to misrepresent him completely; Tom seems like a wonderful man of God and friend.  Our visit was, to me anyway, a tremendous blessing.

Shortly after 3, my nephew and I left my mother's.  He played with M and O while Scott and I chatted.  Later, we piled in the car for a much-needed "casual dining experience," dropped our nephew off, took care of PJ's procedure and dropped into bed.  It felt as if God had once again, made the sun stand still; He had given me a much longer day to fight and win.  Stress was subdued, craziness curtailed, and bitterness beaten down.  I had the "family time" I needed, both with my immediate and extended families, handled some urgent matters, repeatedly sought renewal at the Throne of Grace, and moved, by God's grace a little closer to victory over a difficult past.  I can't wait to see what He has in store for me today!        

A Window of Grace

This past Sunday our church had a "guest" speaker, CJ Mahaney -- not really a guest at all, he is as much a part of our church as anyone else that sat before him.  His role in our church made him a "shoo-in" to help us celebrate our 25th anniversary.

One of the issues he addressed as he spoke, was boasting.  As with any milestone we celebrate on this earth, the temptation is to attribute our reaching it as the culmination of our efforts or the fruits of our labors.  CJ cautioned us to keep our eyes on the Author and Finisher of our faith, the One in whom we all should boast.  He drew back the curtain for us, on a window through which we need to view the events of our celebration -- a window that God constructed for us so long ago, one of grace and mercy, providence and blessing.  Even as he spoke, the application of his message was inescapable -- here was this incredible man of God speaking before us, an author, missionary, leader, "family man" to his Christian family as well as his wife and children, an amazing presence -- and it is all "in spite of" what we are as human beings; it is all by grace.

My father went to heaven yesterday.  I envy him.  He was known to his Christian family as a leader, a man of faith, a charitable and loving man with a heart for God and a concern for the lost.  He was known to his immediate family as a flawed human being, a man who was "just a man."  Over the years when others would approach me, gushing over what a wonderful man he was I would bite my tongue to bleeding, force a smile, and run like paint.  I would seethe when I saw him suited up, Bible in hand, readying himself for another "show."  I knew what he did, what he said when the eyes of the church were no longer on him.

God did, too.  Good thing for my father, his Father viewed everything he did, everything he was through the blood of His Son Jesus Christ.  Good thing for all of us.  When my father approached the Throne of Grace, he answered for his life, but Christ answered with His.  It is Christ's blood that gained access for each and every one of us; it is His Death on the Cross, not our deeds and, thankfully, not our misdeeds (heaven would be a very lonely place).  When CJ reminded us on Sunday to look through a window of God's grace and goodness when viewing significant events in life, God knew that very soon I'd be calling on Him to help me look through that very same window at some painful events.

"For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast."  (Ephesians 2:8,9)   

Counting My Inheritance

This is not my usual MO.  Normally I am comfy in a pair of my favorite pajamas, settled into "the passenger's seat," as I call it, and prepared to ride it out until the end.  I do my devotions, check the news or vaious other blogs, I journal or work on some of the projects I've got going -- whatever.  In a short while I have to leave for the job that pays the bills; I got up early for a little catharsis. 

You see, my father is very sick -- has been for almost two weeks; I don't think he was originally expected to make it as long as he has.  We are not close, my father and I; no "big blowout," just went our separate ways a long time ago.  I know he is taken care of in the "afterlife department"; he affirms he has accepted salvation and says Jesus is His Lord and King.  He is in his eighties and up until two weeks ago, very active; he has lead a full life and is now in a considerable amount of pain.  His death is the next step, a part he always knew would come, nothing to fear, and as he has always believed, nothing more than the failure of a mortal body to carry his eternal soul any longer.  The dilemma of his death remains with us -- the "still living."

I have a picture beside my closet; I cannot help but see it everyday, as I start my day and as I finish.  When I placed it there, my husband asked about it -- "It is a picture of who I am," I explained.  It is, however, a black & white picture of a decidedly blonde-haired little boy.  He is standing by a chair in a coat, shorts, heavy stockings and button-up boots.  He is not looking at the camera, but is posed with that "up and over, faraway look" in his eyes.  He was my dad.  I have no idea how old he was when it was taken, and no one seems to know much about it, but I've looked at that picture everyday for so many days that I rarely need or want explanation -- knowing would probably change things. 

The picture reminds me that once, my dad was young -- with hopes and dreams and a desire to do the right thing; it reminds me he was not always who I have known him to be.  It reminds me of family that I have never known, and have never known me; it reminds me of family that focused on the next life and did not concern themselves with the things of this world.  The picture reminds me of my youth -- a reminder of days drinking water from the pump outside of my grandparents' house, running through fields with my brother and picking mulberries.  The picture allows me to forgive, to look at the dreamy eyes of a child and learn to love my father from the beginning; the mystery of it all opens the door to things I can never know or understand, a past that holds the answer to where our lives began.  It is my history, my heritage, the story of generations of people of faith, a family rooted in the very words of Jesus Christ.  It is the birthplace of my beliefs, and the portal through which I met my Savior.  It is because of my father's past that I have an eternal future.

My father and I did not always like one another, nor did we always agree.  I am, however, thankful for the Biblical heritage he gave me and the Inheritance to which he lead me.  His presence, whether it remains on this earth or must be remembered from within the confines of a simple antique frame, reminds me to Whom I belong and the Future to which I too, am entitled.  For that, Dad, I am Eternally grateful.

Train Up a Child

"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."  Proverbs 22:6

Children are my passion -- particularly children in need.  I love them all, want to help them all; I grew up dreaming of a house full of children.  From very early on, I believed that love could fix anything; if love was the foundation of my home, I could not help but churn out successful, well-adjusted, God-fearing children.  When the children of affluent, educated people "went wrong" I would crow, "See, money isn't everything!" or "Plenty of degrees, sure, but college doesn't teach you to raise children!"  When the pastor's children went astray -- "You never know what goes on behind close doors," I would whisper.

Was all that hate talk born out of jealousy?  Maybe. They had, I didn't.  Sometimes jealousy runs deepest when one doesn't "have" because they didn't try. 

Maybe I was scared.  If it could happen to them, what's to keep my children on the straight and narrow?

Was it the arrogance I see in so many parents today?  Technology, psychology, the medical sciences -- all at our fingertips.  It takes a moment for a little education, but a lifetime for a lot of wisdom.

My son is not following the path I desired for him; he is not following the path God laid out for him.  I've played the "blame game" -- holding others responsible and losing sleep because I felt responsible.  I've raged and cried, and even stayed in touch with several police officers and detectives in the hopes that we could "nip this in the bud."  I've turned him away from my home, and welcomed him back like the Prodigal Son.  Sometimes I wonder if it's payback for the judgement I passed on others.  I have learned that judgement is one of those things we gladly bestow on others without wishing anything in return for ourselves.

So I trust and I rest on the promise of Proverbs 22; and I beg forgiveness for pain I may have caused out of jealousy or fear or arrogance.  I remind myself that love is not just the foundation of my home, but love is the groundwork for my relationships with others as well.