Lessons From My Father

Today my father will make that journey from the comforting presence of his family to the comforting arms of his Saviour.

This past week as I have sat beside my daddy and reflected on our memories I can see the impact that his unspoken actions have had on my own value system.

My dad was a true "Scots-Irish" character. Not one to waste anything - including words - he was forthright and brief with his opinions (unless of course he was telling a joke or a story, in those cases he instead drew the listener in and played with them while his eyes twinkled and he waited for just the right moment to deliver the punch line). No - my dad was much more effective in teaching through his actions. So here are a few of the life lessons I will always remember from my dad.

1. Honor your parents. I will always remember the weekly trips my father made to his parents. When they were still in their home he took care of all their yard work. Later when my grandma was living with my aunt he made sure we were all there each Sunday to visit and bring her favorite treat of "Klondike" ice cream bars (which also just happened to be his favorite as well).

2. Stand for your convictions, but don't belittle those who disagree with you. This is a lesson I think we could use more of today. Again, harkening to his Irish roots, my dad had very strong political opinions. While he would never sway from his beliefs, and always enjoyed verbally sparring with others (especially my uncle on my mothers side who had completely opposing views), he generally managed to leave the argument on good terms with his opponent. Somehow a wink and a smile and a general understanding to "agree to disagree" were everpresent tools in his arsenal.

3. When life hands you lemons - make lemonade. One of the strongest character traits of my dad was his determination to move forward. He never sat and wallowed or complained about circumstances. That is not to say he wasn't angry or upset, but rather that he wouldn't let anything stop him from moving forward. At a particularly difficult time in his life when his career was in shambles, my dad just moved forward finding a way to still support our family (even digging ditches in hard manual labor at the age of 54 for a brief period). Nothing was beneath him to work to provide for our family and this determination actually resulted in a better circumstance that provided for his retirement.

4. Always say "I love you". This is a lesson my dad himself learned later in life. He was raised in a family that never much expressed physical emotions and so tender expressions were not something he was comfortable with. But God uniquely placed this "mans man" in a family of all women. This exposure brought out that tenderness that was buried deep inside and gradually wore down that gruff exterior. When I was in my early 40's at a cousin's funeral,my dad realized that he needed to tell us he loved us. From that day forward, my father never concluded a phone call or visit without a big "I LOVE YOU". It was like the flood gates had opened and he couldn't hold back.

5. The most important "sense" is your sense of humor. I think more than anything my father taught us to always, in any circumstances, be able to see the humor in life. That unique ability to view any life circumstance with an eye to the irony or humor is something I will cherish from my dad. There is nothing more valuable than laughter in life...

Thank you daddy for these lessons you have taught. I will miss you terribly but will be comforted knowing you will be in a better place.

I LOVE YOU!

A Mother's Heart

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

Recent events have pushed me this year to reflect more deeply on the strength and resiliancy required for a mother's heart. There is a unique bond between mother and child that can not be described to anyone who has not experienced carrying a life inside their body and then through the miracle of birth releasing them to the world. A mother's heartbeat through the gestation process provides the life source for this child, and once that cord is severed a mother's heart must beat differently - separately - but still in rhythm with that child's every need.

A mother's heart must be strong enough to absorb hurts and disappointments.

A mother's heart must be tender enough to provide mercy in times of pain.

A mother's heart must be resiliant enough to mend the breaks and tears of brokeness.

A mother's heart must be loving enough to withstand the storms of rebellion and still reach with outstretched arms.

A mother's heart must be patient enough to let each day stand for itself.

These past months my mother's heart has been through the wringer...and sometimes I have been afraid to see the "EKG" of that beat pattern. I imagine there have been moments of flatlines and other moments of erratic peaks. But through it all, I have felt God's presence, His special "love notes", his unique defibrillator that has placed my mother's heart back in rhythm.

This past week, as we reached the climax of a particularly difficult crisis with my son, I especially found that the Lord was sending messages through His Word. But what is most perplexing is that the scriptures I was lead to each day were not specifically for my mother's heart, but rather were perfect Word for my son. The irony - one of God's favorite tools I think - is that right now these words of scripture would not be "heard" in my son's own heart, so I must store them in my own for safekeeping. They are treasures that must be protected and released when they will arrive on fertile ground. So I am reminded of another mother, the most awesome earthly mother, who also kept special treasures stored in her heart for some future moment in time. Luke 2 v 10 tells us that after the shepherds came and told of their vision from the angels, Mary "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

I can relate to Mary on this Mother's Day...

Living In The Moment

I am sitting in a strange time, sandwiched between a crisis of my father’s health and a crisis of my son’s poor decisions. Two opposite stages of life’s spectrum pushing at me as I am caught in the middle trying to be a good child and responsible parent at the same time.

God’s irony is not lost on me that my father and my son - who even have very similar dispositions – are leaning on each other during this time, mutually dependent for survival. I consider it a small blessing that my son is able right now to assist with the care of my father – and through this experience I am praying that my son will mature. So in this particular blessing I do see the handiwork of God, and I can feel the certainty that we are travelling in God’s greater story. As I reflect on this specific congruence of circumstances I have a glimpse of understanding that I must always be searching for where the connections are to God’s story rather than where He is connecting to mine.

Yesterday’s events gave me specific understanding of what “Living in the Moment” really means.

Having spent the morning with my father as we travelled to yet another doctor appointment, I noticed how my 89 year old father spends his “awake” time. Limited now to life in a wheelchair, with need of attendants for every human function, and suffering from dementia, it is difficult to imagine life from inside my dad’s psyche. This one-time “macho” man – policeman, sportsman, joke-telling Irishman- now spends his days barely speaking, mostly sleeping, and at the total mercy of those who care for him and their decisions for how he will spend his day.

Here is a survival tip I am learning from my dad – live only in the moment. Take each individual second and absorb it completely before it passes on.

I watched my father yesterday as we were seated in the waiting room, very attentively observing his surroundings, deeply concentrating on every printed poster, picture or person in his immediate surroundings. He was capturing the moments…not to store them for future reference, because the dementia has robbed him of that delight, but to live them for what they are in and of themselves. Fleeting moments that happen then move on. This morning I came to these words from Psalm 144 (v4) that seemed to capture my dad’s current state:

Man is like a breath;
His days are like a fleeting shadow

My dad has given me a glimpse of understanding of our positioning in God’s story.
Another shadow of learning came from the opposite side of the spectrum as I spent the afternoon in a different type of office with my son. As we work through a personal crisis of my son’s, a result of living too much in the moment without consideration of consequences or dangers, I see the second half of the equation.

While my father’s situation is like “breathing in” the moment, life requires a two-part action in order to survive. There is also the essential “breathing out” through our active responses to the moments of life. As we “breathe in”…observe and concentrate without taking for granted any of our surroundings…we must then “breathe out” in response to this glory we have observed. Our outward responses must be cognizant of the blessings we are surrounded with that impulsive and self serving actions can destroy.

So God, I thank you for this strange place you have placed me in to be able to observe and learn from these two men in my life. I am “breathing in” your glory and your love, working to absorb your wonder; and “breathing out” my amazement that even in these stressful circumstances you provide insight and comfort that “this too shall pass” in the fleeting shadow of life.

One day a great promise will be fulfilled with complete joy and understanding. Until that time I must continue “breathing in” and “breathing out” these moments of life.

Virtuoso Christian

I am presently immersed in a book on spiritual reading by Eugene Peterson called "Eat This Book". It is a challenging foray into the world of scripture as the source of our energy - where we consume the Word and then allow it to work from the inside out as we integrate ourselves into God's story.

Peterson shares a quote from Frances Young's book Virtuoso Theology that has really stuck with me as a metaphor for my own life:

Everyone recognizes the difference between an accurate but wooden performance of say, Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 1, and a virtuoso performance by Yitzak Perlman. Perlman's performance is not distinguished merely by his technical skill in reproducing what Mozart composed; he wondrously enters into and conveys the spirit and energy - the "life"- of the score. Significantly he adds nothing to the score, neither "jot nor tittle".

What a perfect metaphor for what we aspire to as pilgrims - to become virtuoso performers of the Word. It is not enough to merely know the scripture, or be able to quote chapter and verse, or to be able to exegete with the original Hebrew or Greek, or to take time every day to read scripture as a discipline...while all of these are admirable accomplishments they are not what separates a virtuoso from a regular musician. A virtuoso can take the musical notes, absorb them into his soul, contemplate on them until they permeate his being and then pour them back out through his instrument in a way that others can embrace the joy and the satisfaction they feel when the notes touch their ears.

I want to one day be that virtuoso that others may be able to capture the joy and satisfaction of the love that fills my soul.

In Between Times

Here I sit on the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday...

What does this day represent? It is a day with no special meaning on the Christian calendar and yet I think its very lack of identity or specialty speaks volumes to our mandate and what our own lives represent.

The first Christians spent this day within the confines of their religion. They honored the Sabbath. I imagine it was difficult to fully worship and honor God when they felt totally desolated by the loss of their hope for a saviour. The sense of abandonment that had to permeate their every thought. The roller coaster of emotions must have been churning through their bodies...despair, frustration, anger, grief, helplessness, guilt, fear, abandonment, resignation and maybe even bitterness...all these emotions tumbling over and over through their hearts.

But they responded to these emotions by returning to the basics of their faith. They honored God by honoring the Sabbath. They returned to what they did know - and this forced rest would require them to address these emotions within the the context of their relationship with Him. This special positioning of the Sabbath day in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday allowed God to once again take control of the "story". Honoring the Sabbath in the aftermath of the crucifixion required total submission to God and his authority.

So what does all this mean to me - an Easter Child?

As I sit here in my own "in between" time what can I learn from these first followers?

When I come to times of hopelessness or despair, I should return to my faith. I can employ the rhythm and ritual that has been created to embrace me and comfort me in difficult times. It is much better to practice the elements of my religion even when my heart might not be engaged, because the ritual will hold me tight within the shelter of His love. Rather than turning away or rejecting God, I should instead submit to Him and acknowledge His great authority.

As Christians we are all "in-between" times, living between the first and second coming of Christ. Our actions will reflect our attitudes and our hearts. Just as the first Christians outwardly expressed their submission to God by honoring the Sabbath after a devastating loss, we should be outwardly expressing our conviction that our individual stories are but a sentence of God's greater story - one that has a perfect and eternal happy ending.