Category: my dad

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Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son: Becoming the Father

This is the fourth post in the series I wrote a few years ago. In The Return of the Prodigal Son, Henri Nouwen writes that the challenge for him is to become the father. It is a challenge that is full of difficulties. When we look again at the Father in our own stories, we can see how daunting it is.

Our Father is gracious and loving without condition. He gives us many good gifts, but the most important gift he gives is himself. The Father is reckless in giving himself to us. Jesus, who is the image of the Father, gave his very life for us, pouring out his blood for our salvation. We are granted grace and mercy without measure from an eternal, inexhaustible love. There is nothing our Father wouldn’t do for our good.

As children of God, we are called to be like him. When I look in a mirror, I see my dad. The eyes, the facial features, the hair (or lack thereof), the voice, all show whose son I am. The same is to be true of those who are children of the heavenly Father. As God is loving and compassionate, so we are to be loving and compassionate. As God is gracious and merciful, so we are to be gracious and merciful. As God gives himself, so we are to give ourselves. You get the idea.

In my late twenties my life changed as I became a father. Even though I was still a son, I was now a person with a child. That brought a change in responsibilities, and a change in perspective. As we mature in Christ, we are to leave both the prodigal and the elder son behind. We are still in need of fathering from God, but our vocation changes. We are now called to be the father. As I look at the father in the story, I see some things that will be true as we become the father. Nouwen states that the three ways to compassionate fatherhood are grief, forgiveness, and generosity.

We grieve over those who have left home, we grieve over the injustice and abuse in the world, and we grieve over our own weakness. One aspect of grieving is realizing that we cannot save the one who has wandered away. The father in the story didn’t go after his son, but he watched and waited for him to return. So it is with us. Many times, all we can do is pray that God will turn the prodigal around. We can not go into the far country and drag them back. All we can do is wait and be ready to welcome them home.

This grieving makes us sensitive to others who are hurting, and the sensitivity leads us to forgive those who wrong us. As the father did, we forgive without question any and all who return. As Jesus said, we forgive, and forgive, and forgive, and forgive, and so on. True forgiveness also reconciles. The father didn’t say to the prodigal, “I forgive you, but I think I’ll just keep you on as a servant.” He accepted him back as his beloved son. No strings attached.

The third way to compassionate fatherhood is generosity. The father spared nothing to celebrate his son’s return. He gave the best of everything, including himself. We are called to give ourselves to others in the same way. Yes, we may get hurt. I’m sure the father was hurt when the elder son refused to join the party, and I would guess the younger son wasn’t perfect after he was restored. He may well have cause his father more pain. We are to remember the hurt we have caused our Father and the grace he gives us regardless, and do the same for others.

May the Father enable us to be as gracious, loving, and compassionate to others as he is to us.

 

 

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A New Bend in the Road

A little over twenty seven years ago, we moved from Cincinnati to Rock Hill, South Carolina. At that time we said that we were never moving again. Famous last words! We have just moved into a new house. The house and yard had become more than we could handle and we decided we needed a smaller place. Added to that were some repair issues that had become expensive due to a plumbing mishap. Did I mention that I hate plumbing?

After a few months of sort of looking, but sort of not, we got serious and put our house on the market. Knowing that we were looking for a smaller place meant that we had to let a lot of things go. We began to look at all the stuff that had accumulated over the years. I had inherited the “maybe I can use this someday” gene from my father, so there was quite a bit. The challenge was to pare the things from a 1500 square foot, three bedroom. two bath home with a dining room, garage, back patio, shed and a half acre yard down to where they would fit into an 850 square foot, two bedroom, one bath house with less than a quarter acre lot.

I made numerous trips to charitable organizations and to our county’s waste/recycling center. Facebook Messenger became our friend. It was hard to let go of many of the things, especially furniture. Fortunately, we made some money from selling much of the furniture and a great deal of it went to people who would get good use of it. One couple bought a dresser and were going to donate it to a local women’s shelter, and we sold a rocker and footstool to a couple that was expecting their first child. That was a blessing to us. Our son and daughter-in-law, and daughter and son-in-law have been an amazing help with the purging and the planning.

We moved into the house the week after Thanksgiving. I have again made numerous trips to recycling and charitable places. As it turned out, we used a lot of cardboard boxes and also had to do more downsizing. It’s been a busy week and a half, and there is still furniture to put together and positioned, art to hang, and stuff to put away. I’m going to hold off on the yard until the spring.

It was hard to leave a place where we made so many good memories. Fortunately we can carry those memories with us and we will make new ones. We are closer to our church community, and to many other places and activities we have been a part of. The move has been stressful at times, and there were even a few times when I wondered if it was worth it. At those times, I could sense the Father saying, “I got this.” Jan and I are looking forward to getting to know our neighbors and learning to love them well, and to what lies ahead of us on this part of the journey.

We’re not moving again. I guess I shouldn’t be saying that should I?

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New Year: New Twists and Turns in the Road

2020 was a year that many would like to forget, and 2021 didn’t’ seem to be much better. As the Covid pandemic hit in March 2020, I was in the hospital with a minor heart attack. I recovered completely and made it through the rest of that year and most of 2021. Most, but not all.

First, a bit of background. My father had prostate cancer. Because of that, my family doctor has been keeping an eye on my PSA (Prostate Specific Antigen). In many areas of my life I am just like my father. Well, it turns out that this is one of them. My PSA levels went up to the point that my urologist wanted to have things checked out further. The first step was an MRI, which showed some small spots in one area.

Next came a biopsy, after a couple months wait, which seemed to me to indicate that the doctor was not overly concerned. The biopsy was performed in early December, and the day before my sixty sixth birthday, I was informed that I had joined the club. I was following my father’s footsteps and had prostate cancer. Happy birthday to me. The good news is that it is stage 2; which means it is confined to one certain area.

At the end of 2021, I underwent a bone scan and today I had a CT scan, along with a chest X-ray to check out a spot found on a rib. The spot may be from an old injury. I remember getting kicked in the ribs a few times playing soccer goalkeeper in high school and college. Hopefully that is the case. The CT scan looked good. The next step is to schedule radiation treatment beginning the third week of this month. This should last about two months or so.

I am learning a few things from this. First, I am learning to not take anything for granted, because you never know when things are going to change. I am also learning that good treatment in American healthcare is extremely expensive. Even with excellent insurance, the costs are still very high. I am learning how to empathize with those who have cancer. Hopefully I am learning to trust my heavenly Father and rest in his love for me.

The five year survival rate for this prostate cancer is pretty much 100%. After that, it’s a matter of keeping an eye on things, much like before. The outlook is good and my urologist is pretty positive, so I think I’m going to be okay. So we shall see how the road ahead goes and where this journey is going to take me this year.

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Reminiscing

It was a warm Saturday morning in 2006. The night before, my father had asked me to go with him to Summerville to watch his grandson, my nephew play soccer. After a week of dealing with middle school students, I really wanted to stay home and relax. However, it had only been a little over a month since Mom had died. My dad needed to be able to do this, and he needed me to do the driving. I don’t remember much of the conversation during the trip, except for him telling me that his sister had just passed away and the funeral was that day.

We drove to the soccer field and settled in to watch the game. I think it was a good game. I really don’t remember. We only saw the first half. At halftime, my niece and I headed to the concession stand to get something to drink. Dad had mentioned that he was hot and thirsty. On the way back, we noticed that there was a crowd of people around someone on the sideline where we had been sitting. As we got closer, we realized that the people were crowded around my father, who was on the ground. He was having a heart attack. An ambulance quickly arrived and the EMTs began to try and revive him. After what seemed like an eternity, they put Dad in the ambulance and headed for the emergency room. My sister and I followed.

I don’t remember how long we waited. Everything was a blur. Finally we were informed that the doctors had done everything they could do, but that Dad had died of a heart attack. We were escorted to a room where he lay on a table, and I immediately lost it. I had lost my hero, and in one sense I was now an orphan. I felt a sense of guilt for not really wanting to drive him to the game, and some relief that I had gone and had been with him on his last day in this life. The next few days were a blur, as arrangements needed to be made with a funeral home where my sister lived, the church here where my parents had been members, and the funeral home and cemetery in Maryland, where Dad was to be buried.

All of the arrangements were completed, and we drove to Maryland for a small service in the funeral home, followed by the burial. It was a mild, sunny day, in contrast to the cold rain on the day Mom was laid to rest. At the end of the gravesite service, when the casket was lowered into the ground and the machine was shoveling the dirt into the grave, I remember that my sister and I both thought of Dad peering down from heaven, making sure that the workers did their job correctly.

It’s been fifteen years. Our two children, his grandchildren are married, and I know he would be proud of them. There are four great grandchildren now, and i can imagine the joy he would get out of spending time with them and teasing them with his corny jokes. I’m trying to carry on that tradition, but my efforts pale in comparison. I still miss him. I think about him a lot, especially when I bump my head. I am thankful that I will see both my mom and my dad in the New Creation.

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Thinking

This is the beginning of a reflective, even somewhat sad, period. Those of you that know me, know that I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and feel things deeply. The time from Thanksgiving to Christmas has always been an emotional time for me. Family is important to me, and family is what that time of year is all about.

Fourteen years ago today, my mother died from Alzheimer’s Disease. Thirty three days later, my father joined her. Thanksgiving and Christmas that year were tough. My emotions were right on the edge most of that time. Even though it has been fourteen years, there is still emotion. There is still a sadness, although the good memories are mixed in, in a greater proportion. In October, 2009, Jan’s mom passed away. That added another layer to the grieving and healing process. Jan’s dad left this life in May, 2016, so none of them are around to share in the family celebrations. They say that time heals all wounds. I’m not totally sure that is true. I think time can bring healing, but the wounds are never completely gone. I do believe that our pain and sorrow can be transformed, and we can be better for them.

The sad time, if you want to call it that, begins a little earlier now. Last week, our dog Charlie died. He had been a faithful companion to our family for the past thirteen years. While losing a pet obviously is not the same as losing a person, there is still a hole left behind. All of those things added together leads to good memories mixed with regret, to happiness mixed with sadness. Something will happen, or someone will say something, and emotions will be triggered. Certain dates become more important than others.

I am thankful that my heavenly Father knows all things, and is gracious and loving. I am thankful for the knowledge that our parents are resting with him and are not suffering. I am grateful for the good memories we have, and for what we can learn from the not so good ones. I can look back and see how things in my past have, in some way, shaped who I am today. As I go into this season, I can look back and see how God is truly working all things for my good and for his glory. I am grateful for that.

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Blast From the Past: The Story Continues

This was originally published in January, 2008. In the fall of 2006, my mom and dad had both passed away within a month.

I had lost my hero, my adviser, my example. That next Christmas was hard. The biggest thing about the celebration of Christmas for me had always been family, and now I was an orphan.

At the same time a group of us in our church had decided that things needed to change or we could no longer continue there. A few months before this, we had gone to two Sunday morning worship services. One was a traditional service and the other was a more contemporary service. The church was losing people and it was thought that if we provided opportunity for people to worship as they preferred, it would strengthen and grow the church. The contemporary service quickly became just like the traditional service, only with cooler music.

Our group of “revolutionaries” believed that we needed to approach “church” from a fresh angle. We agreed that the church needed to reach into the community around us. We began to meet weekly to set out a course of action and to plan the weekly gatherings. At first, things were moving in a direction that really encouraged me. I was an elder, and had agreed to become an elder in order to try and influence the church in a direction that was more “emerging”. Someone accused us trying to break away and start a new church. I said that I had no interest in planting a new church. (Famous last words)

As time went on I realized that the only way we were going to do what we believed God wanted us to do was to actually begin a new church under the auspices of the original church, with our own leadership. Unfortunately, there were a number of people in leadership, as well as other influential members, who wanted to have a say in what we were doing. We were accused of dividing the church and conditions were put on what we were doing. The conditions were probably good but they essentially put brakes on our efforts. As time went on, the enthusiasm for “doing church” differently waned and the worship service reverted to same old same old with cooler music. At the same time, there were positive signs, so I still planned to stay around and minister where I could.

Toward the end of the summer, I heard about a possible church plant here in Rock Hill. I was immediately intrigued. Some of you know Frank Hamrick. I contacted him and as we talked and got to know each other a little bit, God began to nudge me in the direction of helping in the plant. As time went on and I began to read and study, I became increasingly convinced of the need for a new church in Rock Hill. God continued to work on me, and by the end of December I decided to leave the current church and help Frank.

So now, I’m about to set off on another leg of my journey. Where this one will lead only God knows. If there’s on thing I’ve learned through the years it’s that no matter how much the road twists and turns, and no matter how dark things get, my Father is with me and is leading me exactly where he wants me to go. That makes the trip an adventure rather than a chore.

Should be fun.

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Father

All of us have fathers. My father was a good man. Not perfect, but good. There never was a time when I didn’t know he loved me. He was a good provider and role model. I learned a great deal from him, although not as much as I could, or should, have. He was the kind of father that makes me proud to be his son.

Many folks don’t have a father like that. It is heartbreaking to hear those who had fathers who were absent. Some of their fathers died while they were young, others were absent because of work or simply lack of interest. More heartbreaking are the stories of the fathers who were abusive, who treated their children in ways that no one should be treated.

Our picture of God is often colored by our experience with our earthly fathers. Some of us see God as Abba, as the loving Father who cares perfectly for his children. To us, he is Papa, Daddy. Others unfortunately, have a hard time seeing God as their Father. Their image of God is that of a King who is hard, who is demanding, who is always asking more and more of us. That saddens me, because I believe the picture we have of God has a great deal to do with how free we are able to live as his children.

I once heard someone say something which I  believe will help those who struggle with the idea of God as Father. If you have trouble with that, try to imagine the perfect father, with all of the best attributes and no bad qualities. Imagine a father who always makes good and loving decisions, and who always does what is best for his children. Then, take that image and magnify it beyond comprehension. Do that and you have God.

Even the best of earthly fathers are imperfect. My father had his flaws, and I definitely have mine. But our heavenly Father, our Abba, has no flaws. He is absolutely perfect. He is everything anyone would want in a father, and more. We can’t begin to imagine such a perfect father. But we can accept that he is and trust him to be exactly what we need.

Cry out to Abba. Let his furious love wash over you and let him wrap you in his arms. Crawl up in his lap and rest in his perfect care.

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Ten Years Ago, Part 2

It was a beautiful early Fall day, and my dad and I had travelled down to the Charleston, SC area to watch his grandson, my nephew, play soccer. My mom had passed away thirty-three days earlier. I didn’t really want to be gone from home that day but drove him down because he really wanted to go.

I’m glad I went, because that day would be the last time I would see my father in this life. During halftime of the soccer game, while my niece and I were coming back from the concession stand, my dad suffered a massive heart attack and died. Paramedics tried to revive him, but he was gone and suddenly I was without both of my parents. I truly believe that Dad died of a broken heart.

Here it is, ten years later, and so much of that day and the ones immediately following are still pretty fresh in my memory. I had lost my hero, the one I looked up to even when I was angry with him. Even though there were things we didn’t see eye-to-eye on, I still loved him and knew that he loved me. I see a great deal of my dad in me and even though I didn’t get the handyman gene,(that skipped me and went straight to Josh) I did inherit enough stubbornness to at least try. Sometimes I’m successful!

Over the past ten years, I’ve become more and more comfortable in my own skin, as my father was comfortable in his. I look back with satisfaction at the ways I am like him. It’s in those ways, now that I understand better, that I saw Jesus in my dad. Hopefully the same is true with me.

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Becoming

Here is another attempt at poetry.

I see it when I look in the mirror
When I notice the hair disappearing

I see it in the way I walk
And how I stand

In the way I talk, how I laugh
My accent, the words I use

In my slightly odd sense of humor
And the way I like to tease

I see it in my stubbornness
My sometimes quick flashes of temper

In my attempts to fix things
Even though they’re not always successful

In so many things
Especially when I bump my head, I see

That I am becoming my father