For Daddy

As Father's Day approaches, I'm keenly aware that not all daughters or sons "remember with fondness" their fathers. In fact, for many the day holds pain, regret, loss, or maybe even anger. And for so many in this generation, it just punctuates the absence that has caused years of suffering. But for me, the day provides an opportunity to reflect on a father who gave me a healthy view of my heavenly Father.

I was sharing that very thought with someone recently. When I was in 6th grade, I obviously hit "the age of accountability" that we hear so much about but on which we really can't put our finger or explain. I think I had used a bath towel and put it back in the cabinet wet. Of course, Mom found it and wanted to know who did it. "Not me!" Well, it wasn't long before the first-time guilt hit. I knew I had lied and it bothered me greatly. That very night, I crawled up in my daddy's lap back in his bedroom, and I confessed every known sin to man -- or at least to me: from sneaking the frozen cake squares out of the freezer and eating them behind closed doors (not that that one wouldn't have caught up with me down the road) to the pack of crackers I stole from the "Sing," a local rippy mart. (I think my friend jokingly commented at this point that it sure was a good thing my evening of confession happened before I got too old and REALLY had something to confess.) My daddy didn't berate me or punish or scold me, he just gently let me tell all, get it out of my system and come clean, and I'm sure he must have encouraged me to "go and sin no more." I don't remember that part. I just know the sense of relief I felt having bared all and the security I found in my father's lap.

Of course, I didn't realize it until many, many years later, but Daddy was sitting proxy for my heavenly Abba that night. When I think of mile markers in my faith journey, that was definitely one of them. I was so fortunate to have a daddy that was available, but most of all, forgiving.

And that wasn't the only time his presence was big to me. Each afternoon at 5:30 (except on Thursdays, because that was his day to drive), his carpool would drop him off at the end of the driveway and I would fly out to meet him. He would swing me up in his arms -- always as delighted to see me and I was to see him. Oh, the day, though, when I went running out and he tried picking me up -- and I was too heavy!!!! Oh, the pain of that even today... But we little girls do grow up.

Daddy was a storyteller, too. Another Jesus quality. When nighttime came, Daddy would see to it that prayers were said and then we would turn out the lights; I would pull the covers up and Daddy would tell me a story (sometimes my brother Chip would be in there with me) . Seems like time was all he had. I know he was making some of them up, but I have a feeling most of the stories were true. Quite honestly, I can't remember them, but I do remember laying there listening and never tiring of hearing them. Sometimes, I'd have requests. Other times, it was storyteller's choice. Both were special.

But one of the richest memories of Daddy is catching him on his knees. Every night, Daddy prayed -- and he did it the old-fashioned way: at the side of his bed, on his knees, hands folded. (Oh, no doubt, Mom prayed for us children, too. But I think she did it the only place she could find some quiet -- behind the locked bathroom door.) Surely the weight of the world was on Daddy's shoulders as he raised us four children on limited means. But I have a feeling he found the strength on his knees. As for that image, it is etched in my mind for all eternity.

I credit much of my faith to my parents, but I certainly know that my healthy view of God stems from my father. So, thanks, Dad. You took some of the faith struggles out of my life by being such a positive influence to me. I realize very few can give that kind of testimony in today's society where so many homes are absent of a father figure. These are different days we live in, but I hold tightly to the treasure you gave me. Happy Father's day, Daddy. I love you so much.

I would love to use this space for readers to comment on a father figure in your life: a dad, a stepdad, Boy Scout leader, uncle, brother, pastor, teacher, etc. Who made your view of God the Father a little stronger because of his influence in your life? Let's honor them.

Ordinary Moment? Hardly.

My only daughter and my baby of three siblings walked into the den Saturday night, hands clasped behind her back, and said, "I've got something to tell you." A grin played on my lips because I knew what was coming. The glow on her face gave it away. She held out her left hand and said, "Todd proposed tonight and I said yes." Ordinary moment? Hardly. Surreal? You bet. Sacred? Absolutely.

They grow up way too fast.

(The announcement "Congratulations Todd & Marynan" was posted on the sign at Chick-fil-a.)

Letter from a friend

One of my favorite books is Macrina Wiederkehr's A Tree Full of Angels. She begins the chapter entitled "Finding God in the Mailbox" like this: "Letters are the stories of our souls. Unlike a telephone call, a letter can be picked up again and again. It can be deeply pondered. It can be eaten. Always serve letters with a cup of tea and a footstool. Celebrate 'the reading' slowly. It is irreverent to read a letter fast.

"I treasure my letters like early morning sunrises. I see the rays between the lines. I hear the dreams and yearnings, the gratitude and the delight. I hear the questions and the musings, all coming from the heart of this newly published author. A letter bears its own copyright. Standing before my mailbox holding an original very limited edition in my hands is like standing before a feast."

I wish I had written that; it's certainly my sentiments.

I think we've lost the art of letter writing. Of sitting still and penning our thoughts, of neatly folding and placing the freshly inked paper in the envelope just the right way so it comes out perfectly, of personally addressing and stamping it, and then actually going to the post office and dropping it in the slot -- all the while thinking of the one to whom it's destined. No. Now we just sit down quickly in front of the screen, type our 60 words a minute and hit "send." I'm guilty as the next guy.

What has me thinking about Wiederkehr's chapter is the letter I received this morning from a dear friend who was such a large part of my life many years ago. He wrote of a quiet morning, a Sabbath rest, and an evening planned with some close friends. He spoke of an upcoming time of renewal -- personal, spiritual and professional; of underestimating the power of presence and of Christ working through him as he plans for a trip to Liberia. And, yes, he even spoke of missing a southern accent.

No, it wasn't hand written; it, too, showed up in my inbox. But it really didn't matter. It was the heart of a friend and a very holy moment for me. I sanctified it by going to my music room and sitting at my piano for awhile. You see, I was his hands and he was my voice. Together we made music and worshiped our God.

It was just a letter -- an ordinary moment. But I think I'll pour myself a cup of tea and pull up a footstool.

There's Never Nothing Going On

At the encouragement of a friend, I finally rented and watched a movie this week entitled "Peaceful Warrior." I was told it would offer me some good material for the Romans class I'm teaching on Sunday mornings. Offer it did -- and so much more. Whereas I'm always careful to endorse any kind of movie due to questionable content, I really did like this one. It's dubbed "Like 'Rocky' for the Soul." As the cover says, it's "an inspirational and triumphant film about the power of the human spirit." Nick Nolte plays Socrates, a "mysterious stranger," and Dan Millner, the gifted young athlete bound for the Olympic gold, is played by Scott Melchlowicz.

The story revolves around Dan and this mystical sage of a man who works at a gas station. Because of his inability to sleep, Dan shows up at the station night after night to try to figure this "Socrates" out and glean his wisdom. When Dan sarcastically asks Soc why he's still working at a gas station "if you know so much," he replies, "This is a service station. We offer service; there's no higher purpose." "Than pumping gas?" "Than service to others." So He got up from the meal, took off His outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around His waist. After that, He poured water into a basin and began to wash His disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around Him (John 13:4-5) Soc's right -- there's no higher purpose.

When Dan agrees to be "trained" by Socrates, Socrates has the boy meet him in the park. Upon doing so, the old man tosses the younger one over the bridge into the creek below. Enraged, Dan chases after Socrates and yells, "You're out of your mind!" To which he responds, "It's taken a lifetime of practice." What Socrates was doing by throwing Dan over the rail was trying to get him to experience the moment by getting everything out of his mind. And for that split second as Dan was flailing in the air, his mind was cleared of everything -- except for the fall.

When Socrates pointed out that "you're missing out on everything that's going on," Dan yelled, "There's nothing going on!" And then we're allowed to see (in slow motion) 3 men in the park heartily laughing; a woman throwing a frisbee, her dog catching it and the subsequent loving of the pet as it returns the toy; we hear the pages turn as a man sits under a tree and reads a book and the crunching sound of a ladybug eating a leaf.

After an accident leaves the young gymnist encapable of competing again, Socrates throws him back into training by sitting him outside on an old, broken down Plymouth to think. He instructs Dan not to return until he has something of value to tell him. Finally, after one attempt after another of coming up short with any kind of widsom, Dan finally comes up with, "There's never nothing going on. There are no ordinary moments."

Dan is right. There are no ordinary moments. With God, every moment is sacred. But due to the reality of our terribly distracted, cluttered, and noisy existence, to experience it as such is not easy. But I'm trying to make a concerted effort to know that "there's never nothing going on" -- and to know that holiness indeed comes wrapped in the ordinary.

At the end of the movie when Dan is on the rings in a hand stand high above the floor, we hear a conversation going on in his mind.

Socrates: Where are you, Dan?
Dan: Here.
Socrates: What time is is?
Dan: Now.
Socrates: What are you?
Dan: This moment.

These are no ordinary moments after all. So let's start harvesting some treasures.

All roads lead where?

Sandy and I celebrated our 29th anniversary a couple of weeks ago. He gave me a trip to Savannah, and I gave him a GPS system for his truck. I figured with all the traveling he does, it might come in handy -- especially if he was trying to find his way out of the woods somewhere.

On that Sunday morning after receiving the gift, the two of us decided to take in an early morning breakfast at My Sister's Cafe before heading to Sunday School and church. So we got in his truck and he turned on the system. It immediately told us which way to go. "How cool," I thought. Of course, we knew how to get where we were going; after all, we frequent this place every Saturday morning we're in town. But then he informed me that it wasn't set for My Sister's but rather my mother's, for when he was playing with it the night before, he put my parent's address in the box. So we were eager to see what happened when we made the right turn to the cafe. I thought surely the woman's voice was going to say, "Wrong way. Turn around NOW!" But, no, she paused a moment, and then said, "Recalculating. Drive .8 miles and turn left." The thing had just refigured our position and was going to take us from our new location to my mother's by a different route. Of course, we threw it off once again when we turned left before the .8 miles into My Sister's parking lot.

After our biscuits and sausage gravy, we headed to the church -- once again in the correct direction of mom and dad's. And again, I thought when we failed to make the right turn as directed, it would say, "You missed it!" But again and again and again, the voice said, "Recalculating," and then would give us the next best possible direction. I kept expecting to hear, "You idiot! Can't you follow directions?" Or even a very frustrated "I give" would not have been surprising. But, no, just, "Recalculating." Of course, we were dying laughing by the time we reached the church, totally convinced that all roads lead to "Mimi's" house.

If you think about it, we all have an internal GPS system. We might call it God's Positioning System. When we were born, our lives were mapped out for us, according to Psalm 139:16. The psalmist says, "You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in Your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed." And then we go and mess up. We take a wrong turn here. Miss a landmark there. Sometimes it's by mistake; other times it's pure rebellion. And then that voice says, "Recalculating." He does not call us an idiot. He does not say, "You're on your own on this one, buddy." He does not even say how bad we've messed up, for there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. He just says, "Okay, let's acknowledge you've made a wrong turn, and now let's move from this place and go in this direction."

Wouldn't it be best if we would just carefully obey the voice? Not turning to the right or to the left unless instructed to do so. But that we would hear, "This is the way. Walk ye in it." and then follow that direction. Joshua 1:7 says that to do so, we would find success wherever we go. I praise God that He has chosen not to give up on me, not to forsake me, but to love me enough that He would recalculate my direction and turn me toward home. All roads do lead to Him as long as we're following His voice.