Happy Birthday...

Today was my father’s birthday.  He would have been 91.  I can’t imagine him that old.  He passed when he was 62 and I was 17.  Even though it’s been so many years, there are still moments when something will happen or I’ll see or hear something that reminds me of him.  Those moments often produce some tears.  I often wonder how my life might have been different if he’d lived longer.  Would I have made the same poor choices and have broken his heart like I did my mom’s for a lot of years?  Even the possibility of that idea causes me to be grateful that he didn’t witness my downward spiral.  Maybe my choices would have been different.  Only God knows.

I’ve been thinking about my dad today due to all these protests going on because of the states that are working to pass legislation to limit collective bargaining for state employees.  Whenever I think about unions, I think about my dad.  He was a blue collar worker and his job was with a unionized shop.  I remember a few of the times the union would call for a vote on whether or not to strike and how upset my dad would get about it all.  He always voted against a strike.  Always.  It wasn’t that he would have turned down more money or better benefits, but my dad remembered The Great Depression.  He was a kid, but he was old enough to see how devastating it was.  He experienced it firsthand.  That event shaped his life greatly.  He learned that when times are tough, any job is better than no job.  He was always grateful for the job he had.  He really didn’t understand why anyone would walk out on their job.  He would have cleaned toilets with a toothbrush for 18 hours a day before he’d sit at home or on a picket line.  I remember seeing how pained he was when, even though he voted against it (he was always in the minority), the shop would strike.  I don’t know if he ever suffered for the way he voted with his co-workers.  If he did, he never mentioned it.  I’ve always been proud of him for his strong work ethic and that he wasn’t afraid to vote his conscience, even if his wasn’t a very popular stance.

Dad was not a perfect man, but I think he did okay considering his life circumstances.  He was one of three children, although his brother, Gilbert, died as a child.  I didn’t find out until much later that my grandfather told my dad that he wished it had been him that had died instead of Gilbert.  Tough as my dad was on the outside, I can only imagine how that must have hurt him.  Turns out my grandfather was not a very nice man at all.  Dad only went to school through the 7^th grade.  He joined the military young and ended up stationed in the Philippines during WWII.  He was proud of his service to his country but there were things he saw over there that he wouldn’t talk about. 

The first time I ever saw my dad cry was when my mom found a lump in her breast.  It scared me so much to see him cry that I thought for sure my mom was done for.  Thankfully, that wasn’t the case!  That wasn’t the last time I saw him cry.  I think his heart problems had been coming on for some time.  You know how men rarely seek the medical attention they should.  Especially after his second heart attack, he seemed to get more and more emotional.  I know a lot of it was frustration at not being able to do what he used to do.  He couldn’t work – couldn’t even vacuum the carpet without pain.  It was hard to see him struggle.  The Lord was merciful and he didn’t struggle too long.  In the middle of one November, dad suffered respiratory failure at home.  I wasn’t there; I was out with a school function.  By the time the paramedics got there and revived him, his brain had suffered too much damage.  He was in a coma for a month and he slipped away on December 20^th.  Some folks say it’s easier when you’re expecting it, but I don’t think it is. 

One of my most vivid memories was how every night before he went to sleep, he’d be propped up in bed reading his Bible.  I still have that Bible.  It’s falling apart and filled with newspaper clippings and bits and bobs from here and there that he wanted to save.  Dad often told me, “No matter what, don’t forget God.”  I don’t think he even realized how much little things like that stuck with me.  It was little things like that which enabled me to know which way to turn when I was tired of blowing up my own life.  Looking back, I can see that his relationship with God was imperfect, but he walked in the light he had.  Thanks, Daddy, and happy birthday.  I miss you.  I’ll see you soon.

Lord, thank you so much for a father who, while not perfect, was everything that I needed him to be.  And thank you, Lord, that you have not left me an orphan, but in you, I have a perfect Father and the hope that I’ll see my earthly dad again…

Sowing Seeds for Eternity

A dear friend of ours passed away yesterday.  He was not a young man but his illness seemed to come like a whirlwind and suddenly, he’s no longer here.  I’m not sure I can fathom our little hometown in Ohio without Lyle running around in it.  Things there will certainly never be quite the same.  My heart hurts for his family. 

As I pondered his death yesterday, it occurred to me that this life, the life we live on this planet, is ultimately about preparing for the next life.  We spend every moment of every day, whether we realize it or not, sowing eternal seeds.  We sow either seeds of life or seeds of destruction.  Each day we make hundreds of choices that determine which type.  We don’t often realize the import of every choice.  I heard a speaker at a seminar once point out that whenever we say “yes” to one thing, we are saying “no” to everything else in that moment.  I believe that’s true, but I must admit that I don’t often keep this thought in the forefront of my mind when making choices regarding my time and energy. 

I’ve sown plenty of seeds that, at their best, were a complete waste of precious time and, at their worst, actually fed destruction in my own life or in the lives of those around me.  I regret very much those choices.  Many seemed so innocuous at the time.  How easy it is to move through life rather carelessly.  When I think about the power hidden in each moment, that every choice I make is pregnant with eternal significance – for the good or the bad – I am overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility.  This thought would be too much for me to bear except for the knowledge that, as a Christian, I do not shoulder this responsibility alone.  Thank you, Jesus. 

Our dear friend was not a perfect man.  I’m sure he, like all of us, made some choices that he wished he hadn’t.  But I do know that Lyle sowed a lot of seeds that produced life for a multitude of people around him.  My husband and I are a part of that number and we are grateful. 

Lord, I pray you help me to remember the eternal significance of each choice I make.  Enable me to plant seeds of life.  Thank you for those who have sown seeds of life into the soil of my heart.  And Lord, please tell Lyle thanks for us and that we’ll see him soon…

Reunited With Dad

I have been learning how to be a faithful Christ-follower again.  Why again?  It is because God has been showing me that I have lost sight of important things and have busied myself with unimportant things.  The great irony in all this is that the busyness I have allowed to distract me from Jesus is the busyness inherent in the pastorate.  I think that somewhere inside I knew that there were trappings of ministry that could distract me from my relationship with God but we never truly believe that we can be so easily led astray, do we?  Especially those of us called to full-time ministry.  We’re the responsible ones – the ones who are supposed to be leading others in the way of Christ.  Yet, it happened.  As I reflect back on a year in my first pastorate, I realize that I have spent the year majoring in the minors.  Duh…  I am humbled at the thought and regret very much all the time that I perceive now as wasted time. 

I found myself this evening thinking of how awful it would be if I lost my relationship with God.  If suddenly I turned around and He was no longer there.  Not that He would be the one who left.  It scared me deeply to think of living even a minute of my life without Him.  And I felt foolish all over again for having been so distracted instead of earnestly attentive to the only One whose presence I simply cannot live without.  Thankfully, as He has been calling me back to Him, I have heard His voice and have run back to His open arms.  And the best part is, He is calling me back not as “pastor” but as “daughter” – His dearly loved child.  I had forgotten how absolutely blissful it is to just be in His presence as His child and not to feel as if I need to glean something profoundly earth-shattering so that I can carry it back as “The Pastor”.  It is a joy to return to the simple times like I had when I first came to know Him; times that were marked by an excitement in never knowing what He’d have planned for me on that day but that it would certainly be something wonderful.  Even when days would be difficult, they were somehow still very joyful.  The coolest thing is, when I think back on those times and begin to experience them again, I find profound things pouring out of the overflow of what He pours into me.  So even though I am before Him as “daughter” and not as “pastor”, His Spirit faithfully makes a way for me to minister to others and in this way I find the joy of ministry restored.

So much of what can go on in a church can go on without His presence.  How scary is that?  Think about it.  Services, programs…there’s so much information on how to “have a successful (insert name) ministry”, we can schedule and equip just about anything.  Doesn’t mean God’s in it.  But I don’t want a “successful (insert name) ministry.”  I want God; God in all His glory and with all His power, meeting with His people and making His presence known in the world – even in my own little corner of the world.  I want people freed and saved and sanctified and healed.  See, when those are your goals, you realize really quickly that you, as a servant of Christ, have absolutely no power to affect any of those things.  Those things all come from Him.  Those things are all the business of the Holy Spirit.  So what is the Church’s role?  I believe He’s shown me that it’s to shamelessly and hungrily seek Him.  It’s to pray, love, disciple and serve.  It’s to obey, persevere, and sacrifice.  And we are to do it together – thank God!