Dad...Just The Same
By the time Dad died, he and I were different people
together. My wife helped me see this the
other day.
I have written before of standing in the garden with my
dad at a childish age asking Jesus into my heart. The event, though still vivid, was typical
and unmoving as I recall. One expects
life to dramatically change directions at a point such as this, much like when
your straying golf ball strikes a tree trunk out of bounds and lands back in
the middle of the fairway. I’m not sure
mine did necessarily.
Without questioning the authenticity of the event, my
recollection was that life’s trajectory continued in a normal youthful
direction. My life went on…with Dad…just
the same.
My remembrances of Dad are more rose-colored than others perhaps. He led the family in song
times after dinner with his guitar. He
brought Mom carnations on special occasions.
He kissed her in the kitchen when he got home from work. He played UNO and Aggravation and The Dukes
of Hazard Board Game with us kids. He
jogged down the road with me to the creek bridge and back, letting me win the
final sprint to the mailbox. He brought
home the new-used bikes in the summer time.
He showed up at nearly all my basketball games, half-gallon of ice cream
and spoon in hand. He fixed the
cars. He cut the firewood. He sang to Jesus for special music on
Sunday’s in church. In all these things,
as I recall, he was…Dad…just the same.
Of course he had faults and flaws. I remember a particular fight Dad had with
Mom. I remember him saying “shit” once
when he lost balance and dumped a wheelbarrow full of gravel right back in the
spot he just shoveled it out of. I
remember his diet was a bit weird at times.
I know now, less by experience and more by hunch and
familial story, he tended toward the heavy hand with discipline. His manner of love didn’t always feel like
love to those he loved. At times his
attitude gave away the fact that pulp and paper mill worker wasn’t his life
ambition. And he stunk up the house with
his microwaved bread (part of the weird diet).
But here still, he was…Dad…just the same.
And through it all there I was…just the same…not without
a few faults and flaws of my own.
The youngest of three, I took the entitled place in the
home; often, I’m sure, resented by my siblings.
I gave a kindergarten classmate her first black eye (yes, her).
I dragged my feet with chores. I
earned detentions at school and spankings at home, and not always in that
order. I treated girls with less than
respect and sold my life to basketball in high school. I chickened out of proper academic challenges
and found plenty of easy ways out. I
gave in to worldly pleasures after high school.
I made a train wreck of my life. I
squandered money. I went broke. I overlooked Dad. I was…just the same.
But as I said, by the time he died we were different
people together. Neither of us…just the
same…anymore.
I lived with Dad (and Mom) while he battled cancer. He lived with me while I battled everything
else. One and a half years of
battling…together.
He watched from the front row my gradual death…and coming to life again. Slowly but surely I was crucified with
Christ. My life was fading away as the
life of Christ in me came into
view. The life I was finally learning to
live in the latter days of Dad’s life I was living by faith in the Son of God,
who loved me; really loved me like no
other, by dying for me. I was learning I
could not nullify or abolish the extravagant grace of God by doing good or
playing by life’s rules. I was unable on
my own to earn grace, unable to become anything other than…just the
same…without grace. If I could have,
well then I guess Christ died for nothing.
And I was learning all this…
…as I watched from the front row Dad’s gradual death…and coming to life again. Slowly but surely a thorn was given to Dad,
pressed and twisted deep into his flesh.
Cancer, like a darkened messenger of God’s enemy, harassed Dad. Helpless, however, were pride and conceit
against God’s extravagant grace. Dad
softened, yet pleaded with God that cancer be taken from him. The sweet reply: “My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your
weakness.” (The Message) He was becoming
something other than…just the same…with grace.
So Dad boasted in his weaknesses and so God’s power came to rest upon
him more than any other season of his life.
He grew content in his life lot, receiving weaknesses as gifts and greater
measures of God’s extravagant grace. He was learning that when he was weak, then he was strong.
And so we watched one another be moved by God; shifted
and shaped, melted and molded from years of…just the same…to a season of very
different. The extravagant grace of God
transforming two people who lived for years as…just the same…into different
people indeed. Different people characteristically
than years before in my youth, though, as I have said, by the time Dad died we
were different people together…now just the same…in Christ.
Thanks Andy. This brought tears to my eyes. God is good.
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