For everything there is a season
I don't really know how to explain the past few days. They have certainly had the theme of loss and a feeling akin to homesickness, but there has been another current of emotion running through them--blessing and comfort.
Friday morning I continued to prepare the slideshow that we would use at the reviewal that evening and at the gathering in Fourth's atrium after the memorial service Saturday. When I was keeping busy and surrounded by siblings and my adorable little nephew, it was easier to keep the tears at bay because I knew everyone else was feeling the same mix of emotions but there was comfort in just being together and communing in harmony even if we didn't have to verbalize all the time. So much more can be said with the eyes than with the lips.
But it's the times alone that the special memories creep up and so do the tears. I feel privileged that I got to put the pictures together of memories from my dad's life. He has some adorable ones where he is just a little munchkin and looks so like my nephew, and another where he is a toddler asleep on the porch steps, for which I feel a particular affinity. And all the family vacations where we traipsed across South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin and even into Canada. I have my own memories from those trips but the stories are so much more interesting when I hear more context from my mom or older siblings and learn even more about my family. For most of the events in our family history, there are few pictures of my dad because he was always the one behind the camera. However, at the wedding of my brother Rich to Heather, my mom and dad (and Heather's) constituted the wedding party, so Rob was taking all the pictures and there were lots of Dad. He has a joyful smile in the background of shots of Rich, and looks so proud and happy walking my mom back down the aisle. I know that he will never be able to do that for me, and that makes me cry even now recounting it.
But even when these moments of tears come, there is something deeper that sustains me. It is the love and comfort of my heavenly Father. I have always loved the pictures that God has given us in the world to help understand His nature and how He cares for us. So often in the Psalms and other passages, He is likened to an eagle with strong, tireless wings; or a mother hen with comforting, protective wings for her chicks; a gardener tenderly pruning, watering and instigating growth in his fields and vineyards; a bridegroom for his bride, the Church, and so many more. They help me understand more about God and also more about how He intends for us to live in His world. It has actually been difficult these past few days to lean on Him as my favorite example--a loving Father whose comforting arms and wise oversight knows the path that's best for me, even when I don't have the strength to walk it on my own and must cling to His hand.
I was always Daddy's little girl and, being the youngest of 4 kids, when I was old enough to stay home with Dad, my mom went back to work teaching. So I got to hang out with Dad--run errands everywhere, see the people at the bank and get a lollipop, stay in the van with my nose pressed against the glass when my dad pulled out his mighty chainsaw and gathered firewood, visit people from the church or anything else that came up during the day. I loved holding my father's hand. His arms were strong and tanned from lots of time woodworking, gardening, or just plain helping out so many people with moving or projects where they needed help.
One of my favorite mental pictures when I pray is the thought of entering God's throneroom, with its immense vaulted ceilings, massive carved columns, opulent tapestries, and majestic attendants all around. Knowing I have no place there by right of rank or importance on my own, I have an even greater trump card. I can cry "Abba, Father!" (Rom 8:14-16) and all the dignitaries and attendants part for me to run up to him, be swung up onto his lap and comforted with the strong arms and compassionate ears of my Father.
On one hand it is hard to allow myself to be wrapped in the comfort and peace that my Father has given me this week, when so often in the past it has been translated into my comprehension by the love and tender care that I felt from my earthly father. At the same time, His arms are so much stronger, His comfort so much more enveloping, His grace so much more than sufficient, that I can still approach Him as a child needing His hand to cling to and walk this difficult road and whatever other ones He will lead me down.
He provided a wonderful picture for me to understand His love for me as a father. This week has been a blessing of seeing how far my dad's ministry has touched over the years, and the words of testimony shared by some people I never even knew, and others whom I didn't know parts of their history with my dad--they have reminded me that although the loss of my dad is difficult, there is so much glory that is being directed to God through recounting my dad's ministry that the blessings just seem to be swirling around, looking for a place to land and a heart to comfort.
I'll be heading back to Florida this Saturday and it will be hard to leave. I'm glad to know my mom still has two of my siblings only minutes away, for those moments when more unexpected things come up that she hasn't had to deal with in years. But even as I miss my earthly father and receive comfort from my heavenly Father, I know she and my siblings are also enveloped in His strong arms and He will continue to lead us in the paths He has for us, for His name's sake.
Friday morning I continued to prepare the slideshow that we would use at the reviewal that evening and at the gathering in Fourth's atrium after the memorial service Saturday. When I was keeping busy and surrounded by siblings and my adorable little nephew, it was easier to keep the tears at bay because I knew everyone else was feeling the same mix of emotions but there was comfort in just being together and communing in harmony even if we didn't have to verbalize all the time. So much more can be said with the eyes than with the lips.
But it's the times alone that the special memories creep up and so do the tears. I feel privileged that I got to put the pictures together of memories from my dad's life. He has some adorable ones where he is just a little munchkin and looks so like my nephew, and another where he is a toddler asleep on the porch steps, for which I feel a particular affinity. And all the family vacations where we traipsed across South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin and even into Canada. I have my own memories from those trips but the stories are so much more interesting when I hear more context from my mom or older siblings and learn even more about my family. For most of the events in our family history, there are few pictures of my dad because he was always the one behind the camera. However, at the wedding of my brother Rich to Heather, my mom and dad (and Heather's) constituted the wedding party, so Rob was taking all the pictures and there were lots of Dad. He has a joyful smile in the background of shots of Rich, and looks so proud and happy walking my mom back down the aisle. I know that he will never be able to do that for me, and that makes me cry even now recounting it.
But even when these moments of tears come, there is something deeper that sustains me. It is the love and comfort of my heavenly Father. I have always loved the pictures that God has given us in the world to help understand His nature and how He cares for us. So often in the Psalms and other passages, He is likened to an eagle with strong, tireless wings; or a mother hen with comforting, protective wings for her chicks; a gardener tenderly pruning, watering and instigating growth in his fields and vineyards; a bridegroom for his bride, the Church, and so many more. They help me understand more about God and also more about how He intends for us to live in His world. It has actually been difficult these past few days to lean on Him as my favorite example--a loving Father whose comforting arms and wise oversight knows the path that's best for me, even when I don't have the strength to walk it on my own and must cling to His hand.
I was always Daddy's little girl and, being the youngest of 4 kids, when I was old enough to stay home with Dad, my mom went back to work teaching. So I got to hang out with Dad--run errands everywhere, see the people at the bank and get a lollipop, stay in the van with my nose pressed against the glass when my dad pulled out his mighty chainsaw and gathered firewood, visit people from the church or anything else that came up during the day. I loved holding my father's hand. His arms were strong and tanned from lots of time woodworking, gardening, or just plain helping out so many people with moving or projects where they needed help.
One of my favorite mental pictures when I pray is the thought of entering God's throneroom, with its immense vaulted ceilings, massive carved columns, opulent tapestries, and majestic attendants all around. Knowing I have no place there by right of rank or importance on my own, I have an even greater trump card. I can cry "Abba, Father!" (Rom 8:14-16) and all the dignitaries and attendants part for me to run up to him, be swung up onto his lap and comforted with the strong arms and compassionate ears of my Father.
On one hand it is hard to allow myself to be wrapped in the comfort and peace that my Father has given me this week, when so often in the past it has been translated into my comprehension by the love and tender care that I felt from my earthly father. At the same time, His arms are so much stronger, His comfort so much more enveloping, His grace so much more than sufficient, that I can still approach Him as a child needing His hand to cling to and walk this difficult road and whatever other ones He will lead me down.
He provided a wonderful picture for me to understand His love for me as a father. This week has been a blessing of seeing how far my dad's ministry has touched over the years, and the words of testimony shared by some people I never even knew, and others whom I didn't know parts of their history with my dad--they have reminded me that although the loss of my dad is difficult, there is so much glory that is being directed to God through recounting my dad's ministry that the blessings just seem to be swirling around, looking for a place to land and a heart to comfort.
I'll be heading back to Florida this Saturday and it will be hard to leave. I'm glad to know my mom still has two of my siblings only minutes away, for those moments when more unexpected things come up that she hasn't had to deal with in years. But even as I miss my earthly father and receive comfort from my heavenly Father, I know she and my siblings are also enveloped in His strong arms and He will continue to lead us in the paths He has for us, for His name's sake.
posted by Shannon at 11:09 AM
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