On Wednesday we had dad's service. It was held at his church during the normally scheduled service time. The chaplain of Spokane County's jail spoke, I spoke, and the pastor spoke. It was followed by a pie social. Many family members were there as well as friends.
That last paragraph was dangerously close to sounding like a newspaper article. Sheeesh Josh, put some inflection in the words!
Well....ok....Here goes....
Wednesday night was wonderful. I was a bundle of nerves. I didn't know if I should cry, argue, run away, or freeze. Would I be able to honor my father and express his impact on my life?
I think that happened.
The service was recorded. I know I have access to the audio, I still have to contact the video guy and see if I can get that. Either way, I will post a link to it when I figure it all out.
I think you will hear me nervous for a couple minutes. You will recognize the internal struggle of being authentic. I think you see the real me come out.
But, that wasn't always the case. Somehow I was blessed with the gift of gab. I knew how to speak in front of people. I knew how to phrase things so they were more likely to be heard. I could fake it completely. I could appear good, righteous and holy. I was a pain in the neck!
Being fake would not have honored dad. He loved me warts and all. That's what I wanted to bring. I think it happened that way.
Let me switch gears just a bit.
The time spent with friends and family, that culminated with the service, did volumes to help my grieving. It's like gradually a burden was lifted. I didn't even know the burden was there!
Dear reader, thank you for your prayers and kind thoughts. This wretched sinner got to honor his father by speaking in his father's church, and the building didn't ignite! Whew!
There were quite a few people who came up afterwards and told incredibly personal stories of how my dad cared for him. Those people were so nice.
One of those people was a woman whose husband was a pastor who ended up getting a mental illness. As he deteriorated he was rejected by many. I suppose rejected is the wrong word. Many people likely had no idea how to love and care for a broken man. Tragic. Brutal. Yep.
His name is Gary. Dad loved that man. He would visit during the week. He had an appointment every Saturday to visit him and eat at Burger King. I remember wanting to see my dad on a Saturday and him being careful to set the time correctly so he would not miss that meeting.
I sat and talked to Gary for a while. We wept together. I hope there is someone who can visit him. I think I might want to get his number from the pastor. I'm not sure. Maybe I should. I'll figure it out.
During the service a young girl got up and left the sanctuary abruptly and returned again a few minutes later. I didn't see it happen. She walked up to me afterwards, looked me straight in the eye, and told me she was weeping when I said that I wish I could call my daddy. She had to leave to contain herself.
Damn. Now I'm crying again.
I didn't know what to say to her. I thanked her and she smiled and walked away. I leaned over to my friend and told him "That little girls love for her daddy is quite a beautiful sight". That little girl also made my night.
Folks, there are too many memories to share, those private moments of elation and grief. But please know this, I had never been to a funeral where I was present. I felt all the feelings that I had that night. I honored my dad's life by being a real man.
Let me finish with a disclaimer. My father would have liked me to tell you how I found healing.
If you haven't grasped how to be present, If you scan the world looking for the most wretched person (knowing that it is really you), If you are tired of being broken and alone, If you are worried that your dad wouldn't be proud of you, then call or write me. It can get better. It did for me.
Run to God. If they told you he would be mad...they lied. Trust me on this. He came to be afraid, lonely and tired, just like you. It can be ok. No really, it can.
