The Old Man

A few blogs ago, I talked some about my family, and how I won’t be seeing them for a while. I said I would be dealing with this throughout the year. Well, my dealing with it starts now, with Dad. This realization that I won’t be home till next Christmas hits me every time I’m reminded of him, and since getting back to Union, it seems that it happens almost daily.

Because he has had such a big influence in my present taste in music, it’s hard not to be reminded of him. Half of what I listen to reminds me of him in some way. Whether its a song we would sing obnoxiously together, an artists he showed me, or just some stupid memory that was somehow related to the song, I'm reminded of him. Whenever Bob Dylan, Kansas, Creedence Clearwater Revival and so many other artists come up in conversation, which is oddly quite often, it reminds me of him. On the way back from a hiking trip with some friends, my uncle and aunt invited us to have dinner at their house. My uncle’s expressions and humor reminded me so much of Dad, I couldn’t help but think of him. Whenever ministry is mentioned, I am reminded of the afternoons I would spend with Dad in the Garcia’s home and the mornings we spent talking to the Embera Chami on the sidewalks and at the motorcycle wash in downtown Bogota. The long car rides we had during those days of ministry were some of the best. We would sing at the top of our lungs to James Taylor and I would mock his Petra CD. We made stupid jokes that we would both just die laughing about. I blame my ridiculously bad jokes and how I am so amused by them on my father. Every time I’m reminded of him, I can’t help but smile because most of the time I have spent with my dad has been filled with laughter.

Even though I love being reminded of Dad because it makes me smile, I think it hurts me more. It is those moments that I am reminded that I won't see him or sing with him or joke around with him or hug him for almost a year. A few years ago I don't think I would've said this because I hadn't come to know Dad the way I have now. I always saw Dad as the man who was in control of the situation, the family, his emotions, and all else that happened around us. Not to say that he isn't, but I started seeing much more of who my dad is and he became one of my best friends, along with Mom. I think this started when I started tagging along when he went to "work." I say "work" because although it his job, he doesn't treat it like that-- I can tell he pours his heart and everything he has into it, and I know that he finds joy in it, even when its frustrating and hard.

These times when, for one reason or another, I wasn't at school and could go with him were crucial to our relationship as it is now. I saw my father's passion for the men, women, and children that he had built relationships with at the medical houses as he spoke with them and prayed with them. I witnessed his commitment to God's call as he persevered through what seemed to be fruitless times with the Chami. I loved seeing his bad jokes come out with his gringo humor as he made friends at the motorcycle wash in one of the worst parts of town. I laughed inside every time we were walking through dangerous streets and he would reach for the metal stick in his back pocket and stared down any possible danger. Not once have I felt like I was in danger when I've been with Dad in downtown Bogotá. In these times God showed me that my father loves us, but even more, he loves God.

As my senior year rounded out with spring plays, mission trips, and all the events tied into graduation, I saw more and more of Dad that I loved. He brought me roses on the opening night of the spring play, he brought me fruit and juice and drugs the next morning when I had to return to the stage as sick as a dog. He encouraged me with Scripture and words of wisdom before I left for the Amazon, and he teared up and hugged me at every "last" I had in Colombia, whether a school event or my last Sunday at church. Sidenote: when I see a grown man that I respect cry, I choke up. Needless to say, when my father teared up, I had to quickly look away before completely losing it. I love that man. I know he loves me, but what makes me happiest of all is knowing that he loves God more than he loves me, even more than he loves my mother.

I now saw Dad as a man who loves God, loves his family, loves the people he is called to, and loves life. He not only brings laughter to my worst days, he brings love and comfort. He's had the words I needed to hear, and the silence in an embrace that I needed to feel. He's been given 4 ridiculous children who don't deserve him, but he's done his best to love us and take care of us, to lead us and teach us, to share with us and spur us on.

What a man. And what a handsome man!