He passed away May 2016.
The man who had taught me to cast a line, and balance a checkbook, and trim the yard, and built a fire...he was gone. It wasn't sudden. It wasn't like Dad was there one moment then gone the next. The cancer had progressed slowly. First in the pancreas, then to the liver. We sat with him in the hospital during the transfusions. He and Mom were so diligent with taking their constitutions. But the steps became slower, and then he brought out the walking sticks. A few more rests on the couch lying down. Finally, a hospital bed was moved into the bedroom and the transfusions ceased.
After he passed, I would still smell the scent of his aftershave around me. I walked to my parents' front door expecting Dad to greet me with a handshake. I would look up from dinner but the chair at the end of the table was bare. I'd read a newspaper article and lower the paper to ask for his opinion just to find the sofa across from me empty.
The months dragged on. I spent hours sifting through the memories. How he stood by my side during the Boy Scout cake auctions, or guiding my hand as I sanded down our soapbox derby car, or even the stern warning he gave me after an altercation with my mother. I would stare at the ceiling at night, noticing that the darkness above reflected the emptiness inside of me. His words. The scents. The telephone calls. Memories would cloud my mind, but the void was still there. I would be at work, and the overwhelming sadness welled up deep within my soul. I would rise from my chair and take stroll around the office until my emotions would settle into a manageable state. When I thought I had passed through to a calming respite, his heavy breathing during his final moments would echo in my mind.
Two months before the next Christmas, my family and I sat together in church. Pastor Jim and the worship team led the congregation in praise. While others lifted their hands in praise and joyous exclamations, I sat in a daze. Time had slowed. The drawn out minutes seemed like an endless sailing through dark waters. I didn’t know how to go forward. I wasn't sure how to get through the days or the long nights. I was just about to step out into the isle and walk back to the prayer team for help when a sudden impulse gave me pause. I chose to pray first. I dropped to my knees and quietly called out to God. “Lord, I don’t know what to do. There's a numbness inside that I can’t seem to overcome. I want to celebrate and commemorate my Dad rather than suffer. It seems like I'm in a closed-up room and can't find a door.”
The singing seemed to dim, and I felt the Spirit move within me. The Lord brought Isaiah 53 to my mind. It was the passage on the Suffering Servant.
And Jesus spoke to me. "I know your sorrow. I know your grief, for I have suffered. I can carry what you bear. I am the Man of Sorrows. Take my hand and let me lead you. You carry this heartache and loss. You were never meant to carry it apart from me. I know the way through this. Take my hand and I will carry your sorrows." In my mind I saw Him reach out His hand to me. I prayed, "Lord, I don't know how this will go, but I trust you. Lead me through this." I took His hand.
I knelt there for a while, spending time in His presence. I didn't know how it would continue, carrying Dad's loss inside while walking the Savior. But after a while I stood. A couple of seconds passed, and then Pastor Jim began the next song. I smiled in thankfulness. The song was called "Man of Sorrows". God was confirming what He had just spoken to me.
As the years go on, I remain in awe over how God knows the right time and place for me. That place has always been at His side, trusting in His justice, His mercy, His power. In all the times I've called out to Him, Jesus remained faithful and true. In 1 Peter 2, the apostle calls us to walk in Jesus' steps, "who Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, having died to sins, might live for righteousness - by whose stripes you were healed. For you were like sheep going astray, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls." As the One who created us, loves us and shepherds us, God knows the best way to guide our souls. If you're lost, call out to Him and you will be found. If you've sinned, cry out in humility for "He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." And if you carry grief, know that He is there to carry it with you.
The man who had taught me to cast a line, and balance a checkbook, and trim the yard, and built a fire...he was gone. It wasn't sudden. It wasn't like Dad was there one moment then gone the next. The cancer had progressed slowly. First in the pancreas, then to the liver. We sat with him in the hospital during the transfusions. He and Mom were so diligent with taking their constitutions. But the steps became slower, and then he brought out the walking sticks. A few more rests on the couch lying down. Finally, a hospital bed was moved into the bedroom and the transfusions ceased.
After he passed, I would still smell the scent of his aftershave around me. I walked to my parents' front door expecting Dad to greet me with a handshake. I would look up from dinner but the chair at the end of the table was bare. I'd read a newspaper article and lower the paper to ask for his opinion just to find the sofa across from me empty.
The months dragged on. I spent hours sifting through the memories. How he stood by my side during the Boy Scout cake auctions, or guiding my hand as I sanded down our soapbox derby car, or even the stern warning he gave me after an altercation with my mother. I would stare at the ceiling at night, noticing that the darkness above reflected the emptiness inside of me. His words. The scents. The telephone calls. Memories would cloud my mind, but the void was still there. I would be at work, and the overwhelming sadness welled up deep within my soul. I would rise from my chair and take stroll around the office until my emotions would settle into a manageable state. When I thought I had passed through to a calming respite, his heavy breathing during his final moments would echo in my mind.
Two months before the next Christmas, my family and I sat together in church. Pastor Jim and the worship team led the congregation in praise. While others lifted their hands in praise and joyous exclamations, I sat in a daze. Time had slowed. The drawn out minutes seemed like an endless sailing through dark waters. I didn’t know how to go forward. I wasn't sure how to get through the days or the long nights. I was just about to step out into the isle and walk back to the prayer team for help when a sudden impulse gave me pause. I chose to pray first. I dropped to my knees and quietly called out to God. “Lord, I don’t know what to do. There's a numbness inside that I can’t seem to overcome. I want to celebrate and commemorate my Dad rather than suffer. It seems like I'm in a closed-up room and can't find a door.”
The singing seemed to dim, and I felt the Spirit move within me. The Lord brought Isaiah 53 to my mind. It was the passage on the Suffering Servant.
"A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
And we hid, as it were, our faces from Him;
He was despised, and we did not esteem Him.
Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows..."
And Jesus spoke to me. "I know your sorrow. I know your grief, for I have suffered. I can carry what you bear. I am the Man of Sorrows. Take my hand and let me lead you. You carry this heartache and loss. You were never meant to carry it apart from me. I know the way through this. Take my hand and I will carry your sorrows." In my mind I saw Him reach out His hand to me. I prayed, "Lord, I don't know how this will go, but I trust you. Lead me through this." I took His hand.
I knelt there for a while, spending time in His presence. I didn't know how it would continue, carrying Dad's loss inside while walking the Savior. But after a while I stood. A couple of seconds passed, and then Pastor Jim began the next song. I smiled in thankfulness. The song was called "Man of Sorrows". God was confirming what He had just spoken to me.
As the years go on, I remain in awe over how God knows the right time and place for me. That place has always been at His side, trusting in His justice, His mercy, His power. In all the times I've called out to Him, Jesus remained faithful and true. In 1 Peter 2, the apostle calls us to walk in Jesus' steps, "who Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, having died to sins, might live for righteousness - by whose stripes you were healed. For you were like sheep going astray, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls." As the One who created us, loves us and shepherds us, God knows the best way to guide our souls. If you're lost, call out to Him and you will be found. If you've sinned, cry out in humility for "He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." And if you carry grief, know that He is there to carry it with you.
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