Writing to Dad From 2,000 Miles Away

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                        June 3, 2015

                                    

(I received word this morning that my dad is in the Emergency Room of a hospital about 2,000 miles away from me.)

Dear Pops!

      I love calling you that when you answer your phone. You always know it is me calling when I greet you with those words, “What do you say, Pops?”

      I wish i could be sitting beside your hospital room bringing a smile to your face with that greeting, but, instead, I’m a couple thousand miles away typing this on my laptop.

      It’s hard to not be close enough to touch you…to wait anxiously for an updated text from someone close at hand. I want you to know that I’m praying for you. When I told Diana, my administrative assistant, about you, see took time out to pray for you…and me! Prayer is something I don’t need training for, just a sense of urgency and taking the initiative to approach the throne of grace.

      Dad, you have always been special to me, but in recent years as I watched you wait upon Mom and make sure that her needs were being met, you became something different.

      Impressive! 

      You held it together when Mom was coming apart. You fed her when she could not feed herself. You listened to her when she could not communicate. You changed her diaper when she soiled herself. 

      You were impressive and impressionable!

       I don’t believe a father can leave a greater gift for his children than a Christ-like handprint for them to remember. Not necessarily a sermon preached, but rather a sermon lived out. Although your heart has issues, your heart for God and people is healthy. When one of my kids tells me that I’m just like my dad I take it as the highest compliment. 

       I remember certain things that you did, like fixing liver and onions for dinner that actually tasted good; startling the neighbors each year when warm weather came by putting on a pair of shorts with those white legs of yours that were a little blinding to the eyes; preparing your Sunday School lesson to teach with your materials and Bible covering the kitchen table; and teaching me how to tie a necktie. 

       Let me confess something to you while I’m thinking about it. I was the one who broke the blade on your pocket knife. You had probably already guessed that, since I tried to scotch tape the broken blade back on. Thirteen year olds think they can cover up anything!

       Dad, I’m praying for strength and recovery. I’m praying for more conversations in the coming days even by phone. 

       Rest…and rest in his arms!

Your Son,

Bill Wolfe

      

Explore posts in the same categories: children, Death, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth

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