Category: Stories

Post number 3 for 2019.  Keeping my commitment to publishing one post each and every week.

The trip back was uneventful. Easy drive to the airport. Easy going through security. No delays in boarding. I did, though, get a pretty good picture of the sunset over the Panama City Beach area from the airplane window, but the window had large scratches in it, so the picture looks fractured. The colors, though, are still phenomenal.

I’ve been trying to do a better job of ‘being there’ for others. I’m an extreme introvert, and I do mean extreme. My own company is usually preferred over any other, although I enjoy people just fine. Just in small doses.

Sometimes I do a pretty good job of ‘being there’ and sometimes I really suck at it. I’ve ‘adopted’ a young man who is the same age as my son and we’re pen pals. We’ve been writing back and forth, and now emailing for about 4 years now. He has a little less than 2 years remaining on his prison sentence, and he’s rightfully excited about getting back to having a life again and being a contributing member of society. He’s witty, highly intelligent, and growing in his faith.

I put money on his account periodically, since I know he has very little family who help him, and he always thanks me and shows appreciation for the correspondence and monetary assistance. I think I actually get more enjoyment out of the relationship than he does. It truly makes me feel like I’m making a difference in someone’s life.

More than 20 years ago I began sponsoring children through Compassion International, and I still have one little boy named Jose I sponsor. I write him letters when I remember, which isn’t anywhere near often enough, I’m sure. A few times over the years it was touch and go whether I could continue in my support because I had lost my job a couple of times and finances were pretty tight especially when I had resigned my position and moved back in with my parents to help take care of my mom who had dementia. But God was faithful, and allowed me to continue sending the much needed money to provide for these impoverished children, to give them a real chance at life and to give them the opportunity of hearing the good news of the Gospel.

I’ve also been able, here and there, to take food to needy folks and pay for bus tickets and plane tickets, and meet other needs as I’ve become aware of them.

But in between those times, I can be quite selfish and allow myself to become very isolated. I read books and listen to sermons and feel like I’m just not as good as these Super Christians. I make mistakes and screw things up and get way too upset at other drivers.

Some days I just don’t understand why God still loves me.

Just like that picture out of the plane’s scratched window revealing God’s gorgeous sunset, when we allow God to use us, even though our imperfections show, the beautiful colors show even more. Isn’t it a comfort to know our Heavenly Father uses us – His fractured and imperfect children – to spread the good news to other fractured and imperfect people?

My second post of 2019.  I’m spending the week with my Dad in Michigan, and I’m surrounded by memories. 

It’s a long way from the mountains of West Virginia. Mom and Dad, shortly after they were married in 1955, moved to Michigan to find work and build a life together. Dad’s dad made him promise not to get a job in the coal mines, because he wanted a safer life for his son. My Papaw had been injured in the mines and ended up retiring early from his disability.

Dad, who didn’t graduate high school, dropping out in his eleventh year because of a disagreement with the teacher, worked hard at his new job, and worked even harder improving his chances for advancement by not only receiving his GED, but taking classes at night to become an electrician for General Motors, working many long hours at the shop for over 30 years when he retired.

In his lifetime, he’s built three houses, remodeled many more, bought and sold real estate on a small scale, and, coupled with his conservative frugality, has always had enough to provide for his family and comfortably live on.

Life, as we all know, is full of lessons. Some lessons are expressly taught us by our parents, while some are taught by observation, and others are learned by watching the things we don’t want to repeat in our own lives.

I can still hear Mom telling me to brush my teeth and make my bed, pick up my clothes and finish my homework.   I can hear Dad telling me to think things through and get good grades. I watched them both and learned about the importance of hard work and living within my means. I learned about honesty and faithfulness. And I learned, from watching Mom hang on to anger for years, to let go of hurts and have a forgiving spirit. I learned, from watching Dad, to be more adventuresome and not to be afraid to step far outside my comfort zone.

That’s not to say the lessons I learned I learned perfectly and always follow them, but it does mean I recognize when I’m veering from the path, so I can correct my trajectory before I stray too far.

Dad’s doctor appointment yesterday yielded encouraging news. His Parkinson’s is progressing very slowly, and the medication is doing what it was designed to do. We are thankful. At eighty one years young he can still drive, and walk, and take care of himself.

Mom’s been gone now for about 2 ½ years, and Dad’s reaching his stride. The house was always Mom’s domain, and her personality, for such a small person, filled the house so that her moods and wants dictated what happened there. What was on T.V. had to have her approval, and every conversation whether face to face or on the phone was open to her prying and prodding questions. She needed to know everything about everything whether she understood it or not.

Now that she’s gone, Dad can finally just be himself. He can watch what he wants, buy the food he wants, go where and when he wants. It’s strange. Some couples who have been together for 60 plus years, when one dies, the other follows soon after. I don’t see that with Dad. After the initial grief, he has rallied and for the first time in his life, has no one who is second-guessing his motives. That’s pretty liberating I would think.

Not to speak ill of the dead, as the saying goes, because I loved my Mom. But I also know what it was like growing up under her thumb, and microscope. She was a product of her own upbringing, becoming a mother at only 16, with three small children by the time she was 20. Dad worked long hours, so it was up to her to keep her babies fed and clean and safe and the house clean, too. She did her best. I’m convinced of it.

And she loved her grandchildren and great-grandchildren with the fierceness of a lioness. Watching her shower love on my children and grandchildren helped to alleviate and heal some of the hurt I had carried with me for many long years.

And Dad, he just kept providing for and remaining faithful to us all. Even when times weren’t good. Through the tough times and the even tougher times, he has stood strong, always doing his best to give wise counsel.

In the end, it’s not one good thing about us that makes us remarkable, but the whole package. The steadfastness and faithfulness in the face of disaster. Hard work that never takes a day off when others are depending on you. It’s staying the course and never giving in.

I read somewhere once that, when children grow up, one day they may forgive their parents. I guess that’s because we reach a point in our own growth where we see their flaws. But that’s what we humans are. Full of flaws. But we love each other anyway because love is a powerful leveler.

As the Apostle Peter says in I Peter 4:8, “Above all, love one another deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”

May I extract the best parts of my parents and focus on making those my legacy.