It used to be completely different.
What I call my old bedroom – it wasn’t always a bedroom. I had
forgotten what it used to be… until today. Until the day before what would have
been my father’s 61st birthday.
What if?
What if this never became my bedroom? What if the wall I’m
leaning my back against was still hidden behind the three 6-foot-tall
bookshelves that were filled with all of his theological books, Bible
commentaries, Greek and Hebrew New and Old Testament translations, and, oddly
enough, Louis L’Amour novels? What if the solid wall to the right of me never
replaced the huge window that looked out to the backyard, the one from which he kept an eye on us as we played outside while he worked inside?
What if my bed never replaced his long multiple-tiered wooden desk, full of
rings from his coffee stained mug and covered in papers and floppy disks? And what if he was still sitting in front of
his computer, furiously typing away in order to meet that Sunday morning
deadline, where he would give one of his partly-thought-out,
partly-following-the-Spirit-he-says-when-he-really-ran-out-of-time-to-finish
sermons? And what if I could still look in from that huge window to see him typing
away too?
Well, I don’t know about those what if’s. The reality is, I’ll
never get the chance to. But, as a sit on this carpet floor – the floor on
which he taught me to walk, the floor on which he disciplined me, the floor that is tinged with
his tears as he kneeled before God asking to spare his son from physical pain, the floor on
which he sat and played the Beatles on the guitar for me, the floor he stood on when he told us his cancer had returned – as I sit on that floor, here’s what I
do know:
My father never stopped seeking the Kingdom.
My father sought justice for the widowed, oppressed, and sojourners.
My father gave us so much more than we ever needed.
My father sacrificed himself for us till the day he died.
My father loved us more than he loved himself.
All because His Father did those same things first.
And because he did, but mostly because He did, so will I.
Happy Birthday Dad, we love and miss you.
