Where Is My Father?

Image courtesy of Nutdanai Apikhomboonwaroot/freedigitalphotos.net

For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in. Psalm 27:10

While Amari worked on his homework yesterday, he called to me, “Babbie, will you call my Daddy?”

My heart aches every time he asks me to do this. Why? I can’t call his father. I have a good guess where he is, but in the two years the grands have lived with us, he’s never initiated contact. Not once. I don’t have an address or a phone number. It’s hard for Amari.

His sister’s father does make contact. He’s not the greatest father example in the world, but he does reach out to Victoria. They talk on the phone for a few seconds usually. He buys her birthday and Christmas gifts and tries to get her something every now and then. It’s not much. He’s disabled and on kidney dialysis due to the damage his lifelong drug use did to his body. At least, the kidney situation made him clean up his act. For that, I’m thankful.

Still, it’s more than Amari’s father has ever done. He wants his father. He asks to talk to Victoria’s father when they’re on the phone. Sometimes, he gets to do so, but it’s not what he’s looking for.

I can’t imagine how he feels. I can’t tell him where his dad is or put him in contact with his dad. Even if I could, I’m not sure I would. Not unless he’s willing to change his lifestyle.

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. Romans 8:15-17

The good news for Amari is that God is his father. He seems to get this in his childlike way. Several times a week, we talk about God and Jesus and heaven. He brings them up on his own. And he seems to understand the idea that God is his father. A few nights ago, he asked us, “Who is the uncle of the world?”

Confused, we told him we weren’t sure.

Then he said, “Who is the father of the world?”

Since I’m posting this in a faith-based blog, the answer seems obvious, but we had been talking about the members of our family moments before he asked this. We didn’t know.

Amari grinned that amazing smile of his and said, “Yes you do! It’s God and Jesus!”

But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” Luke 18:16-17

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Keep Your Eyes On the Groom

Courtesy of pixabay.com

 Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting:

“Hallelujah!
    For our Lord God Almighty reigns.
 Let us rejoice and be glad
    and give him glory!
For the wedding of the Lamb has come,
    and his bride has made herself ready.
 Fine linen, bright and clean,
    was given her to wear.”  Revelations 19:6-8

I’ve never seen a bride who wasn’t radiant. Dress her in the raiments of her wedding, and she glows with a joy we all want to capture.

This past weekend, our youngest son married his bride. As I’ve done for years, instead of looking first at the bride, I watched the groom, our son, as she first appeared at the end of the aisle. If you’ve never done that, then try it next time. The bride will remain radiant, don’t worry, you won’t miss a thing. But the groom only catches his first glimpse once. Make sure you see it.

We’ve had three of our children marry, so far. With each one, I watched the groom first.

Our son Chris had a nervous smile on his face that turned to consternation as his bride took longer than expected to step out of the limo that delivered her to their garden wedding. The moment she alighted, his face transformed with relief, joy, and happiness. I’ve never seen his smile as big as I did that day.

When our daughter Terri approached her husband-to-be, I watched tears cloud his eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. When she came close enough, he couldn’t help himself. “Wow,” he whispered as he drank in the sight of her.

This past weekend Nathan stood stiffly at the front of the church, waiting. When they opened the doors to reveal his bride, he grinned, his gaze focused solely on her. I waited. This son is more reserved than the others and I sensed him holding back. Then I saw it, a great big gulp, his Adam’s apple wobbling with the emotion he couldn’t contain.

Each of these lovely daughters of mine caught a glimpse of what awaits us on the day when Christ receives his bride, the church. A wedding is the perfect time to get a hint of the joy we’ll experience on that day, when we are presented in fine linen, bright and clean. I can’t begin to imagine our joy. But I believe the joy on Christ’s face will outshine our joy like the sun blocks out the stars.

Saying Good-bye: A Truth About Growing Older

Uncle Bill and me at a family reunion. Also, Aunt Vivian and my cousin, Chris.

When we’re young and think about growing older, we think about how we’ll change physically and probably think about our death. Our young minds scamper away from these foreign ideas, unhappy with the idea. Yet, it’s a fact a life.

One truth about aging that we don’t grasp until we’re older is the loss of loved ones, and, inevitably, the fact that we only see close family members at the funerals for these loved ones.

A little over a week ago, we lost my Uncle Bill. My family has said a lot about him on Facebook as each of us deals with this loss, but I’ve said little. Why? Probably because my grandchildren consume my time to the point of exhaustion, but this doesn’t mean my thoughts haven’t been on Uncle Bill. He was a fun man to be around, always joking. You knew when a joke was coming because his lips started to twitch and his eyes would sparkle with delight.

He had stories galore, too. Stories that my cousins and I need to capture before they’re all forgotten.

My earliest memory of Uncle Bill is at a family reunion when I was five or six. I was sitting on his lap and wanted to get up. He wouldn’t let me without the magic word. Well, guess what? I had NO clue what the magic word was. While I tried to guess he held me there. Yes, my parents had taught me to say please and thank you, but I guess they never used the term, magic word. Somehow, I managed to escape. I don’t recall if I said please or not, but I’ve never forgotten it.

After I grew up, Uncle Bill became the uncle I visited with when Mom and I took her annual trip to Sugar Mountain. Sometime during that trip, we’d meet up with her brothers for lunch. Bill was the oldest, then Bob who left us a few years ago, then Mom who we lost in 2014, and her younger brother, Wayne, the last surviving of the crew. The four of them together were an absolute hoot.

During these gatherings I heard stories about Uncle Bill’s flying antics (he had his pilot’s license), tales about their childhood escapades, and how Uncle Bill loved to goad Mom into an argument when they were young. He confessed that when she was attending Limestone College, he came along for the ride to pick her up for a weekend break. Within minutes, he’d picked an argument with her. As soon as he had her spitting mad, he sat back with a proud smile and announced that his job was done.

Here’s a video I shot in 2009 during one of those lunches. From left to right, Bob, Wayne, Mom (Babs), and Bill (apologies for the poor quality):

Bill was a softy, too. I don’t know how many times he called me because he was missing my dad or mom and just wanted to tell me how wonderful they were. He and his brothers came down to see mom and dad when my parents’ health declined. He was there the day my dad passed away. He was the first person who got a real reaction out of my mom when she was in the hospital after the fall that started the decline in her health.

Every time he spoke to me in the last few years, he told me I had his favorite name. His wife, who passed away in 1992, and my mother were both named Barbara.

So, yesterday, I gathered with family and his friends to say goodbye. It’s unreal he’s gone, but I’m so glad I came to know him better as an adult. I wonder if he’s picked an argument with Mom in heaven yet?