Writing is
therapy, at least it seems that way to me.
I find it interesting that my wife had prodded me to start this blog
years before it really began to serve a different purpose. Writing gives me the opportunity to
thoughtfully express what I am feeling inside, to transcribe the raw emotions
that I am experiencing, and to share with honesty and transparency.
My last two
years have been incredibly difficult. In
the midst of losing both of my parents, I have had to finish my seminary
degree, have had a third child, have been involved with a church split, have
been part of a church plant, have been executor and keeper of my father's
estate, and have had various other challenges that have faced me directly or
indirectly. The old adage that what
doesn't kill you makes you stronger has seemed more true than ever. Only by the grace of God can I stand.
All of this is
just fuel for my writing fire. I will
continue to write to bring healing and restoration to my soul. I believe that we are a storied people, and
while we have lost much of the tradition and heritage of stories within our own
culture, we still cling to the power of story as we watch films, read books,
and seek out anything that seems interesting, inviting, and even similar to our
own lives. Story makes an impact on us,
especially when we find that we can relate to the story being told.
My hope and
prayer is that God might use my story for the sake of healing in others. I am not the only one who has experienced
difficulty. I am not the only one who
has struggled through hard times. But
when we come together and share our stories, we realize that we are not
alone. We realize that we are together
in situations in which we thought we had been abandoned.
There is much
more to write and I will do just that. I
will write as much and as long as it takes.
My father was always one to tell stories. I always loved to hear him speak of his years
of growing up or the trip that he took to Europe while he was in college. He could tell stories and I loved them, even
the parts that seemed so dated and hokey.
It was those stories that really revived him towards the end.
One of the
last times that he spent time in the hospital, I remember how one of the nurses
and the chaplain spent about an hour with us as Dad just told story after story
after story. He loved having an audience
and he would craft the telling of the story according to the reactions of his
audience. In that way, I am my father's
son. I do the same thing. After Dad had exhausted himself by talking, I
remember the look on the face of the nurse as she told me how amazed she was by
the life that she had seen in Dad. It
had been missing for so long, but these two beautiful people had given him ear
to weave his stories, they had shown him respect and love, they had given him
the gift of presence and of time.
We all need to
be loved and needed. In so many ways,
that's what I realized that Dad needed more than ever towards the end. There were stories that I wanted to know more
about, but I also knew that he just needed to be loved. He had lost his companion and his partner
amidst one of the most grueling journeys that he had ever been on, and he felt
alone. In the end, my prayer was that he
would not feel that way when he died. It
broke my heart to think that he might die all by himself in his room with no
one there with him. What a gift from God
it was to both of us that we were together when he passed through death into
life everlasting. I love you, Dad. How precious it was to spend those last hours
with you. I can't wait to hear your
stories again and to give you a great, big hug.
I miss you so much already.
