Yesterdays are Behind Us. Now is the Time to say Thank You, Dad.
Hello Dad,
I visit you in the nursing home, though you do not know me.
Your brain is so damaged now that you cannot read your own name: RAY.
Your capacity to think and to analyse is zero. Numbers were your life. Now they are meaningless to you.
But today I want to say thank you.
There was a clear standard of right and wrong in your home. I did not always do the right, and there were consequences. My strong moral ethic not only comes from Scripture, but from you.
As a teen I did not like your harsh discipline- and by any stretch of the imagination it was harsh. But behind your belt and your anger was always a concern for peace and harmony in the home.
You loved Mum. She did not appreciate that sometimes. The male and female differences that are well publicized in my day were largely unknown in yours. She turned to me in my teenage years for a listening ear. She knew she had to persevere in marriage. She took her vows seriously. For sure there were broken homes, but they were few. There were none of my mates that came from broken homes. Couples either worked it out or stuck it out. Through great perseverance you did both.
You sent me to Sunday school. It was there I learnt of God’s fatherly love for me as my Heavenly Father. I don’t think you will mind my being honest here- as I am talking as a man, and not as your child. Your love was conditional. I had to be doing the right thing at the right time in the right way to feel accepted. God valued me for just being me. It was refreshing. It is refreshing. Your limitations as a father, and mine to my own six children, help me appreciate the incredible goodness and mercy of God that he gives us acceptance.
This song captures the truth so well, come to God as you are, for you can come no other way. I sang that old song
“Just as I am without one plea
But that Thy blood was sheddest for me
And that Thou biddest me come to thee
Oh Lamb of God, I come.”
We are so alike in personality and skills and abilities.
It is not obvious on the surface, but even studying in my Senior years of secondary school I instinctively set the alarm for early in the morning to arise and study. It was only then then Mum told me you did that in your early married life to gain your qualifications as an accountant.
Your days of sporting ability were short lived- as mine were. I think I understand why.
When you are working full time and then studying, and then having to support a family, something has to give. For you it was golf, for me it was tennis. Although I used my skills in tennis to coach and earn some money through college- marrying, working, studying, and being involved in church life crowded out something- and it was regular sport.
Health wise I am the image in the mirror of you. We have both suffered with our eyes. Neither of us have our vision. You lost your sight in the right eye through retinal detachment; me also. Today I suffer with the ongoing complications of glaucoma. You had prostate problems, needing a rebore. I had prostate cancer, needing the sharp incision of surgery to excise it. As you have sort to endure patiently, so have I.
Even in the leisure we pursue -we are peas in a pod. We enjoy music. We enjoy gardening. We enjoy walking. We enjoy a good coffee. We are thankful for faithful friends.
You taught me the value of money, or was that Mum? I know that you have to work hard to provide for your own. Unfortunately I learnt this lesson too well, going above and beyond duty to do the extra so that the whole would work more harmoniously. Both you and Mum went the extra mile- that became the norm. If I had my life over, I would want to learn to say no to others more often, and take better care of myself emotionally.
I wish I had learnt to ask for help sooner than I did. The lessons of independence you taught me do not work so well in this society now. We need the support of others to succeed- it is neither independence nor dependence that is truly effective- but team work. Success in relationships now is much more significant than a field of an expertise of knowledge Dad.
I sit by your chair. I try and fill the time I visit with you by telling funny anecdotes, sharing family news and local news- and I hope that even in my conversation there might be something occurring within your psyche.
And I try to do you good. We help you do basic exercises to keep limbs mobile; I ask you simple questions, and I look for any hope that things are stable. You still squeeze my hand as we bid each other farewell. You remember THAT.
I seek to look for the positive. In a world of pain, where is the cloud with the silver lining? Sometimes it takes the discipline of seeing- lest it pass you by.
Thank you for being Dad. You are God’s gift to me. You have shaped me by your loyalty, faithfulness and perseverance. You are my Dad, though you don’t know it- I still do.
I honor you, Dad. Thank you.
