Steady
A birthday letter to my dad
For many years my family have given each other words on our birthdays. Delivered verbally and in person, the word or phrase encapsulates an attribute or character trait the birthday boy or girl has embodied over the past year. This year, for my dad’s 69th birthday I gave him his word in the form of a letter.
I publish this letter (with Dad’s permission) for three reasons. First, letter writing is a dead art that I believe is worth resurrecting for its beauty as a thoughtful form of correspondence and in defiance of text messages and social media. Second, my dad is a remarkable man and I want to publicly show my pride in being his son. He has been by turns my hero, enemy, friend, and mentor. Through it all he has loved me with a fierce and abiding love—even when I treated him as an enemy—and offered daily prayers for me. When I lost a job at age 26 and had to abandon my dream of living by the sea, he wept more bitterly than I. When I was mired in depression last year, he held me up as only a father can.
My dad has led an exceptional career as a Presbyterian minister. For over forty years he has produced a new, thought-provoking, and truth-telling sermon each Sunday he took the pulpit. At times an old sermon was dusted off and amended but never recycled. By a conservative count that is between 1,600 and 1,800 unique sermons. In an age of copycat pulpiteers and websites that allow anyone to become an ordained “minister” in minutes, my old man is the real deal.
My dad showed and continues to show me Jesus. He showed me how to treat a woman with respect and devotion. And he instilled in me a deep love of language. For these gifts and more, I am eternally grateful.
Finally, I want to offer encouragement for those with a parent who is aging or battling health problems. Though mortality is inevitable and utterly ordinary, it comes as a real shock to each generation. My dad suffers from a rare disorder called Multifocal Motor Neuropathy that has over the past year destroyed a great deal of muscle mass and left him with 25% of the strength he had previously. His doctor and therapist say this is his new normal; the best he can hope for is to stop further weakening. As a man who has been active all his life, this change has been humiliating and frustrating. But through it all he has shown a resilience that can only be called supernatural.
Dad,
I am paying close attention as you encounter the loss of physical strength. This is surely one of the greatest challenges a man can face. I have seen you walk through more than a few emotional and spiritual trials over the years, and this latest test will certainly round out your portfolio of suffering. I am paying attention not only because I love you and want to help however I can, but because some version of physical deterioration will come for me one day, too. I want to face it like a man but have no idea how I might go about it. I find my own shallow conceptions of manhood coming under scrutiny as I observe your struggle. As you like to say, none of us are getting out of here alive. Well and good, but first comes some kind of decline and that’s the part that scares me. I have always wanted a sudden and wakeful death. To walk, with my wits about me, right out of this life and into the next without missing a step. But I know my fate will likely be different.
What I am getting at is this: I am witnessing a new way of being that I want to embody one day. As a boy, I wanted to be like you when I became a man. As a man, I now want to be like you when I grow older. I am grateful to have you as my pioneer.
Selfishly, I want you to live many more years. Yes, you have much work to do. There are many sermons to preach, much wisdom to pay out and many prayers to offer. But the two things I want most are your companionship, and for my children to receive the gift of their grandfather’s love well into adulthood. And perhaps that will happen. In the meantime I intend to be present when I am with you, and enjoy the threefold blessing you bring to my life as a godly father, trusted mentor, and great friend.
So this year, as I listen to your firm and clear voice in our conversations, and even though your hands shake a little, my word for you is steady. There is equanimity growing in you as you adjust to this new normal and shepherd the strength you still have. May you stay rooted in gospel truth and find power as you lean on the infinitely broad shoulders of your heavenly Father.
I love you. Happy Birthday.
Matt
