Love At First Sight :)

Eighteen years ago, I was working in the drive up window at a bank and turned around to look behind me across the lobby and determine if there were cars wrapped around the building. There were - I could see the line through the window on the opposite wall from me. As I glanced that quickly toward the window over the full lobby, I spotted a pair of startlingly gorgeous crystal blue eyes. I turned back and resumed my work immediately, but my mind was racing.

"That's him! I love him! That's the man I am going to marry! That’s him! That’s him! I love him!"

I mentally chided myself for having this bizarre reaction to a pair of eyes in a crowded room I wasn’t even facing. I would never see the man again, let alone meet him right in the middle of a busy work day. Against all odds, minutes later, my coworker/friend Becky said, "Lynn. There is someone I'd like you to meet." I turned around, and it was the owner of the brilliant blue eyes!

Father's Day

Just for today, I don't want to be comforted.

No platitudes about Heaven where he has gone.

I don't want to be told how happy he is,

Or that he wouldn't want to be missed.

Today, let me grieve the life that was lived.

Let me ache for the man who is gone.

Let me think of how he was - 

Don't make me force a smile instead.

My soul, he was so real!

My daddy was a giant.

His heart, his personality, his laugh was massive.

He had a smile to match.

I miss the hugs from arms like beams;

The thumping of life in his chest.

I miss calling him for his advice,

Because "father knows best".

My dad put time into each of us.

He called me and the girls when he passed by our town,

Just so we could yell out loudly,

"WE LOVE YOU, PAPA!"

Even when he wasn't here, he was close.

You don't get over that in a minute.

Remembering those sweet things

Makes it hurt worse... makes the soul ache.

So let me shed my tears.

Do not begrudge me this grief.

I will always cry about my dad,

And those tears will bring relief.

I have apologized my whole life

For having big feelings in response to things.

But this is how I was created, and

This is what such gigantic love brings.

There was never anyone like my dad.

He was the biggest, the strongest, the best.

There will never be another man like him,

Now he's entered into rest.

Taking this moment is for me and for him...

This moment, this space is for 'us'. 

I am not wallowing right now.

I am grieving, and that *is* allowed.

Today of all days - Father's Day,

It is hard not to be lost in tears.

I was so privileged to be so deeply loved

For my first thirty-five earth-side years.

Goodbye again, my sweet dad.

It isn't right that you are gone.

Yet, somehow I am jealous, too.

That you get to be with pain forever done.

I wish I could hug you a minute in Heaven,

So you didn't have to come back down here.

You got exactly what you wanted,

And I know that you are finally free. 

See? This is what grief does.

It moves in waves all on its own. 

It overwhelms the soul, as if to drown,

But moves through again to acceptance. 

This is why I say don't force it.
I don't want to hear the cliches.
I am a walking, weeping, living cliche.
I wouldn't ask my dad back down to earth.

He did not want to be here,
And he didn't deserve the pain he had.
Just for a minute... a single minute,
I want to go visit my dad.

Church Hurt

This post is going to be tricky to write. However, I feel as though it is necessary. I want to address something which has come to be known as 'church hurt'.

The Last Time Dad Ever Picked Me Up

This past weekend, a funny memory came to mind.  

It happened the summer I was twenty years old. My family had moved to the middle of nowhere the previous winter. We were living near a town that was nothing more than one 'T' with a stop sign, a baseball field, and a few houses. The rest was trees and fields as far as the eye could see. The main roads were somewhat paved. The side roads started off as a combination of gravel and tar, then faded off into just gravel and/or dirt. This is important. :)

I have long loved going barefoot, yet I could never have been mistaken for a country girl. Even so, I felt game to learn. I spent the summer enjoying the fresh air, fields, and general sense of openness that living in the country provided. 

During that time, I also worked at the church where my dad was the pastor. It was the typical stereotype of a tiny country church: a small white chapel with pillared portico and a white steeple pointing heavenward. It was located just down the street from where we lived in the parsonage, across the road from the property to the left of ours. Our road intersected a main road which ran in front of the church.

On this summer day, I decided to take a nice country walk. My dad was mowing the church property, which ran around the church as well as across the main road out in front of it. (The gravel parking lot was located across the road in front of the church, so was not directly connected to it.) I was barefoot, and my feet were still getting used to the sensation of gravel. I remember thinking with some satisfaction that I was going to get this country life thing down flat. :) 

I turned left out of the driveway onto the dirt and gravel road. As I came alongside the church, it became softer on my feet. At first, I was really pleased. It took me a minute to realize that this was because I was now walking in the tar/gravel mix. Unfortunately, comfort turned to increasing pain with every step. To my horror, the hot sun had melted the tar, which was now collecting individual rocks and bits of twigs! The bottoms of both feet were becoming completely encrusted!

The short walk up the side of the church was excruciating. I moved slowly and carefully, but nothing helped. I even stepped off onto the grass, where I added freshly mowed clippings and other debris to my growing collection. My dad, in sight only moments before, was now nowhere to be found. I painfully inched around the front of the church. The riding mower now sat abandoned out front. Dad had gone in for a drink. 
Taking ginger steps mostly on the outer sides of my feet, I made my way in and called out for him. Dad came right out, a look of shock playing over his face as he stared down at my feet. I was standing awkwardly there with them somewhat clubbed - coated in tar, dirt, rocks, bugs, grass, twigs and who knows what else. lol 

Now, my giant of a daddy has always been my hero. This is no secret. He truly lived up to the term that day, though. :) In one fluid motion, he scooped me up into his arms and then carried me down the steps outside to the mower. He deposited me on the seat with my feet on top of either side of the front, and cranked it into drive. It was a relief to have the pressure off of my soles! lol

I steered the mower back down the road (without the blade engaged, of course) and down the long drive to my house. It was then that I realized I could not come to a stop! The same tar that was adhering bits of everything on which I stepped to my feet now held them firmly into place on the hood of the tractor. I was really stuck! LOL

Since I couldn't stop, I did the only thing I could think of: I drove in wide circles around the trees. Each time I swung back in front of the house, I yelled at the top of my lungs. 

"MOM!!"

"MOOOOOOMMMM!!

"MOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!"

I do not know how many times I did this, but my mom came rushing out onto the porch looking completely stunned. She doubled over in laughter, and yelled back into the house for my baby sister to come out. She also about fell over laughing! lol I can admit that I probably was a sight! haha We wore long skirts all of the time back then, so it isn't as if I were riding this thing in a pair of jeans. I was in a long khaki skirt with my huge size twelve-wide feet sticking out, stuck to the top of the lawnmower. I can still see the wheel between my knees and my feet behind it on either side! haha I crack up every time I think about it to this day! lol

It was finally decided that my sister would help stop my wide circles on the lawn. She came running beside me, keeping pace long enough to throw it abruptly into park. Honestly, it was such a relief! I painstakingly made my way across the grass, up the drive, and along the porch where I sat on the steps. My feet were a sight! haha I do not remember how long it took, but let's just say that my feet were raw by the time I got all of the tar and bits soaked and washed off. hehe

It has been almost two decades since that hilarious and painful summer day, but it stands as one of my funniest memories. Now that my dad has passed away, I find it even more meaningful. In fact, when it came unbidden to memory this past weekend, I realized that this was the last time my dad ever picked me up and held me. :) What a treat to have been twenty years old when it happened! I wasn't so young that I forgot. It was certainly memorable! haha

My dad picked the four of us girls up so often. We were always into some sort of antics with him as children. We loved getting on top of his massive shoulders, where we felt miles above the ground! :) He allowed us to pile into his lap for huge bear hugs. He would also have us grab onto his pinky and thumb, and would then lift us into the air as high as his arms would stretch. It didn't matter how old we are, my dad was always appropriately affectionate with us. There is no doubt in any of our minds that we were so very loved, safe, and protected. <3

At twenty years old, five foot ten, and not light by any means, I still managed to be my daddy's little girl in an instant. No matter what we needed, he was always there. This memory, funny though it is, demonstrates just exactly who my beautiful dad was. <3 

This is the man who walked me down the aisle the very next summer, prayed over hubs and I for an end to our infertility two years later (after which our prayers were granted), showed up to dedicate our baby daughter (for whose survival and healing after a traumatic birth he also prayed), stood up for us against people who tried to harm us, answered the phone to pray with us during the darkest hours of night no matter what time we called, showed up for me when I was being tortured in the hospital with procedures that medication couldn't numb. This is the man who walked through my garden his last summer alive - even though ALS had robbed him of mobility and the ability to pick produce. This is the dad who admitted to me privately that he was trying so hard not to let any of us see his suffering, even on his death bed. 

Yes, this memory may have been the last time my dad ever physically lifted me up into his arms and carried me, but it was not the last time he ever made me feel held. <3