Empty Shoes/One Month

At five in the morning, the house is always perfectly still. Yesterday, I was in the dark browsing my phone before beginning a busy day. Out of nowhere, it hit: the mental image of your house shoes, sitting empty. I pictured them as I had last seen them, in the hospital by your bed.

"All of her little shoes are now empty."

The thought sucked the breath out of me and grief thudded its crushing weight on my chest like a herd of elephants. My gosh, you're so very gone! 

I was so afraid your shoes had been left behind when you died, but they haven't. Big Sis has them. I asked her for this lovely photo and she graciously obliged. This image will replace the sadder one in my memory of the hospital the day we said goodbye. I am so grateful to you and  Dad for starting our family with such a quality person. I have found myself hanging onto her for dear life.

We went to the orchard today, my little family of four. You know the one: *our* orchard. The one you, Dad, Jim, Karen, Baby Sis, and I first went to one happy afternoon in 2001. On the ride down today, it struck me that only Baby Sis and I are left alive from our original group. That joyous afternoon blossomed into our annual pilgrimages to document the girls' growth in the chestnut trees.

I am heartsick that we have been without you for an entire month already. It is such a sad occasion to mark on such a special and precious day, but that is life, isn't it? It is death itself that makes the lives we have so incredibly dear. The memories we are making with our children were born in traditions started with you and Dad. How fleeting are these moments! 

So today I celebrate my children and the ways they have grown, inside and out even as today I grieve for you, for Dad, and for the years I feel somewhat cheated out of. 

Every thought, sad or happy, brings me back to the Savior and the overwhelming sense that He is good. 

Thank you, Lord, for giving me the parents I had. Thank you for the time we spent together creating the memories that will have to sustain us. I am so grateful that Dad and Mom are up there celebrating with joyful abandon in the most precious of places. Comfort us as we hold them here in our hearts. Help us to create and carry forward their legacy of loving and serving you. Answer the prayers spoken by lips that no longer utter, and also those we who remain speak over our own children. In your holy name, I pray. Amen.

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 

Spiritual Rebirth, Death Anniversary, and Spring

Twenty-two years ago today, I called my dad home from church to talk to me about my need for the Savior. He came immediately, and spent time with me on our couch and on our knees. I asked the Lord into my heart that day. :) <3

I don't believe that I will ever forget my dad praying over me that afternoon. In fact, I remember him praying with and over all of us from the time we were little. My daddy's prayers are one of the things I most miss in this world.

Tomorrow, he has been gone for one year.

Last year, it was bitterly cold and frosty as we drove north to tell his earthly vessel goodbye for the last time. It was pitch black, and the world felt icy and empty. We talked to him, wept on him, kissed him, stroked his arms and face, and told him everything we could think to say. I remember telling him over and over how proud of him I was:

The very picture of peace,
just four days before he
passed into Glory.

"You did so good, Dad. You did so good."

Maybe it is strange to tell someone that they did a good job dying. I don't know. All I know is that we witnessed him face ALS and death with bravery and more strength than I have personally ever seen in any other human being. The time spent with him that night was precious. It is a set of hours to which I return in my mind any time my heart is overwhelmed by his passing.

Inevitably, it was time to let him go for real. It is easy enough to say to the world that 'this is just a shell... the man himself is in Heaven'. Even so, this 'shell' showed me love for my entire life. Those big fingers are what I held as I learned to walk. That big lap bounced me on his knee. Those massive arms enfolded me into a lifetime of hugs. Those lips, now silent, spoke my wedding vows. That heartbeat... oh, how I miss listening to the deep, comforting thudding of his heart!

We stood around him one last time, Mom and the four of us. (Thank God for video phone technology!) I was at his head. It struck me that we couldn't let him leave without a prayer! I asked if we were going to pray and everyone said yes. As so many times in the past, silence (well... weeping... no speaking) fell over the room. It hit me that we were all waiting for it:

We were all waiting for Dad to begin to pray.

The thought utterly broke my heart. I didn't know what else to do, so I began to pray. We thanked the Lord for this man and for the life he lived. We thanked Dad for his walk with the Lord and his testimony. To be honest, I am not sure what else I said. I know that it felt inadequate. I remember not wanting to stop praying. I knew that they would take him and he would be officially gone after. That night was both incredibly hard and incredibly beautiful. I will never forget how cold and stark it was that night.

Imagine our surprise the next day, when Mom and I opened her front door to balmy weather and buds on the trees! Spring had suddenly burst into life! The juxtaposition seemed to perfectly mirror what was happening in our lives! The noticeable change from the dark of winter to a sudden boom of spring reflected the way that Dad's spirit left his body of death, and rose to life everlasting in Heaven with Jesus, our Lord and Savior. <3 <3 <3

Dad Smiled Just for Me

This year, we are again in great pain. In some ways, it is like Dad is about to die all over again... we just know which day this time. In other ways, we look forward to tomorrow, eager to overcome yet another post-Dad milestone. We mostly look forward with hope. For, as last year, it has been snowy this week leading into the one-year anniversary of my dad's Heaven date. We have spent some time feeling dark and broody, in spite of our best efforts to live life happily.

Tomorrow maybe, just maybe, spring will bloom all over again.

Whenever it does come, we are ready. We are here, one year later. We still love our Lord and look forward to serving Him more fully. Our hearts are still with God and with getting into church. We continue to work towards happiness and the peace and contentment that my dad displayed right to the very end.

Overnight at 12:37 a.m., we will cross the one year mark of my dad's passing. We will step into a day which we intend to use to celebrate him and to honor God.

We love and miss you, Dad! This year has been hard, but we have made it through! We sure cannot wait to see you again! <3 <3

Faith Like Dad's

I keep remembering as we walk through this valley of the shadow of death that my dad left us a legacy and his testimony. We can say forever that he spoke of God's redeeming love, that he saturated himself in Scripture, that he hid God's word in his heart and meditated on it right to the very end. 

In a world where God is mocked as a fairy tale or a crutch, I have seen Him carry a man into unconditional love. I have seen faith carry a man with grace and dignity to his grave. I know faith.

Religion seems so ugly these days. People are so hot from all different walks of faith that religion on the whole seems like an unnecessary load of hatred. Who could possibly want that? But when you look at people for whom it was a personal relationship, like my dad, you can understand what it is *supposed* to be. 

My dad never wavered in his faith or his beliefs for a moment. His doctrine remained fixed to the end. He spent years behind the pulpit and could preach a hellfire and damnation sermon with the best. Yet, by and large, people remember him as a man who was always willing to help and who always had a smile and a positive attitude... a gentle giant to the end. His love spoke volumes louder than any sermon he ever preached. 

This year was the first birthday in my entire life without his birthday greetings and booming "and many more" at the end of the song, Happy Birthday. That was incredibly hard. I will never again have my beautiful, strong dad on this earth. I miss his laughter in a way that aches so that I fear I may never be able to breathe correctly again. However, I *do* have his testimony. I *do* have his story. I will shout it and I will share it, every chance that I get.

Faith matters because in the end it is about you and God, one on one. Who cares what the religions of the world look like, if we miss that fundamental truth? Faith is what sustains you and brings you peace when you go through horrifying things like he did. ALS is an ugly way to die. It is horrific from start to finish. How could he get through that with grace and dignity? And yet, he did. These bibles show the years of time and use he put into reading and studying Scripture. They are evidence of how important his God and his faith were in his life. Faith may not matter to the mocker but it is everything to some.

We may not see God anywhere in the masses of people arguing online but I tell you, I saw God in the room with my dad all day every day, just as He was visible during other intense trying times in our lives. *That* is what it all comes down to. Faith is nothing at all, if it is not personal.

*Photo credits to my sister, Yaya. <3 

The New Normal

I would just like to put it out there that 'the new normal' sucks. That is to say, life since my dad died, is so incredibly painful. Don't get me wrong. I knew that it would be. I suppose I just expected that, once the funeral was over and my mother was moved, I would settle into what used to be my 'normal' life plus some pain. I also took heart in the fact that it does ease with time.

The thing is, time is relevant. It certainly wouldn't ease right away... I knew that. I figured that being able to do our daily life things would, itself, be a great comfort. It simply hasn't. So far, time is increasing my pain, not lessening it. Each day, I wake up one day farther away from having a dad. That cuts like a knife. All of the breath in my body escapes me. I either wake up incredibly hurt or somewhat cranky. :( 

Anyway, time *will* eventually help. In the meantime, I am trying to figure out how to cope with the fact that I keep waking up fatherless. My memories feed on Facebook keeps offering up his beautiful face or comments he's made on past posts. That serves to make me feel better and worse, simultaneously. 

Gardening, my life's passion in some ways, hurts like the dickens. Last year was the best year I ever had with my dad. I finally had grown a garden large enough for him to harvest from. The previous two were small but we shared. Last summer, however, my Dad would walk along my garden commenting on the plants, offering advice, and harvesting fresh veggies to take home to my mom. It was the epitome of what life was *supposed* to be like! I had done him proud and I got so much more extra time with him than I ever had before.

Even at the beginning of the year, when life was horrific and painful, he was there. I was in and out of the hospital for months that seemed endless: Dad showed up to be with me and to pray with me. He offered me comfort that my own pastor couldn't. He saw how raw and traumatized I was. 

Yes, 2016 was the year from hell in a lot of ways. Looking back, I recognize that it was also a beautiful gift from God. He loaded me up on love, support, and the presence of my dad. I didn't go into his death lamenting that I saw him only once or twice the year before (as in previous years). I *do* lament that I did not get to see him awake and alive more *this* year. :/ Last year, though... last year will have to hold me until I see him again in Heaven.

God is good, friends. Even when life is too hard, even when there seems no earthly reason to believe it; God is good. The simple truth is that we don't know his plans or his ways. We don't know the big picture. I do know one thing from experience, though. Suffering in our own lives brings us closer to other people. It deepens our compassion and our ability to understand one another on a human level. 

Watching my dad die after suffering for months on end has made me reevaluate my faith in the afterlife. I've come out surer than ever before. I *will* see this beloved man again. I *will* get to embrace him on the other side. He has gone before us and will be there when I arrive. In the meantime, I will continue to cherish his face and his memory. I cannot believe that my dad is just a memory. :'( Even so, I will continue to look forward and to move forward... even though it is excruciating to do so right now.

For Dad (3/31/17)

Your life was a treasure;              

A gift untold.
What joy beyond measure,
When you entered His fold.

We grieve in great pain,
Over this, our loss.
But with joyous refrain,
We still look to the cross.

Heaven’s sounding sweeter.
We know this is true.
Heaven, more precious,
The day it gained you.

God took you so quickly,
Into His care.
What painful joy inside us,
When we picture you there.

Thank you for everything:
Those words, so paltry, so few.
Will have to hold our places,
Until we are again with you.

Lord, please come quickly.
This world is awfully tough.
Life without our precious Dad,
Simply isn’t enough.

Grant us the grace and mercy,
To get through this day.
Give us peace, comfort,
And strength enough to say:

We still thank you, Jesus.

For this burden, this pain.
Because we have blessed assurance,
We will see him again.

Keep Breathing

I am so excited to report that my dad gets to have breathing equipment!! <3 <3 <3 

This is a bittersweet development, in its own way, but is a blessing more than anything. :) Of course, even a few months ago, I never imagined that the beginning of this year would open up with my dad struggling so hard. We all hoped that this ALS steam engine would slow down. It hasn't. At this point, we will take everything that we can get. :) 

Having breathing and cough-assist machines means that my dad will not have to struggle so hard. It means that he will not have to have the temperature of his home fiddled with all day long. It means that he will have the energy to face a meal! That could mean that he eats more. Oh, praise the Lord!

He has lost so much weight and continues to lose steadily. It is *so* important to he and my mom both that he does not drop below a certain amount. We are all praying that these machines will aid with weight maintenance, at the very least. <3 

We are also hopeful that these machines will help him to truly rest at night. He needs sleep, desperately! He is up roughly every two hours, just like a newborn. My mother is up with him, often opting to sleep on the couch next to where he is laying in his mechanical recliner. This causes her no shortage of pain, including a neck ache which has ceased to go away. I am praying for her comfort, as well. 

We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on behalf of my dad. Please consider sharing it on social media.

Prayer and Supplication with Thanksgiving

When I visited my parents this weekend, I got to talk to my dad about his thoughts and wishes. I tried to absorb as much as I could. There is one thing he said which I took particularly to heart. He impressed upon me the importance of making my prayers to God (on his behalf) with thanksgiving. 

Now, any Christian who's been in the Bible or a church for any length of time can quote this verse: 

It struck me that, even at this painful stage in his life, my dad would still be exercising his skill sets both as pastor and parent. 

He knows me very well, this man. He knows that I have struggled with the effects of PTSD and anxiety for a long time now. He also knows that these things cause me no small amount of fear. Even my prayers can become fear-based. 

It was important for him to remind me that we can cast *all* of our cares on the Lord, even the scary life-threatening things. We can come to God in confidence:

He wants my prayers to the Lord to be made with confidence from a thankful heart. He doesn't want me to be drowning in sorrow to the extent that I cannot see God's love, mercy, and grace during this trying time. I *do* exercise faith but it is true that my fear can sometimes overwhelm that.

This morning, when I sat down with my girls to read the Bible and to pray for my dad, his words echoed through my heart: 

"Just be sure that you are praying with thankfulness. 

I want us to be thankful in all things through this. Our God is so good."

Our devotion today was in James chapter five, which was a timely blessing. Several verses, in particular, especially reached into my soul.

11 Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.

1313 Is any among you afflicted? let him pray. Is any merry? let him sing psalms.

1414 Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:

1515 And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.

1616 Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

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Just about everything I was reading and thinking about this morning before we started the day was pointing to fine-tuning my prayer efforts. It was a good and timely reminder for me. I was able to go into my prayers today with calm and peace, knowing that God can answer them in His own way and His own time. We call that special feeling 'the peace that passes all understanding'. It is when unnatural peace and calm flood through your body, heart, and mind.

I am also reminded that I have seen prayer work. This is why nobody can tell me that faith is just misunderstood chance or the hopeless delusion of a week mind. 

For example, when I was carrying Giraffe, toward the end of the pregnancy I would wake up in the middle of the night positive that she was going to die at birth and I would never meet or get to know her. I mean, I would wake out of the clear blue, deeply convicted of this and sobbing my eyes out. 

Every single time this happened, I woke Chris and begged him to pray that she would survive her birth. He never once failed to wrap me in his arms, praying there in the dark that our child would survive her birth and live a happy life. When the day of her birth arrived, we endured trauma which caused her heart to stop beating within me. Her delivery was horrific. It is an experience I would never wish on any mother and child. Even our doctor admitted to Chris later in the year that he was supposed to go home alone that night, leaving behind two body bags. 

Miraculously, she was revived! By the grace and mercy of God, Giraffe and I both survived. My beautiful baby lived. You cannot tell me that prayer does not work. I *know* that prayer works. I have seen it. That is only one time out of many. When God tells you to pray, friends, you'd better do it!

Now, it would be narcissistic of me to think that God will answer all of my prayers in the affirmative. We know that the earth has been given over to the will of man. People are governed by what they want to do. Evil abounds by our hands and by our choices. Additionally, God has His own reasons for answering prayers in His own way. There are too many reasons for the outcomes of our myriad of situations to know exactly why any given thing happens. I will not always get the answer I want. I *can* be okay with that. :)

_______________________________

My dad asks that the Lord be given the glory, no matter how God chooses to handle his life. That is one more way he has been consistent since I was a child. I can hear him praying over the pulpit of that first small church he pastored, "May everything we do be for Your glory."

This season of my dad's life is painful. It doesn't have to be ugly, though. It doesn't have to be depressing or despairing. Dad knows that his life is in God's hands. He trusts that whatever God decides is for his own glory. My dad may be in his recliner, it is true. He is not to be counted out, though. Even from his chair, my dad is serving the Lord and bearing witness of His goodness. 

May my prayers from now on be filled with confidence that God hears and cares. May my deepest wishes float to God's ears and be responded to in His infinite wisdom. May I never forget to thank Him that - even in this hard time - my dad can still be used. His life bears witness daily of the grace and mercy of God. I find that I truly *am* thankful for our present situation. I am thankful that this trial can be used to teach me even more about God's love and tender mercies. 

God *is* good. I so thank and praise Him for allowing me the dad that I have. I love that preacher man more than words. I am so truly and deeply blessed. <3 <3 <3

We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on behalf of my parents. Please consider sharing it on social media. 

Visit With My Parents (incredibly long... you've been warned)

Yesterday, I got to visit with my parents. It was the first time I have seen them in a month. Due to seeing the pictures my sisters have taken, my dad looked much as I expected. There *were* still visible changes. His entire head looks smaller, for instance. He's lost over a dozen pounds. You can tell that immediately. He's smaller every time we see him. His bones protrude more as time goes on. His legs are thin and birdlike now, too, though still appropriate length to his frame. His broad shoulders are still broad but now they are also very thin. He swims in his clothing.

I put myself under a lot of pressure to go see him. I couldn't stand waiting so long when I miss him so terribly! I kept crying in random bursts that came more frequently the longer the space between visits became. I am trying not to be a fear-based person, I really am. The issues that I live with make that very hard to accomplish. (I am working on it!) These things added to my grief about our time apart.

___________________________________

My One and Only Dad <3 

My goal was to visit with him without crying. I just wanted to go in with energy and light and be a breath of fresh air. I wanted to soak him in like I do with my kids. You know how you inhale deeply on top of those precious heads? Oh, how I wanted to bask in the love of my dad!

I wanted to see my dad and help my mom, at the same time. My husband and children really stepped up and made both of things possible. I was able to do a little bit of laundry and cut my mom's hair while they dusted the house and Giraffe started dishes I finished not too long after. Koala had never dusted before, so that was extra cute!! She was *so* proud of herself! She kept asking Granna to look at her dusting! <3 <3 <3 

My Pretty Mama

I got time to sit and talk with my dad, too. We were very careful about not bringing in pet dander. As careful as we could be, at any rate. We put the clothes we were going to wear into the laundry here at home and did not remove them until we were dressing to leave. We made sure not to touch or sit down on anything in the house. We dressed and went out to the car. We also brought along lint rollers, taking a minute to roll ourselves all over before we went in. I kept rolling off and on the entire visit. Giraffe rolled lint from the couch and Hubs vacuumed before we left. We didn't want Mom to have to do these things. That pet hair is tricky stuff! lol

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When we got in and removed our shoes, I wanted to hug Dad tight and never let go. It is hard for him to breathe, though, and I practically had him smothered in my sweater so I had to stop. It felt so good to get ahold of him!

He wasn't able to stand for my hug, which I did not expect. That was especially rough. I was planning on getting as close as I could to those massive bear hugs that I have had so often before. He gives the very best hugs! Even so, I gave him the best hug I could from my position bent over the recliner. I snuck in additional snuggles during the visit by leaning over the back of the recliner to get access to his head and shoulders. I let my fingers linger along the back of his neck and head, drawing in the feel and smell of my precious daddy's head. These sensations must last. I am going to need them!

________________________________

Goodness. These words seem so inadequate! I am trying to work up to how I felt... how I feel... about the visit. I just can't seem to get there. Every emotion was so intense. Every minute so inescapably valuable. I need to be able to express it properly but I cannot seem to do it justice. 

I am writing this blog as a permanent way to chronicle this experience. Should my dad pass to Glory, I know that I will want to have it to look back on. I want to remember every minute. This is important, and yet... how do I even describe any of it adequately? :'(

For starters, there are his hands. That was the biggest thing I kept thinking about through the day. I have held my dad's hands off and on for my entire life. They are huge. The younger I was, the larger his hands seemed. They were rough hands that liked to whittle wood, hunt (both traditionally and for ginseng), go fishing, work in a garden, and a hundred other 'manly' things. These are the hands that I grew up holding, that comforted and cared for me as a girl.

The hands I held yesterday are different. They are still huge but they are emaciated. You can see his bones - something that was never possible before. It was hard to get my fingers between his because they are stiff and locked into place. I worried that I was hurting him by interlocking fingers. The rest of the day when I held his hand, I was much more careful and gentle, no intertwining.

His hands are also no longer rough. They are very smooth, to the point of being softer than baby skin. They have the silky feel of someone in their nineties, not someone who is this young. His hands have always been gentle with us but they never specifically felt gentle. Now they do. I couldn't get over how soft and tender his hands are to the touch.  

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We arrived in the late morning so we could be in and out early enough to give him time to rest. He was already exhausted when we arrived. He coughs that "I can't breathe" cough. He has us turn the thermostat from warm to cold to freezing to cold over and over, trying to breathe more easily. He spent the first part of the visit tucked into his blanket, laid back, trying to rest since he cannot sleep properly. 

He loved on all of us, taking time with each of my daughters, my husband, and myself. He knows that this time is precious. We all do. <3 <3 <3 

Giraffe especially took extra time to snuggle against his shoulder, holding his hand in hers. She is very aware of what is happening to him but she is very quiet about it. She is showing her support of me in quiet ways around the house. Usually very chatty, she slides silently up next to me and gives me a hug. This child, my beautiful miracle child, is gifting me her support via her presence. I could see that this is what she was doing with her Papa and Granna yesterday. Her love language is physical touch, like mine. She is putting herself physically into spaces filled with emotion. My heart swelled watching her. :') 

At one point, just before she put on her shoes and coat, he sat up in his recliner to give her a proper goodbye hug. He stopped her a moment after, held her hands in his, looked deeply into her eyes, and said slowly and deliberately,

"Always remember that you are Papa's pretty girl." 

That simple statement almost leveled me. You see, Papa has seventeen grandbabies. From the time they are born, he tells them upon every contact that they are Papa's boy or Papa's girl. Every single time he talks to them on the phone, he asks, "Are you Papa's girl?" or "Are you Papa's boy?" There has never been a time where that question wasn't met with an enthusiastic, "Yes, I AM!!" My soul, help me, God! This seemed like he was making good and sure that she knows how deeply she is loved, just in case...   

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I resist the idea of taking photos. I do not like the thought that we are now taking our photos deliberately because we will someday want to reflect on every moment we possibly can. I am intensely uncomfortable associating these mementos with eventual death. The mere thought makes me want to intentionally avoid cameras, it so affects me. I want to keep every second held privately in my heart.

Even so, I knew that I would regret it if I did not take some pictures. We transformed special private moments to visible with Hubs' camera phone. I was immediately grateful we took them. :) The faces of my parents and children smiling back at me do my heart a world of good! I will continue to cherish and share these photos for years to come, I am sure.

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I am going to step back in time a pinch to provide some context to what I am about to tell you next. 

My Koala is still so little. She noticed her big sister getting her Bible signed by Papa at Christmas. That same week, she had Daddy take her out to the Dollar Tree with her tiny purse and few dollars. We were proud to let her spend a little money. We assumed that she would hit the toy section as hard as a little one can. :)

You know, that little tyke walked into the store, found a wee Bible, paid for it herself and walked back out. :) Daddy offered to let her buy toys with her remaining dollars. Nothing doing, she was there for a Bible and that was it. :) From there, she spent the rest of the month bringing it to me periodically and telling me that her Papa needs to sign it for her. <3 <3 <3 

Yesterday, I was careful to remember to bring along her little Bible. Dad had to use a very large, heavy pen pressed between his thumb and the bone of his pointer finger. It is very difficult for him to hold a pen but he did so- painstakingly - just so my littlest little and I could have his signature.

You see, when we were young, my sisters and I thought it was fun to collect the signatures of preachers who passed through. My dad being our own pastor, the first signature was naturally his. He had some of the most beautiful handwriting you have ever seen from a man. He always placed his favorite verse - Jeremiah 33:3 - beneath it. "Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not." Oh, how we are calling on Almighty God on behalf of my dad!!!

When I was a teen, someone I worked with asked to borrow my Bible. She was unfamiliar with religion and was curious to read it for herself. I sent it home with her that same day. She never came back. She quit work, effectively stealing my Bible. It wasn't until this past Thanksgiving when my little nieces and nephews were all getting their Bibles signed by Papa that I thought to look into my other Bible for his beloved signature. It wasn't there. :'( 

Nowadays, his signature is more precious and coveted than ever before. This is why it means so much to me that he took the time and considerable effort to sign my new Bible for me. His signature has definitely changed. However, his favorite verse is still there, as it always has been, and his love is stronger than ever before.

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I did well through the visit. All too soon it was time to leave. Some part of me wishes that I could have stayed the day. However, dad doesn't just get 'tired' by receiving company. It can literally affect his ability to walk at all. :'( If that isn't incentive to keep it short, I do not know what is.

Before we left, I sat down to hold his hand one more time and try to somehow express my love for him. It was then that I had a bit of a panic attack and burst into tears. What if I never see him again?!?! What if this was the last time on this earth?!?!? I couldn't stand that! I couldn't handle for these to be the last moments, the last hug, the last time holding his hands! How unthinkable the future is when reflected upon in those terms. All I could manage was to sob and gasp out, "It isn't enough! It isn't enough!" :'(

Dad pressed the button which lowered the legs of his chair and placed him in a seated position. I went to my knees and scooped as much of him into my arms as I could get and wept over him. He held me as best he could. I tried to stop the tears and backed away so that I wouldn't crush him. Panic hit my heart again and I dropped again, slumped on the floor, weeping directly into his lap like a child. These moments hurt so much! This reality hurts too much!! I want my dad back, healthy, tall, and the strongest man alive!!! I don't want to leave! Please don't make me leave!! More, don't let *him* leave me!!!

My parents were so gracious about my outbursts. Like so often when I was little, they held me, comforted me, loved me, and talked me through it. I was able to take my seat and resume our conversation. Somewhere in there, Hubs got the girls into coats and shoes and out to the car. I stood, made my way to the door to retrieve my shoes and say a few more words before finally leaving, myself.

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I promised my dad to keep the faith. He wants us to pray for total healing or for a mercifully quick entrance to Heaven. He doesn't want the middle ground. He doesn't want to spend long days wasting away inside his own body. :'( 

It is hard to see him so set on having a full life or a quick death. He believes that he is a burden to my mother and there is no convincing him otherwise. :'( If he is, he is a burden borne with great love. Any of us would do this for any other. My family is not short on love and adoration.

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During my time with him, I asked what we can do to make his life easier. What can we do to help tame the monster that is ALS? How can we make this journey he is on more bearable? His answer was indicative of his character:

"Help your mom. Help your mom get through this. Be there for her. Give her a break." :'( :'( :'( Wonderful man, my father. 

I promised, of course, and I will do my level best to keep that promise. My sweet and generous mother-in-love stands ready to watch my children so I can stay with my parents for a couple of days here and there. We are just waiting for the word.

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Hubs, the girls, and I were all pooped yesterday after just our short visit and the drive time. I don't know how my parents are doing this. Their ability to push through, day after day, seems otherworldly. Life with ALS seems like the longest slow-motion accident ever. We are seeing the damage up close, frame-by-frame, as it happens. We are witnessing the life-altering damage it causes as spectators with no small amount of horror. 

We are witnessing something else, too. We are seeing a man, who has spent decades of his life preaching about God the Father, lean so heavily on that same God. We are watching my parents continue to pray without ceasing. We are witnessing my mother, who has been giving and faithful on a whole other level to so many people, continue to give until every fiber of her being is spent - and then keep right on giving. 
 We are watching their continued walk with and growth in the Lord. We are watching this man and woman live out every bit of what they have preached. My dad has worked hard to be a living example. I never doubted for a moment that we would see (although far too soon) him also be a dying example of faith in Jesus Christ. 

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Friends, religion isn't about the building. It isn't about the rules. It is not about leaning one way politically. Religion is not about being better than we were - although, God knows that we do try. Religion is about trusting in Someone far greater than ourselves. It is about knowing that there is something that comes after and preparing for that. It is about a life which is a mere vapor compared to the eternity which our soul will spend beyond the mortal coil. 

A religion that has gone wrong looks like hatred for and strife with the world. Religion fulfilled is a life lived in awareness of and by God's grace. it is in being able to show kindness and love in the face of evil. It is in being able to stand when it is impossible to stand by one's own strength. It is in being able to face death with hope, grace, and dignity.

It is beautiful to see the people my parents have reached out to, touched in some way, or gone to bat for - for decades - reaching back toward them. It means the world to see people help us care for them when they are most in need. Religion fulfilled brings people closer together to bear one another's burdens. We are witnessing this in the lives of my parents.

Leaving my dad yesterday was probably the hardest thing I have ever done regarding him, to date. Trusting God to know what is best for him comes in a close second. I want to fix everything I can in life, especially the suffering of others. I simply cannot do that, in this case. I can only pray, hope, trust, and practice my faith. I simply have to give my dad over to God because there is nothing else to be done. 

Whatever the future holds, I know Who holds tomorrow. 

I know Who holds my dad. <3

We have started GoFundMe Campaign on behalf of my parents. Please consider sharing it on social media.

The Big Question

Yesterday, I asked our ALS Association rep the question that has been scaring me to pieces off and on this whole time. 

"How is my dad going to die?"

I knew the semantics, mind you. I have been reading over sites about ALS and containing ALS information ever since we learned that he had an MND that was suspected to be ALS.

I know, for instance, that the nerve death happening in his body means that his functions are shutting down, one by one, because messages can no longer pass from his brain to his muscles. We see this affecting his tongue, facial muscles, limbs, etc. This changes how he swallows and speaks, how he moves. This is robbing him of the ability to walk upright. It will rob him the ability to walk at all. Nerve death is stealing his ability to get up and down. It means that he cannot catch himself when he falls. It means a lot of things.

The same nerve death that causes his brain to send signals, which are no longer being received, is happening in his lungs. He struggles to breath when it is rainy or if the humidity is even slightly up. So yes, I know *how* he will die. He will suffocate to death when his nerves can no longer tell his lungs to breathe. :'( :'( :'( 

What I was asking *Joanne is how this will fee. Will he be gasping for air? Will he be writhing or flailing around, keenly aware of taking his dying breaths? Will it be torturous and scary for him? :'( :'( :'( 

Thankfully, she understood exactly what I was asking.

I try to be very professional when I am on the phone but this question made me burst into tears. I was trying to hold them in. She, being so loving and caring, immediately took an even more compassionate tone. She explained to me that ALS patients have very peaceful deaths. When my dad is put on Hospice, they will keep very good care of him. The time will come when it is very clear that he is losing his battle. When that happens, they will make sure that he is medicated for comfort and that he is sleeping.

I know on our end it will be more complicated than that. My mother, at the very least, will still have to witness it happening. :'( :'( :'( On his part, though, my dad should slip off into eternity from a state of calm, in his slumber. This is everything that he has ever prayed for. I thank my God mightily for this!!

We don't know how long he has. Some days, it feels like he may not last the month. Other days, I can be more optimistic about everything. God is still on His throne, after all. There are things doctors cannot explain. Miracles do still happen in the everyday. 

Today I continue to pray for healing. I pray for the Holy Spirit indwelling my dad to move through him and to cause healing/regeneration in the nerves and muscles throughout his body. I pray that mercy will be granted from Heaven. I pray that we will all be spared and that the Lord will be glorified. 

That is the big thing, of course. May God get the glory. In good times or bad, in pain or in pleasure, in joy or in sorrow... may the world know that God is good. <3

We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on my dad's behalf. Please consider sharing it on social media. *Name changed for privacy

Give Me Back My Dad

When she is tiny,
The girl turns to her dad.
So big, so strong.
Monsters never have a chance.

When she is little,
Her personality is known.
Daddy protects her,
Watches her as she grows.

When she is bigger,
He still lifts her to the sky.
Who knew that thumb and pinky
Could cause a girl to soar so high?

She knows everything, suddenly,
When she becomes a teen.
He challenges and questions her thoughts,
Without being terribly mean.

Then comes the day
The girl transforms into a bride.
She walks to the altar vows
With daddy still right by her side.

Who gives this woman?
The question is so simply asked.
Tears in his eyes, he recalls her childhood -
A pleasure, not a task.

Life moves on
With all its ebbs and flows.
Infertility, trauma, depression.
Beauty, too. A miracle and a rose.

Her dad still laughs with her,
Still prays for her as each day is new.
Thinks of her and prays many more times
Before the day is through.

She calls him on the phone.
Daddy, how are you today?
Her cares and joys expressed
In a balance of hurts and praise.

Daddies expect girls to grow up.
This is a truth we hold.
But the girls never truly,
Expect their daddies to grow old.

When a man is his child's hero,
He becomes invincible to her.
His strength taken for granted,
The years with him, a blur.

So when the day comes that,
His strength fades suddenly before her eyes.
It throws her into denial.
It has taken her by surprise!

Dads are supposed to last forever.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
There are supposed to be decades left,
Before God calls him away.

My God, why my very own dad!?!
Is her heart-wrenching cry.
Why not men who are merciless?
But God is silent, doesn't answer her why.

I hate this journey we are on.
This is not the road I would ever choose.
Even in my thirties, I am too young,
This giant in my life to lose.

God, help me take every moment.
Let me show him always that I care.
Even though on a soul-deep level,
I find this all so incredibly unfair.

Give him back his days, God.
Give him back his youth.
Give him back strength and vigor.
Keep him walking in truth.

It is not okay!!
My soul cries loudly within me.
Forever is not enough,
And never really could be.

This is one of the hardest trials,
My family has ever had.
Take ALS away from us!!
Give me back my dad.