a faith observed: Happy Birthday, Dad.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Today would have been my dad's 61st birthday. How I miss him. Simon and I chatted about him all day and baked some brownies for his birthday cake and then made pancakes for dinner. And only my dad would be proud of Simon's LOVE of black strap molasses (as good source of iron) and real maple syrup. Simon likes dipping the pancakes into the maple syrup - I didn't realize he knew that word and suddenly he is asking for more of it.

I was very close to taking a trip to Bunnings (our version of Home Depot) to buy Simon a tool - a tradition I'd like to start for Simon on dad's birthday- but with pouring rain and two little ones in tow I decided against it. I guess we'll have to start that one next year!

Dad, you were the best. I love you so much.

1 comment:

Judith said...: Yes, Happy Birthday to my dear brother Roger. Sounds like a great tradition - celebrating his birthday with tools and "ooh-girls-maple-syrup"!
I remember how my mother kept her Daddy alive for me through the stories she told of him and even though I never met him, still today I feel as though I did know him. I'm sure Simon and Grace will be the same, learning to love Roger through you.; March 3, 2010 at 10:03 PM

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This is me, a faith observed.

C.S. Lewis writes about the pain of losing his beloved wife, Joy, in his book, "A Grief Observed". In some ways this is my attempt to share my journey through grief and back into life, as the past nine months have been characterized by an immeasurable longing for my beloved father, who died suddenly this past January.

After months of hibernation from the internet, I unexpectedly find myself able to re-begin this blog and connect with my larger community of family and friends. This blog will likely reflect less of the intensity and depth of my pain and more of the simplicity and ordinary joy that keeps my life full - namely days running after our little boy, Simon Pierre. But it is because of the incredible love and presence that defined my relationship with my father, that I feel I can will myself to not just survive each day but to pour that same kind of love and attention onto Simon.

My father was an endless source of strength to me, a pillar of faith. His last words, spoken to my mother as he passed into that which is unseen, "God is good - good all the time", have remained with me through this dark cloud of grief. And when God seems hidden, when justice seems to be losing out, when life is unfair, and when death swallows up the one I most love, I remember my father's words and breathe in this promise, that the God of love is in the process of restoring that which has been destroyed.

And as my father told me in dream I've had since his death, "Look to Jesus. As a father, to point you towards Him is the best gift I can give to you." So here I am, this is me, a faith to be observed.

I hold onto that which is not always seen- the promise of God's goodness, the hope that one day in the promised new heavens and earth- on a grassy hill or a sand covered beach- the lion and the lamb will lie down side by side and I, too, will lie down side by side, next to my father, and we will laugh and laugh until there are no more tears left to cry.