- Jul 11, 2020
- 1,513
- 1,828
- Country
- United States
- Faith
- SDA
- Marital Status
- Single
My father grew up on a farm in Indiana. Sometime in his teens the family moved to Ohio. Instead of completing high school, he dropped out and enlisted in the Marines with one of his friends. Both lied about their age.
After boot camp, he was stationed at a base in Hawaii, as a clerk, where he would finish out his tour and be honorably discharged. Right before he left, being the clerk, he gave himself a promotion to Sergeant (approved, of course). When my father was honorably discharged, he came back to Ohio.
A note about my father. His father was a drunk, so he didn't have a father to speak of. Often he would have to drive his father home from the bar. In his later years, my father would tell me that he wanted better for his boys, to be the father he didn't have.
My mother grew up in Ohio. Her mother was converted to Christianity sometime early in life, I assume in the 1940's-1950's, as I have a 1950 Bible of hers. My mother and her sister grew up in the faith.
As things go, my mother and father married and had two children. My other brother and myself. My father, being in his early twenties, only wanted to hang with his friends and do his own thing, so the marriage didn't work out and they were divorced before I was old enough to be self-aware.
My mother remarried after a short time and it was at this time that I was old enough to be aware of my surroundings. My brother and I lived with my mother and her second husband and would go to visit our father every other weekend.
The weekends with my father included those aforementioned friends and countless adventures—fishing, camping, working on cars, riding dirt bikes, watching old movies and TV shows, listening to dad's favorite music.
My mother's second husband became physically abusive and we had to leave. We stayed at an abuse shelter until we could get into a low income apartment. It was when we were on our own that we started to attend church regularly, along with our grandmother. Afterwards we would often go to her house after church for amazing vegetarian lunches.
My father met and married his second wife around this time and they converted to Christianity, not from any influence of my mother or us kids. My mother and father would go back and forth on doctrine and how to raise us. It became common for them to argue on the phone about it.
On the weekend visits, I would attend my father's church and witness him going to the front, pouring his heart out in tears to the Lord. This was the first time I saw my father's vulnerable side.
At some point, after many long years, my father and his second wife divorced in mutual agreement. He purchased a car for her to drive home to California. Shortly after this, my older brother moved in with my father.
At age sixteen, I made the choice to move in with my father as well. I wanted to know my father better. I also wanted freedom to decide what I believed, as far as Christianity was concerned. Despite my upbringing in the church, I didn't feel a personal connection with Jesus and I wanted time to figure it out.
After moving in with my father, I finished high school and got hired into a good job at the age of eighteen. It was a bumpy ride at first, being a temporary job, but I was eventually hired in and subsequently made it a thirty year career.
The time I spent living with my father, I absorbed much of who he was. His generosity. His colorful language. His view on life. His hobbies and interests. From those early days on the weekend visits, until the day I left as an adult, he was a perfect loving father.
When I set out on my own, I lived thirty miles away, but would come home on the weekends to visit my father. Often he would be reading his Bible in his recliner. Later, his third wife would tell me how he prayed for us boys. Christianity was a private thing to my father and he didn't push it on anyone, not even his boys. Of course, he knew our Christian upbringing and knew we were of sound mind to make our own decisions.
One day, while on vacation in 2008, I received a call that my father had collapsed and was unresponsive. I picked up my mother and drove the thirty miles to the hospital. When I arrived, my brother was sitting outside on a bench, his head hung low.
For years, leading up to this point, I dreaded the day when my parents would fall into illness and suffer, or pass away. It was something that was always in the back of my mind. As much as I thought about it, it did not prepare me for that day.
My brother got up from the bench and met my mother and I on the sidewalk. We all hugged. My brother said, "He's gone", but I knew it the moment I saw him on the bench. From that moment I steeled myself, to be strong for my older brother, my family, even though it hit me like a ton of bricks.
We walked into the emergency room doorway and were greeted by dad's friends (those same aforementioned ones) and spoke briefly. Then a doctor led us back to the curtained off area. And this is where my life changed, but not anything like I expected.
It was from that point, when I saw my father on the gurney, that a love welled up inside of me that I have never felt before. The tears were not tears of sorrow, but were tears of love and joy for having known such a wonderful man.
My mother and brother left me to be alone with him. All I could do was think about how precious this man was. His life-long commitment to his sons. His influence in our lives. A love overcame me that I can't describe. Yes, I loved my father, but had I never felt this before. I had never felt such complete and utter fullness of love. It was so strong that I couldn't feel sad and I actually smiled with tears in my eyes out of joy. Yes, I cried in the subsequent weeks, missing my father, but so strong and lasting was this love that it pushed all grief away. Along with this love came a perspective I never had before about my father and who I became as a man.
It would be eight more years until I came back to Christianity, having left it at age sixteen when I moved in with my father. I wouldn't revisit the miraculous love that I experienced until I gave my life to the Lord again and made that decision to get on my knees and profess to Him.
My eyes were opened to my lifetime of received blessings from the Lord. My Christian upbringing. My church family. My mother's love. My father's love. My career right out of high school. Escaping death more than once. My continued blessings even though I had turned away from Him in those long thirty years.
Most of all, I was made to reflect on that moment in 2008, when a supernatural love entered my heart and changed my life. I took on a new perspective. At first, in 2008, it was aimed squarely at my father; that I was my father's son and I loved him so much for what he gave for me. I realized that yes, I loved my father, but the love I felt well up in me could've only come from God. So strong was this love that I can't attribute it to the earthly way a boy loves his father, but the way Jesus loves us all.
So profound was the experience and subsequent understanding of it, that I am fully convinced that I experienced utmost love from heaven that day. I have never experienced anything like it since. It changed my life and my understanding. Unconditional love is the ultimate answer, for sin cannot stand in such a strong love, it has no room to exist.
After boot camp, he was stationed at a base in Hawaii, as a clerk, where he would finish out his tour and be honorably discharged. Right before he left, being the clerk, he gave himself a promotion to Sergeant (approved, of course). When my father was honorably discharged, he came back to Ohio.
A note about my father. His father was a drunk, so he didn't have a father to speak of. Often he would have to drive his father home from the bar. In his later years, my father would tell me that he wanted better for his boys, to be the father he didn't have.
My mother grew up in Ohio. Her mother was converted to Christianity sometime early in life, I assume in the 1940's-1950's, as I have a 1950 Bible of hers. My mother and her sister grew up in the faith.
As things go, my mother and father married and had two children. My other brother and myself. My father, being in his early twenties, only wanted to hang with his friends and do his own thing, so the marriage didn't work out and they were divorced before I was old enough to be self-aware.
My mother remarried after a short time and it was at this time that I was old enough to be aware of my surroundings. My brother and I lived with my mother and her second husband and would go to visit our father every other weekend.
The weekends with my father included those aforementioned friends and countless adventures—fishing, camping, working on cars, riding dirt bikes, watching old movies and TV shows, listening to dad's favorite music.
My mother's second husband became physically abusive and we had to leave. We stayed at an abuse shelter until we could get into a low income apartment. It was when we were on our own that we started to attend church regularly, along with our grandmother. Afterwards we would often go to her house after church for amazing vegetarian lunches.
My father met and married his second wife around this time and they converted to Christianity, not from any influence of my mother or us kids. My mother and father would go back and forth on doctrine and how to raise us. It became common for them to argue on the phone about it.
On the weekend visits, I would attend my father's church and witness him going to the front, pouring his heart out in tears to the Lord. This was the first time I saw my father's vulnerable side.
At some point, after many long years, my father and his second wife divorced in mutual agreement. He purchased a car for her to drive home to California. Shortly after this, my older brother moved in with my father.
At age sixteen, I made the choice to move in with my father as well. I wanted to know my father better. I also wanted freedom to decide what I believed, as far as Christianity was concerned. Despite my upbringing in the church, I didn't feel a personal connection with Jesus and I wanted time to figure it out.
After moving in with my father, I finished high school and got hired into a good job at the age of eighteen. It was a bumpy ride at first, being a temporary job, but I was eventually hired in and subsequently made it a thirty year career.
The time I spent living with my father, I absorbed much of who he was. His generosity. His colorful language. His view on life. His hobbies and interests. From those early days on the weekend visits, until the day I left as an adult, he was a perfect loving father.
When I set out on my own, I lived thirty miles away, but would come home on the weekends to visit my father. Often he would be reading his Bible in his recliner. Later, his third wife would tell me how he prayed for us boys. Christianity was a private thing to my father and he didn't push it on anyone, not even his boys. Of course, he knew our Christian upbringing and knew we were of sound mind to make our own decisions.
One day, while on vacation in 2008, I received a call that my father had collapsed and was unresponsive. I picked up my mother and drove the thirty miles to the hospital. When I arrived, my brother was sitting outside on a bench, his head hung low.
For years, leading up to this point, I dreaded the day when my parents would fall into illness and suffer, or pass away. It was something that was always in the back of my mind. As much as I thought about it, it did not prepare me for that day.
My brother got up from the bench and met my mother and I on the sidewalk. We all hugged. My brother said, "He's gone", but I knew it the moment I saw him on the bench. From that moment I steeled myself, to be strong for my older brother, my family, even though it hit me like a ton of bricks.
We walked into the emergency room doorway and were greeted by dad's friends (those same aforementioned ones) and spoke briefly. Then a doctor led us back to the curtained off area. And this is where my life changed, but not anything like I expected.
It was from that point, when I saw my father on the gurney, that a love welled up inside of me that I have never felt before. The tears were not tears of sorrow, but were tears of love and joy for having known such a wonderful man.
My mother and brother left me to be alone with him. All I could do was think about how precious this man was. His life-long commitment to his sons. His influence in our lives. A love overcame me that I can't describe. Yes, I loved my father, but had I never felt this before. I had never felt such complete and utter fullness of love. It was so strong that I couldn't feel sad and I actually smiled with tears in my eyes out of joy. Yes, I cried in the subsequent weeks, missing my father, but so strong and lasting was this love that it pushed all grief away. Along with this love came a perspective I never had before about my father and who I became as a man.
It would be eight more years until I came back to Christianity, having left it at age sixteen when I moved in with my father. I wouldn't revisit the miraculous love that I experienced until I gave my life to the Lord again and made that decision to get on my knees and profess to Him.
My eyes were opened to my lifetime of received blessings from the Lord. My Christian upbringing. My church family. My mother's love. My father's love. My career right out of high school. Escaping death more than once. My continued blessings even though I had turned away from Him in those long thirty years.
Most of all, I was made to reflect on that moment in 2008, when a supernatural love entered my heart and changed my life. I took on a new perspective. At first, in 2008, it was aimed squarely at my father; that I was my father's son and I loved him so much for what he gave for me. I realized that yes, I loved my father, but the love I felt well up in me could've only come from God. So strong was this love that I can't attribute it to the earthly way a boy loves his father, but the way Jesus loves us all.
So profound was the experience and subsequent understanding of it, that I am fully convinced that I experienced utmost love from heaven that day. I have never experienced anything like it since. It changed my life and my understanding. Unconditional love is the ultimate answer, for sin cannot stand in such a strong love, it has no room to exist.
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