Fathers Day, Part 2 of 2

For nearly 30 years, my dad owned a successful engineering firm, operating out of a Chicago high rise in the concrete canyons of the Loop. As a kid I visited him often (with girlfriends in tow), admiring the thick glass double doors in his reception area and his big office overlooking the skyline.

Dad’s drafting room resembled a Disney studio with its 200 tilted drawing tables and men perched atop tall stools working on royal-colored blueprints. To him, though, it was just a way to earn a living. After retirement at 70, he didn’t look back and never missed it.

Dad did well for a little boy who started school without a word of English. His Swedish immigrant parents worked hard and expected him to do the same, which he did, finishing school with two degrees from Northwestern University.

Attending a Swedish Free Church in the city, he heard the Gospel as a child and received Christ into his life, never wavering in his commitment. A quiet man, he didn’t dictate his faith but lived it out in front of us for 92 years. As Mom frequently said, “Your father is the most Christ-like man I’ve ever known.”

When Dad died, his last will and testament was more like a last will and testimony. I read the legal document through, no small task with its complicated legalese, but two paragraphs jumped off the pages. They had nothing to do with possessions, trusts or assets, and were written in simple language I understood:

Article II commit my soul into the hands of my Savior in full confidence that, having redeemed it and washed it in His most precious blood, He will present it faultless before my Heavenly Father.

Article IVIt is my hope that the beneficiaries will remember the words of Our Lord who said, “A man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.” (Luke 12:15) Let them consider themselves as stewards of their possessions, not forgetting to use them for the welfare of others, particularly with respect to bringing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to those in spiritual darkness. By giving both time and money unselfishly, they will discover the truth of Our Lord’s words: “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35) and “Whosoever will be chief among you, let him be the servant of all.” (Matthew 20:27)

Dad was ready to die, because he’d made the main thing the main thing. He’d led a life of quiet sacrifice, serving the poor, giving 50% of his income to the Lord’s work, and putting himself after everyone else. He’d given much and, as the Bible says will happen to a giving person, he was then given more.

He also left a legacy of harmony in his family, a large group in which there was no fighting, no anger, no bitterness. I remember hundreds of the words he spoke in life but none more vividly than those he left in death.

“Freely ye have received, freely give.” (Matthew 10:8)

Fathers Day, Part 1 of 2

Today’s faithful fathers are fewer then ever before in our country’s history, and many children suffer intensely without one. Dedicated dads have a tough job, having to buck cultural trends by not just sticking with their role but pouring steady effort into their children every day. The energy and time for that has to be taken from someplace else in their lives, and those who commit and follow through deserve to be honored not just annually but once a month, or weekly, or better yet every day.

Although I shared in my brother-in-law’s Fathers Day celebration today, only one of my kids could attend (Lars), and I worried about the other 6, all in faraway places and all without a dad. Birgitta and I talked it through yesterday, and Linnea posted a beautiful blog-tribute to her father. (www.LinneaCurington.com) But how many of them have suffered pain today?

I remember the great joy I felt in watching Nate become a father for the first time in 1973. Baby Nelson gave him that title, and although Nate hadn’t been around babies (ever), the love he felt for his little guy was immediate and powerful. To me, as a young mama, watching him study the new baby on his lap was fulfilling and even sexy. (Go figure.)

He was committed to parenting for the long haul and was always mystified when another father would walk out on his children. “I can’t understand it,” he’d say, shaking his head. “That guy had a part in bringing them into this world. How could he leave them?” It was the farthest thing from his intention.

I know that scenario was heavy on his mind when he learned he would soon die. It was unthinkable that cancer or anything else would force him to leave his children, a picture too closely related to those fathers he vilified. He was silent on the issue while he was sick, but as he talked to the seven offspring he loved so intensely, his face confirmed the ache in his heart, knowing he would soon go.

Nate needn’t have worried, though. The Lord had immediate plans to step in for him. In Scripture God refers to himself as a Father, offering to treat believers as his own children. And Jesus refers to him as a Heavenly Father to those who accept him.

All of us need the guidance and protection of a wise father, and God is not just a substitute for an earthly father but a superior one. Although he places human fathers over children and uses them as the channel of his wisdom to, and care of them, in the absence of that important man, he steps in and does it himself.

I’m sure Nate’s children all missed him greatly today. I’m not sure how many of them suffered, but I do know God the Father was and is available to soothe their grief and fill their emptiness.

“His name is the Lord—rejoice in his presence! Father to the fatherless, this is God.” (Psalm 68:4,5)

Can we understand?

Nate and I sat in front of a panel of doctors at a Chicago hospital and heard the words “terminal cancer,” but didn’t take it in.

That’s probably a typical response to a deadly diagnosis. It’s an acquaintance none of us want to make, so our minds rebuff it. Days later, the words and their meaning sink in, and because there’s no other choice, we accept our challenge and try our best. But while we’re suffering, our questions pile up. God answers some, but for the most part, he doesn’t give us a satisfying understanding.

A parallel situation occurs as we parent our children. We try to be mini-versions of God, raising them with what wisdom we have, trying to imitate the way he wisely raises us. Part of that is taking kids to the doctor for regular well-care. When we hold them down for a vaccination, we allow such “abuse” for only one reason: it brings benefit to them. But can they understand that? Of course not.

They cry and kick, trying to get away, but we force the issue, knowing the importance of protecting them from deadly diseases. We have valid reasons, but they don’t understand them. Children live in the “now” which during a vaccination hurts a great deal.

As adults we ought not to live in the “now”, but we often do. Harsh circumstances come and we demand that God explain himself. “How could you? Don’t you love us? Why didn’t you stop this?” As the diagnosis comes, the accident happens, the heartbreak occurs, we cry and kick to get away, because we can’t understand the reasons for it.

But God definitely has his reasons. He could explain himself, but just like a parent in the pediatrician’s office, if he did, we wouldn’t hear him. I’ve actually tried explaining the needles to my children as they’ve seen them coming: “It’ll feel bad now, but later you won’t get the measles!” Not one of them accepted my reasons for their agony. They just screamed louder, drowning out my explanation.

If God sat us down and shared his reasons for letting cancer or any other tragedy come to us, just like a child in the doctor’s office, his explanation would go unheard. It wouldn’t lessen the misery of the moment, so it wouldn’t satisfy us. We’d just drown it out with our objections.

And so he doesn’t explain, at least not while we’re in crisis mode. Later, usually much later, he offers bits of his reasoning. Then, depending on our response, he might offer more. One truth ribboned throughout Scripture is that if we take one step toward him, he takes one-thousand toward us.

Like Moses in front of the burning bush that wasn’t consumed, when he turned toward it looking for an answer to what he couldn’t understand, then God spoke to him.

It’s difficult to find peace within pain. But God’s message to us is, “Look at me, and you’ll hear from me.”

“When the Lord saw that [Moses] turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush.” (Exodus 3:4)