I have on several occasions tried (started and stopped more than once) to figure out what sort of things to write here. Here in this blog which looks altogether the same. In this world which looks altogether different to me since a month ago.
I think I’ve been at a loss for words. But certainly not for thoughts. Renee and I have both been struck with insomnia. And mom worse than us. There’s something about the silence and the darkness that reveals the realness of things.
We think of dad a lot. I think about the months before May and how they slipped by too fast. And I occasionally lose track of time. As if I just saw him yesterday, and we talked like there were many more tomorrows.
If you call dad’s cellphone today, you can still hear his voice on the message. “Your call… and you, are important to me..” he says. I must admit I’ve dialed it a few times. And been tempted to leave him a message. But I just usually whisper an “I love you dad” after hanging it up. I know he knows. And I know he knows that I know. We didn’t leave anything unsaid.
It rained this past week and I was happy for it. I looped some music over the computer as I worked at the mission office and let myself cry whenever the need came over me. My desk faces a wall in an out-of-the-way corner of the building, so I had some welcome solitude. But the gray day out the window fit my disposition. Sadness felt OK that day, and to worship through it felt doubly good. I remembered that Jesus once called the mournful blessed. I think for the first time in my life I understood why. For I was comforted, and it felt so completely right. Even as my dad’s unanswered phone would seem to say otherwise.
Dad’s absence has affected us. We are all somewhat different now, as is the world minus one wonderful man. But where are we now? This is the question (in all its abstract and nuanced glory) that Renee and I are asking ourselves. And as I aspire to answer it in our next newsletter, at least you know a little more about were we’ve been this past month. Yes, awake on the couch (it’s 2 am and I’m still typing) but also peacefully, assuredly nestled in the arms of Jesus—rain or no rain.
The rest of the answer, if I can formulate it, will have to wait for the next blog entry.