Quiet in His Love

I often wonder, when these time markers roll around, how time has gone by so quickly. 13 months have gone by since my father's death. It seems unreal. I wish it were. Time markers have a way of sneaking up on us, both bad and good. It seems like time is creeping along at a snail's pace and then I look up and see my firstborn...almost 14, in ninth grade, full of questions, worries, and amazing potential. I remember trying to convince her to crawl...and walk...and eat baby food...and all the things. Encourage bravery...cheer on victories...rave over accomplishments. Today marks a 24-hour period in time that will come and go like so many other 24-hour periods. It marks 13 months since my father's heavenly arrival...2 weeks until my firstborn son's 12th birthday...20 days until my firstborn's 14th birthday...27 days until my youngest daughter's 11th birthday...and the list goes on. This 24-hour period will never mark the same significant moments ever again because t...

" The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow / Bet Your Bottom Dollar That Tomorrow There'll Be Sun..." How many of you know that song? Some of you now have the tune and the words stuck in your head. You are welcome. I am not confident in this moment that the sun will come out tomorrow...because tomorrow is my dad's birthday. His first birthday in Heaven. The first time we celebrate to honor his memory not to celebrate with him. Tomorrow, he would have turned 69. So young really. So much to give and share. Yet, tomorrow, instead of smiles and laughs and presents, there will be tears and stories and lasagna and green olives and chocolate cake and ice cream. The reality we have faced so many times over the last 10+ months will, yet again, sink in anew. Another first without my dad here in our presence. Starting with my mom's birthday last year, we have had to celebrate without my dad's smile, without his silly puns and antics, without his heartfelt compliments and encoura...

Five months and one day ago, we held my dad's Celebration of Life. So much time has already gone by, and when I look to a future of days and months and years without my father, my heart nearly breaks. My father was a jokester, a challenger, a thinker, a pray-er, a servant, a comrade, a believer in Christ, and so much more. It would be impossible to capture all that was my dad here. Like all humans, my father was complex, unique, and knit together by the Creator of the Universe. Therefore, it would be an effort without end to capture him completely here, yet isn't that what I have set out to do... My dad set out to share his love and care with those he came in contact with, especially his immediate family. He hoped to minister to people staying in campgrounds. He hoped to buy an RV. He hoped to meet the needs of pastors at various churches through church-improvement projects. He had dreams, aspirations... He never stopped dreaming, seeking, searching for what God had for him to ...

Today marks five months since my dad's death. How is it possible that so much time has passed so quickly. In many ways, life looks different than it did before. It is full of additional challenges and heartaches. Tomorrow may be the last day that I will ever set foot in the house that my parents, my brother, and I moved into in January of 1984. I wasn't yet three-and-a-half years old when we moved in, but I spent many years there. I got married at twenty-four, so I spent over two decades of my life in that house. As of Wednesday, February 9th, it no longer belongs to my mother. Instead of the house being the Naumann house, as it has been for over 38 years, it will be the "Smith house" or the "Anderson house" or the "Davis house." It's just a house...I know. An ordinary house. I haven't lived there full-time for over fifteen years, yet it holds memories packed in almost every corner. Memories that cannot be put into a box and packed away or ...

Today, my dad would have been 68.5 years old. I have so many dates in my memory bank that it gets a bit crowded in there at times. We are not into celebrating half birthdays at our house, but it strikes me that maybe we should be. Maybe a half birthday is a chance to say, "I love you because..." Or, perhaps, to say, "I'm so glad I've had another six months with you. I'm looking forward to the next six." I think you get the idea. Couldn't we make half birthdays an opportunity to show love and appreciation to the "birthday" person? Not the hubbub of a birthday, but the sweet words and thoughts of genuine affection and appreciation. Perhaps, some of you do this very thing everyday already for your loved one or dear friend. However, if you don't take time to invest words of love and appreciation and joy regularly, maybe this idea is one worth considering. No, I'm not trying to add more pressure or another to-do to your ever-growing list...

Today marks four months since my dad's death. Those words I wish I didn't need to write. He has been, I imagine, enjoying himself quite a bit these last four months (or however long it's been for him). I have not been enjoying myself. These last four months, and the month before them, have been nothing short of an intense emotional struggle. To some it may appear that I am wholly well and thriving. That is a deception - a facade of sorts. Not by my choice, but because it can be difficult for those on the outside of a situation to fully (or even partially) understand, feel, know what is happening. It is even harder to know how to help, what to say, what to do. For many, it is easier to look on and not engage with those that are hurting, walking a road no one really wants to walk. I have been that person. The one that stays silent or doesn't act on the prompting of the spirit and reach out. I don't want to make the pain worse or cause a rift or overstep or... Or what?...