Quiet in His Love

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?...

Today marks three months since the Celebration of Life for my father. My heart hurts. I often think of my father and an overwhelming sadness envelopes me. It can't be true, yet it is. The good, the bad, and the ugly of it. It's undeniable. The thing that has started to bother me more and more, recently, is that my memories already seem to be fading. How can memories of a man I was around for forty-one years already be fading? I don't want to lose the memories. Even if it...sometimes...often...always...hurts to remember. My father was a man worth remembering. Not just my father, but your father as well. And your mother. Your brother. Your sister. Your best friend. Your son. Your daughter. Your neighbor down the street. Your high school English teacher. You get the idea. Every life is worth remembering, honoring, commemorating.  My dad has a legacy in me, in my brother, in his grandchildren, in his cousin, in his friend, in a young man or two or four, and in so many countless...

Has is really been three months since my dad went Home? One fourth of a year has already passed without my father present. My heart aches to think of it. Thanksgiving has passed, and Christmas is quickly approaching. How will I get through it? How will we forge ahead without my dad's presence at the table? I simply don't know. If it's anything like the last few months, we will plod forward one little step at a time. And, as is often the case, time will swiftly move by us, unaware of our sorrow and questions and wondering. My dad was a thinker, a dreamer, a jokester, an encourager, a servant, and so very much more. I am thankful that God answered my parents' prayers and gave them me to be their daughter. Not all my memories are fond ones, but the vast majority are. My father was a man of great integrity with a strong work ethic and a heart for others. He was a great example to many. He passed on knowledge to many. He debated Scripture and politics. He found ways to engag...

Yesterday, I celebrated my first Thanksgiving without my dad. The tears and sadness hit today. Being thankful has been hard this year, especially starting in August. One less place was set at the table yesterday. My husband said the prayer instead of my dad. One less voice joined in sharing the thanks for all God has done. One less laugh echoed around the table when something tickled our funny bones. At least five less hugs were given. My heart hurts, even now tears fill my eyes. It can't be real. It just can't! I want to tell him how much I appreciate him, love him, think of him, am proud of him, am thankful that he's my dad. But I can't. Maybe, like my 11-year-old does, I can send my dad a message through God. I am thankful for forty-one years with my dad, for hugs, for encouragement, for silly wordplay, for smiles, for shoulder rubs, for prayers, for talks, for adventures, for road trips, for rides to work, the mall, wherever, for so much more than I can say here. My...