The Waiting Walk

It’s Father’s Day today.  As I look back on my life, I know I would be a drastically different person if I had not had my father’s influence through it all.

That was almost my reality.

When I was born, my dad was working for the railroad.  My earliest memories are living in Nebraska, at the end of a street next door to a church.  We had a large front porch with a swing set in the front yard.  My mom had a little “flower” garden or maybe it was a rock garden.  The plants were mostly succulents because Nebraska is pretty dry and sandy.  Next to the sidewalk that went to the back, there was a crabapple tree, and my dad had built me a treehouse.  I liked to sit up there and eat them, or throw them at passers by.  In the backyard was a sandbox right next to the lilac bush.  Lilacs to this day are one of my favorite flowers.  A year ago when we moved into my new house here, I noticed there was a lilac bush in the backyard.  God’s little gift to me.

I remember that sometimes my dad could walk to work, or at least walk to his ride. We lived at the top of a little hill, the railroad tracks ran through town at the bottom, just a couple of blocks away. Sometimes he would have to be gone a few days at a time, but when he came home, he would always come in through the back door, and he was always carrying his red and white Playmate lunchbox.

One day my mom got the call no wife ever wants to get. A life-threatening accident. My dad had been pinched between a train car and a work-truck in reverse that didn’t see him. The internal damage was significance. He says he remembers 3-year-old me in the car window looking down at him as he was laying on the ground, my six month old brother in the carseat beside me. I have a memory in my head of this moment, but I’m pretty certain it is a memory I have created, not an actual memory. He was rushed to the closest hospital, and from there air flighted to Denver. My grandma dropped everything to come watch us, and my mom made the drive to Denver alone.

I have tried to imagine what my mom must have been feeling and thinking on that drive.  I can’t hardly do it without crying.  Barely four years married, two kids, and a husband who was not expected to survive this ordeal. That’s a lot!

I don’t remember how many liters of blood they had to give him. The surgeries. The uncertainty and the waiting and the terror that you try to not let overwhelm you, but how can it not?

My dad says that after he returned home, they transferred care back to the hospital he had originally been sent to before the life flight.  The doctor that had given immediate care after the accident was the one he was meeting with.  When he saw my dad walk in, his face turned white, and he told my dad, “I never expected to see you again.”  Praise God that is not how things turned out.

I remember clearly that we weren’t allowed to jump on my dad, he couldn’t pick us up for quite a while, and he had a huge scar running all down his front.  Along with the blood transfusions came a bout of chicken pox, so my brother and I got our immunizations the natural way as kids, and my poor dad had to deal with that as an adult while healing from this very traumatic accident.  He said it also came with a reaction to poison ivy, as he hadn’t really ever had it bother him before, but now it definitely does.  Not so great considering he now lives in Missouri where it grows everywhere.

Who would I be if this story had come with a different ending? I see features of myself in him – my face shape, the “short” gene (I’m taller than my grandma!); these things would have stayed with me. But so much more would have been lost. Would I still be a lover of academics and research and learning if I had only the genes and not the influence? I know that his love of questioning all things is a learned behavior I picked up, much to the dismay of many. But if we are being completely honest, it was the rebel in him that became the rebel in me that has saved my sanity so many times. Going to a very conservative high school where all too often the little things became the big things, I was able to look at a bigger picture and say, “No, that is not a salvation issue. That is simply a school rule that I’ll obey while I’m here, but I may choose to do differently when I leave.” All too many of my classmates couldn’t take that step, and the fact that it was illogical caused them to throw out religion and sometimes even God too after leaving. My high school experience overall was actually a good one, and I attribute that to my dad’s influence in my life.

My love of travel and experiencing new things and new adventures – that is 100% my dad.  Would I have that if we hadn’t moved around so much when I was young?  I’d lived in at least 10 different houses by the time I was 13.  We literally bought our own Uhaul truck.  While as an adult and a parent I don’t want to even imagine moving that much, as a kid I loved it.  It was always exciting.  New things to see, places to explore, friends to make.  It’s funny because when I was 13 we moved to the farm in Missouri and this year marks 30 years they’ve lived there.  Much to my mother’s joy and relief – she’s always been more in favor of settling down.  I, however, have continued the trend of moving every few years for the past 20 years.  We were in the last house for five years, the longest I have ever lived in one house in my entire life.  And while I’m in no hurry, I do find myself thinking and dreaming about places I may want to move to in the future.  I love a good adventure!

Probably the thing I am most grateful for is my dad’s willingness to ask hard questions and dig deeper for answers when it comes to God.  He is always up for a good discussion in Sabbath School, sometimes even intentionally stirring up a bit of trouble.  I have to admit this is my favorite part of church too, and I’m not interested in hearing us all repeat the things we’ve heard since we were three years old.  Let’s get real.  Let’s apply it.  Let’s question whether or not that pat answer is even valid anymore!  This disturbs some folks.  But others need that.  I can’t help but believe that this was a trait I picked up because it was modeled to me, not simply genetics.

I could go on. And yes, he has fulfilled his fatherly role of thoroughly embarrassing me at times. There has been more than one occasion where the rebel in him and the rebel in me collided in a good discussion. And we both grew from it. That’s a gift for sure.

The past two years I have leaned on my parents for support in ways I never did or even could in the past.  And from 2000 miles away, I have been strengthened and supported over and over again.  My dad has grown and expanded his education once again to include things directly related to my life, and it has been a gift and a blessing to have someone so close to me “get it” as much as hard things can be gotten without living through them personally.  

I am who I am today because of my dad. Because of my mom. Because their Jesus became my Jesus, and we are all committed to Him together.

I rather like who I am today.

On days like today I allow the question, “Who would I be if that story had had a different ending?  If three-year-old me had grown up in a family of three instead of four?”

I’ll never know.  

And for that, I am incredibly thankful.

I love you, Dad!  Happy Father’s Day.