Learning How to Love from an Addict

My dad and me, May 1992

When you’re young it’s hard to completely grasp the personality and character of your parents. As I grow older I am beginning to see my dad for who he was, although it is always a shade of who he was because his addiction hid his true self. But there were glimpses for which I am grateful...

- playing catch together when I was somewhere near 7 years old; we tossed my pink glittery ball back and forth on the screened-in back porch and as he repeatedly hit the ball with his backside and I'd laugh every time - just so happy that he and I were having a moment together to ourselves;

- the re-telling of pranks he committed both with his twin brother Paul when they were 18 or 19 years old and then later in life while he was a patient in Spaulding rehab; he would laugh while telling us how he'd disguise his voice as a doctor, calling the rooms of other patients from the hallway payphone with urgent requests that they meet him or her in their office immediately; 

- his laughing to the point of accidental drooling at Walter Matthau and the silliness of Dennis the Menace, one of his favorite movies;

- his singing Waltzing Matilda over my shoulder while I sat, all of 9-years-old, at our hand-me-down piano trying to plunk out the melody along with him.

He was musical and mischievous and I’m sure I never knew the half of it. He was generous when he had some extra cash in his pocket and he loved me and my siblings in the best way he knew how. I see his eyes everyday as I look in the mirror at my own, the folded and slightly slanted lids that can both hide and express the thoughts and emotions of the person that exists behind blue iris.  

He was not perfect but he was mine and I was his and we shared a way of loving for all the 25 years we had together.  He died 25 years ago this past Valentine's Day -- a day of practicing how to love others. How perfect. Our loving each other was experienced in the imperfect effort of scaling and summiting a father-daughter connection, losing our footing in tearful exchanges and finding beauty in the landscape of a relationship whose vista captivated us, elicited our tears and took our breath away.

It’s time well spent— reminiscing. The memories of my dad are now half of my lifetime away from the present and they are fading, quickly. The memories of my dad are always a reminder from my Father to love those whose lives are hidden from us in some way. If we could see them for who they truly are, we would find love looking back at us. 

Live Advent. Practice Resurrection.

Over the last few months Larry and I have been asking God to speak to us about our journey and the kingdom work into which God has called us. Through the Advent season, we were not just remembering Advent – we were living Advent as we waited to hear God speak. 

Prayers rose up.
Tears rolled down.
One word spoken – “think on this one thing”
and then simply…

Wait.

On December 15^th I read this excerpt from God is in the Manger, a collection of the advent writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a man whose final years on earth were spent living in the difficulty and blessing of watching and waiting.


“The only ones who can wait are people who carry restlessness around with them and people who look up with reverence to the greatest in the world. Thus, Advent can be celebrated only by those whose souls give them no peace, who know that they are poor and incomplete, and who sense something of the greatness that is supposed to come, before which they can only bow in humble timidity, waiting until he inclines himself toward us—the Holy One himself, God in the child. God in the manger.”

A wise word from a brother pastor, recorded in the past and spoken in the present.
The truth of his words made their way into me like the breath Ezekiel prayed into the dry bones.
This was me.
"Carry restlessness."
“Advent can be celebrated only by those whose souls give them no peace…”
Live Advent.
That revelation of tasting my poverty and incompleteness in order to sense something of the greatness of God, it brought me to my knees as I literally trembled, waiting for the Holy One to incline himself toward me.  God in the Christ child, God in the manger.
God came near, but not in the same familiar ways that I had experienced God in the past…

• Not in a familiar scripture text.
• Not in a devotional word.
• Not in a worship song or a sacrament or an emotion.
• Not in a fantasmic display of God’s sovereign existence: transcendence and immanence at once speaking to my soul.
  

The revelation of God’s self and our journey path came in gentle and quiet ways -
just like an infant in a manger.

Watching fog settle on the lake.
Eugene Peterson speaking, “practice resurrection”
            - do something that is out of your control and even beyond your imagination.
Soren Kierkegaard whispering, “to dare is to momentarily lose one’s footing; not to dare is to lose oneself.” 
Brene Brown reminding me that “vulnerability is not weakness,” but rather the beginning of belonging to my true self that is found in Christ.
Henri Nouwen patiently saying, this is how you go about “being the beloved.”

Carry restlessness.
Practice resurrection.
Lose your footing.
Embrace vulnerability.
Be the Beloved.


And so if you haven’t heard already let me share that this coming July, Larry and I and our youngest son Jesse will return to a place that we know and love and to people we know and love in the same intersection of ministry in the church and higher education as we go to live and work in Manila, Philippines at Asia-Pacific Nazarene Theological Seminary (APNTS) where Larry has been elected as their next President.
*Sappy proud-spouse warning!*

I am so proud of Larry and so happy for APNTS! Larry embodies the best balance of humility and confidence, servant and leader delivered with a big smile and a heart for God.
Living advent was uncomfortable.
Living in the change isn’t much better. 
That in-between-time where you only see the things in front of you that are being taken away and you don’t see or cannot even imagine all that you will gain.
That’s where I am today – and maybe where we are as a family (although I don’t want to speak for all of us.)

Prayers rise up.
Tears roll down.
One word spoken (or five if you want to get technical) - “APNTS” - think on this one thing.
and then simply…

Go.