Roots

So, could it be that my longing for an impossible reconciliation with "daddy" is nothing more than another example of feeling insignificant and wanting to matter?

A void

I know I have a heavenly Father who meets my every need, so this longing I'm still feeling in my heart this morning for my earthly father must be some other sort of indicator entirely.

In hindsight, I know my mom dedicated her life to keeping me from ever noticing his absence. While that certainly created its own other issues, she accomplished her goal for 52 years after he left, and even for 11 years after she died. Nicely done, Mom.

A contrast

Coming home from my first prayer meeting in three weeks, an uplifting celebration as we rejoiced together in the risen Lord, my bride was watching the last movie of the Sarah Plain and Tall trilogy. I've never seen beyond the first of them, which was a pretty decent movie for a made-for-tv production. So it isn't as if I was put off by the fact that these were on; there is plenty of entertainment I just disdain, but these I have a basic respect for.

Still, the scene I walked in on was a reconciliation between a middle-aged man and the elderly father who had abandoned him and his mother when he was a young child. It struck me as an honest scene, resonant with the complex dynamics that such a moment would be likely to have in real life, as this regret-filled father had the emotional integrity not to ask forgiveness or understanding of his son as he forthrightly shared the reasons for his long-ago decision and the effects it had on his life without minimizing the effects it had also had on his wife and son. In response, this son shared a bit of what the experience had been like for himself and his mother, without heaping anger upon the man who had caused their pain. As a result of their honest sharing, they were able to share a moment of mercy and grace together in the form of a heartfelt embrace, for which the father was clearly deeply grateful.

I had to leave the room.

I know I have a heavenly Father who makes up for every lack in my life. Yet I was still filled with an overwhelming longing for the earthly father I have never known, who set my life in motion as he should have never done - that is a statement against his adultery, not my existence - and then left it as he should.

Another wonderful Advent reading

Yesterday's reading from St. Ambrose, which I didn't read until late last night, deals first with Mary's trust in the word which the angel spoke to her, which led to her journey to visit with her elderly kinswoman Elizabeth.  It then moved on to the interaction of the Holy Spirit among the four people present at their meeting.  Jesus' presence in Mary's womb was perceived first by John in Elizabeth's, and the sons inspired the movement of the Spirit in their mothers.  Only after John stirs in her womb does Elizabeth greet Mary with the words that become part of our wonderful prayer requesting Mary's intercession in our lives, then wondrously question why the mother of her Lord should come to her.  Mary's response in the Magnificat is a prayer of praise and wonder and trust rooted in God's wondrous work that we should all echo with our lives.

This morning it struck me how often our children lead us to some fresh insight into or understanding of the boundless love of God.  I'm amazed at how becoming a parent helps us to experience God more fully, in so many different ways. To describe just a few that I have experienced:

• The initial awe of having participated in the creation of the marvelous new person, who is in our own image yet is unique unto themselves.
• The wonder and responsibility of having someone so utterly dependent upon us for their every need.
• The joy of seeing them grow into people who make their own decisions, of being amazed as they choose to love in ways we don't expect or anticipate.
• The pain of seeing them make selfish or short-sighted decisions.
• The self-discipline of withholding action we could take out of respect for their own will and independence.
• The peace of having them return to the right path for their lives.
• Seeing them experience the bounteous wonder of parenthood for themselves.

This wonderful season provides so much practical insight.  People who think that Christianity is irrelevant to modern life have never really entered into it.

Lasting impressions of Disney World lead to other memories

I was just observing to a friend who's currently in Orlando that I can't believe it has been 37 years - and six Presidents - since we visited the Hall of Presidents on our Disney World visit when I was 15 years old, the summer after my dad died.  I was going to share this with her, too, but it doesn't seem like the sort of distraction I'd want to have if I were on a family vacation.  (So if you're reading this from there, you might want to save it for later.)

That summer trip brings back such fond memories of youthful naivete.  Dad had died the summer before, which had been quite a shock, and there were major revelations yet to come about him.  I'd finished my freshman year in high school, and already on this road trip I'd replaced my unrequited crush on my eventual friend Therese (the next year, when we'd start being friends, I became privy to her nickname, Tree, though I've always thought she should have spelled it Theree; there's an outside hope we might get to see her in September . . . ) with an unrequited crush on my cousin in Jacksonville Beach, Sue.  This trip would serve as a dual impetus for mom to eventually tell me the truth about my paternity.  Later in the trip, visiting with Dad's family in Kansas, some of his Michigan family was visiting too, and when they met me one of them observed, "So this is Gary's boy . . . . ?"  Turns out that was either a misguided observation about mom and dad's dishonesty or a misunderstanding of which of us really was his biological child.  In the fall, emboldened with fresh hope for a relationship with my Florida cousin over whom I was still obsessing, I inquired whether she really was a blood relative.  Since she was mom's cousin's daughter, if I was really "Gary's boy" (as opposed to my mom's, I thought) then Sue would be fair game.  Stupid teenage thoughts.  Mom pretty much had to set the record straight at that point, explaining that Gary had adopted me when they'd married, a couple years after I was born, instantly chopping several years off of the length of their marriage in my mind.  Later in the school year, an old neighbor would stop by after school one day when mom was at work, and she nearly spilled the beans about dad's suicide, which prompted mom to finally come clean about the means of Dad's death.

. . . where was I? Oh yeah . . .

The Hall of Presidents was one of my most lasting impressions of WDW.  I was into history, and I thought the animatronic Presidents were amazing.  There was no Epcot yet; and mom wouldn't let me ride the new Space Mountain ride.  [She was a wee bit overprotective - before she met my stepfather, at least. I was going to observe how ironic this was until realizing that, no, he intentionally and systematically broke down her protectiveness.  (see why I wouldn't want to dump all this on an unsuspecting friend on their family vacation?)]  So the high points that I now remember most were the Pirates of the Caribbean - which I imagine is an even better attraction today given the great success of the film franchise - and the Hall of Presidents.

Mother's Day, from afar

It really wasn't my intention to give my wife the perfect Mother's Day gift when this happened to be the only weekend she could go see our grandchildren.  I don't think she thinks of this trip, or recognizes any of her solo travel, as a gift.  I suppose that's okay. I'm really glad she's gotten to spend it with our daughter and her family.

So the card and gift I shared with her today are, to me, incidental by comparison.  I just don't want her to have any doubt of how I value her, and like doing things that make her feel special.

Now if I could just get that damned lawnmower figured out.

Grown daughters

Every time one of my grown daughters - we have no sons - repeats a mistake, my first inclination is to try to figure out how that's related to my failure as a father.

Realization

On my way up the street to work this morning, I saw a man about 10-15 years younger than me walking to his car with his teenage daughter, presumably on the way to take her to school.  A longstanding truth suddenly struck me: I am finished raising children.

Depending on how you look at it, this has been more or less true for a decade.  Still, this morning's realization makes me sad.