“May God give you the gift of tears. As you walk on this tired and sad earth, may you have the gift of weeping, of a soft heart.” Richard Foster in a benediction (as shared in the Renovare newsletter)
In March some years ago, my Dad entered the full presence of his Savior. We miss him.
Of all of my family, Dad supported my writing and ministry the most.
Before he died, he spoke words of blessing over me. “You have the countenance of a life well lived,” he said one day while on hospice. I had brought him some old family pictures to look at that day.
A few months before, he said words that I hadn’t expected, though I treasured his words of blessing as I helped him plan his memorial. He was finally accepting the end of life here was nearing. He looked at me and said, “I don’t deserve a daughter like you. You’re a fierce warrior for the kingdom of God.”
I don’t remember what else he said to me in that moment because tears filled my eyes, though I wrote down his words in my journal.
I share this to remind you your words of affirmation and love may leave a lasting legacy with those you treasure.
You never know when your last opportunity to speak words of life will be.
Speak life. Speak hope.
Love well.
Here’s a link to am article about my dad.
I have always loved to take drives in the country. My farm upbringing remains a part of me.
When we lived on the edge of a small rural town, several farmers let me roam their sheep or cattle pastures or barns any time I wanted. They understood how healing and beautiful those scenes and animals were to me.
I remember during the early days of the pandemic, we were told we couldn’t have church open. Stay home orders were issued to “flatten the curve.”
I figured since I couldn’t worship with my church family, I would spend time amidst another flock.
I stood out in a sheep pasture and prayed. I talked with the Shepherd, and I reflected on the Lamb of God. For many years, my tradition has been to find a pasture in the spring and do this.
I stood in my rubber boots, sunshine filtering through the clouds. Above me, Canadian Geese flew over. The Irish Celtic tradition said geese represented the Holy Spirit.
Ewes and their lambs walked around me, one particular ewe named Rose liked to have a hug or put her face near me in greeting. She had been bottle fed as a lamb.
I remember my tears. The cool breeze felt good…refreshing like my heartfelt prayers of gratitude for all God has done in redeeming my life.
I recalled recent months that had felt grueling. Masks and forced isolation, and uncertainty had circled the globe. 🌎
I thought about how multiple sclerosis had prepared me for adversity. I know how to endure hardship. I have had my own version of “stay home orders” at times when health created challenges. Falls to recover from, rest had been necessary.
I looked ahead to eternity with my Savior, and I poured out my heart to Him out amidst the sheep.
In all my life, I don’t recall a time when I felt a deeper sense of gratitude for His mercy, for His death and resurrection.
I desperately needed Him. And He met me there in the green pasture, loving me and ministering peace and comfort to my heart.
In retrospect, He was strengthening me for the trials that lie ahead. Little did I know the intense testing that would come in the months ahead.
But His Presence never left me, whether I could feel His comfort in the midst of the ensuing trials or not.
As Paul Claudell wrote: Jesus did not come to deny the existence of suffering or remove it. He came to fill it with His Presence. (This is quoted from memory and it’s this idea that has long comforted me.)
I have many special memories in the pastures and barns in that era, and in my childhood.
I owe my life to the Lamb of God. He’s redeemed my life and rescued me.
Someday I hope to take a road trip and document more of the beautiful old barns in our country. Many aren’t in great condition and some of these hubs of farm life have fallen into disrepair. I want to preserve the memories.
I’ll say it again:
I owe my life to the Lamb of God. He’s redeemed my life and rescued me.
Your writing moves my heart, Susan. I find myself welling up in tears and admiring the beautiful memories you had with your Dad. The Lord has given you a tender heart. Thank you for sharing that with us.
What precious words from your dad. And a farmer's field and it's congregants seems the perfect therapy during covid.