An Early December Update On The Padre Many of you know my father; some of you only know him through these Bedtime Stories. I call him Dad, or Pop, but in my mind I refer to him as The Padre. I never set out to include him in the Bedtime Stories but he’s someone I know well, and admire, and it was hard to keep him invisible to you readers. I mentioned him in 2012, thought you should know that there was this little old widower, with not a whole lot to do anymore, but he had a goal, to do at least one good deed every day, and he’d rouse himself up to go to the neighborhood Market Basket, hoping to make someone’s day with a smile, a little courtesy, maybe bump into an old acquaintance with a droop face and give them a lift. Maybe there’s a bunch of people like him, but he’s all I know… He sets a standard in my mind. For clean motives (like No motives), he’s it. Part of his secret is that he doesn’t have his head in the clouds; what he has is his thoughts on the basics. The Black Book says Seek Ye First and he takes that literally. The Black Book says Do Unto Others and he says Okay, I will. It’s this almost unnatural steadiness, this one day at a time march, that gives me an awe of him. Let me say it another way. What marathoners are to running, my father is to Christianity, except his race is in decades, not 26 miles. He just plugs away, like some old mule in the field, doing right, doing right, doing right…whether anyone notices, doing right…whether anyone appreciates, doing right… ______ ______ Things kinda changed in September. Those of you who’ve been down this road know how it goes…it goes fast… All of a sudden your calendar is full of doctor stuff…all of a sudden your vocabulary is full of medical stuff… It ain’t a small thing to be in that little crowded doctor room, and watch the doctor take a deep breath before telling your father that this is pretty much it. We kids of his, we get off by ourselves, and we find ourselves thinking that we have entered The Lasts. One of the things that hit home was a quote from someone who knew something about cancer, “If you wrote down all the cancers on little slips of paper and stuck them in a basket and you had to reach in and pull one, this would be the one you’d least want to get.” And that’s what The Padre drew… _______ ________ We were not surprised at his strength. He was never a huff and puff and pose. The Padre is what he is, has been, shall be, fashionable or unfashionable, and hearing Three Months Or Less didn’t knock him off his foundation. He prayed. And then some more. More than we know. With him and His Father, this is an everyday thing, a during the day thing, but I’m sure it got near to almost constant in those early days. He wasn’t fancy, just thought he’d let God know that he appreciated having a long life, didn’t take that lightly, but wasn’t just ready to go just yet, but always ended with Thy Will Be Done. ______ ______ One of The Padre’s pillars is a passage in the Old Testament, “The sword of the Lord and of Gideon…” Look it up. To The Padre this is a foundational principle, that in all that we do down here, there is a part that only God can do, but we are supposed to do our part too. I’m watching as he quietly faces his own death. Steady-steady, little-little, he’s doing his end like he’s done his whole life. He’s praying for a healing, which is God’s part, but he’s doing what he can do, the Gideon part. He takes his pills. He swallows what tastes bad, he eats what has no taste, he does his part. He and I walk every morning. He was doing two miles a day before we knew about cancer. Not bad for an 85 year old man. We’re two months after being told he had maybe three months to live. We walk slow, we pause after the first mile, but I kid you not, he did two miles again this morning. This is his Gideon. He begins his day doing his duty to his body and to his hopes. Day after day after day after day…we reach a place at the end of the walk, and here-it-comes…”Thank You, Father.” I’m on his couch the other evening. He’s over in his chair. The TV is up to old people ear volume. I glance over at him and I see his eyes closed. He has his two hands on the swelling in his belly. He’s praying. Read my mind. _____ _____ Today is the weekly visit from the hospice nurse. I catch her outside on the driveway. She asks me how he’s doing. “I keep waiting for the shoe to drop.” She admits this isn’t usual. “But neither is your daddy.” _______ ______ I hate to pronounce either way. In October I was preparing myself that he’d be gone by Christmas. Now I’m kind of assuming he’ll be here for this one. I’ve talked about my own battles with faith in other stories. Might not be a surprise to you, but I have more faith in The Padre’s relationship with God than in my own. As my father aged, I just couldn’t see God giving him a bad end. So far, it’s playing out with grace. We were given a warning, and that’s a gift. As for spirituality, these last few months make me feel like I am rubbing elbows with angels. I watch. I have a good seat. The Father and The Padre, love coming down, love going up… I’ll keep you posted. ______ ______ This edition of Uncle P’s Bedtime Stories is brought to you by Eighty-one, where we hope the journey of The Padre touches your heart and faith…
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 04:26:20 +0000
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