Growing up I didn't have the best of interactions with my father, in fact, you could even say the vast majority of my problems have some sort of root in our tumultuous relationship.
A few years ago, on an autumn Sunday evening while I was at home with my little ones, I suddenly received the call… you know, THE call, the one that freezes time. The call that creates a stamp into the very depths of your soul.
It was my brother on the line, a familiar voice I had not heard in years,
“Dad had a heart attack, he died” he cried over the phone as I heard audible weeping coming from the speaker.
I ended the call, I called my wife, and I embarked in what felt like, the longest drive of my life.
You see, my father and I had not spoken in years, he had ignored my calls, I had not pursued or merely attempted any type of reconciliation. I just continued in my in my own pursuits, my wife, my children, well… you know, my life. I had impacted thousands of people, traveled around the globe, yet I had not traveled to visit my old man.
My father, the drunk, the womanizer, the abuser, the atheist.
I know, we are all sinners, and I know the “to the least of these” scripture, and the “honor your father” commandment. I know, I know them all, I’ve read them all, I’ve knelt on alters and meditated over them. I’ve read extensively from people that had forgiven and reconciled and had remarkable epic hallmark worthy moments. Yet… I couldn’t make it work.
And sadly, I ran out of time. I don’t know if I will ever see my father again, I don’t know what his final years were like, I don’t know what his final moments entailed, or even the last words he murmured before he took his final breath.
All I know is that inside of me, is a little boy that still wished he had been loved by his earthly father, nurtured, corrected, supported, or even embraced. I don’t know why certain things happen, I don’t have the answers for everything, I can only rely on my heavenly father for wisdom, guidance and comfort.
I wrote a short song to my father, I was honest and vulnerable. It’s not a sermon or a thesis, its simply my art, and a window view to my life.