Father!

A poignant memory of my father's absenteeism resurfaced while I was discussing my brief military career with my wife. I found myself grappling with a haunting question: if my father had been present during those pivotal moments when I was contemplating whether to leave or extend my service, how different might my path have been if he had been there to offer guidance? My wife sensed the bitterness in my voice, a lingering shadow of a wound that I had never truly forgiven. I reassured her that I had come to terms with my feelings long before his passing, but as the conversation unfolded, I began to wonder if I had genuinely reconciled in full. 

My wife often reminds me of a nurturing mother, embodying the spirit of selflessness. She has devoted her life to the well-being of our children, sacrificing her dreams for their happiness. When I turned sixteen, my mother navigated the challenges of single parenthood, bestowing us a wealth of attention and love. With unwavering determination, she resolved that her boys would not find themselves imprisoned by poor choices or buried too soon. 

After returning home from the seminary, I was met with the stark reality of my parents' divorce, a revelation that felt like a seismic shift in my life. As the eldest, I instinctively assumed the mantle of responsibility, eager to support my mother however I could. My younger brother, just two years my junior, was a spirited force of nature, often testing the bounds of our relationship. With punishment off the table and frustration building, our disagreements frequently erupted into spirited battles, a testament to the complexities of brotherhood amidst the upheaval of our lives.

As a child, I vividly recall seeing my father returning home from work, his big, black lunch box swinging by his side and his trousers rolled up to reveal his weathered ankles. He would call out to us, the laughter of our play echoing in the air, before disappearing into the house to change clothes for the evening ahead. My mother, gentle and soft-spoken like my wife, worked the night shift at the hospital, her hands often tenderly caring for little ones in the pediatrics department. Occasionally, we would hear the distant sounds of their disagreements—sharp words cutting through the air—but those moments were few and far between, like fleeting shadows in the warm glow of our family life.

My father was well-known in the neighborhood for giving pocket change to the kids our age, but we barely got words of encouragement from him. The other kids would tell us what house they saw him in when he should have been home with us. My baby brother expressed his dislike of him, whereas I hid my contempt and disappointment. But, one day, that all changed when I turned seventeen and back home. 

Just before sunset, we heard a knock at the door one evening. It was my father, and we were taken aback to see his arm wrapped in blood-soaked cloths. He asked if he could speak with Mom, hoping she would be able to tend to his injury, as he had been hurt in an altercation. My brother and I felt strongly about not letting him in. However, my mother, a nurse and a compassionate person, chose to help him despite our objections. She carefully treated his wound, stitched him up, and sent him on his way.

Initially, my brother and I were frustrated with her decision. We couldn't understand why she would assist someone who had caused us pain. Mom took the time to explain her reasoning to us, emphasizing her belief in the importance of helping others regardless of their past actions. This experience reminded us of her values and her unwavering kindness, which ultimately served as a lesson in empathy and compassion.

Not long after, Mom received a letter that my father had relocated to another state to stay with his sister. I found myself following in his footsteps by joining the Navy, the same branch of service, at the age of nineteen. My decision was driven by necessity; the military offered a reliable source of income, allowing me to send monthly payments to support Mom. When the day finally came for my discharge from the Navy, a mix of anticipation and apprehension filled me as I had lingering questions for my father. 

However, he had already moved from his sister’s home, leaving no forwarding address. For over two decades, none of us heard from him. It wasn’t until my uncle, his brother, informed Mom that my father had returned, now residing five blocks away in an assisted living facility, that we learned of his presence. 

Despite the passing years, he remained shrouded in embarrassment and shame, refusing to visit us, and ultimately, none of us sought to reconnect with him. Mom wanted us to see him, but we couldn’t bring ourselves. In a striking display of compassion, she would cook him dinner and deliver it herself, fully aware that we held no inclination to see him again. 

Mom dedicated herself to shaping my upbringing, often reiterating the age-old commandment to honor your father and mother. She emphasized that despite everything, he remained my father, urging me to embrace forgiveness as a vital step toward healing and moving beyond the burdens of the past. I was encouraged to rise above my pride and visit him—an idea that lingered for years. 

Finally, in my forties, I confronted this chapter of my life. As I approached the door, my heart raced with anticipation and trepidation. When the door creaked open, I was met by my father, who stood before me with an oxygen tank by his side. The man I once knew as towering and robust appeared diminished, frail, and burdened by time. In an instant, a wave of sympathy washed over me, and I couldn't help but see a reflection of my fears in his weakened state. 

I felt an overwhelming regret as I confronted the image of an unfulfilled life that loomed before me, one I desperately wanted to avoid. My brother, who had grown, married, and settled far away with his family, was now a distant figure in this narrative. He and his wife had embraced the call of duty, joined the military, and built a lovely life, never looking back to acknowledge our father. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. My father and I apologized and agreed to forgiveness, but were they empty words? We’ll never know.

I must compliment my wife on her wisdom and understanding. She is very much like my mother. I can see that I haven’t let go of my issues with my father. I’m still addressing him as my father, not Dad. I even remember calling him Mister so and so, too. As I have gotten older, I have several unresolved issues to address, a few of which my wife has pointed out.

Uncanny Familiarity!

Sometimes, I find myself pondering the intriguing phenomenon of déjà vu. I often wonder how many people have genuinely experienced or even know what it means. The Oxford Dictionary defines déjà vu as “a feeling of having already experienced the present situation.” There have been moments in my life when I felt an uncanny familiarity with the circumstances unfolding around me, as if I were caught in a time loop. Though the outcome may differ each time, specific details feel strikingly similar, as if they echo the past. Could we have encountered these scenarios before, perhaps in a previous life?

In various cultures, there's a fascinating belief in reincarnation, the idea that our souls are reborn after death to seek redemption and atonement for our past sins. This belief presents life as an opportunity for a “do-over,” where we emerge as a new being devoid of memories from our past. It's a concept that carries a certain weight, suggesting our journeys are cyclical, each life a chance to grow and learn. I’ve even heard people remark, “That baby has been here before; it possesses a familiar essence.” They might note a particular look, a stance, or a mannerism reminiscent of someone long gone, hinting at an invisible thread connecting generations across time.

Engaging in morally and ethically sound behavior can be challenging, especially when faced with societal pressures for acceptance. Many individuals tend to conform to social norms to fit in. However, Christians have a clear directive to distinguish themselves from the majority, often described as being a “peculiar people.” This call emphasizes the importance of aligning one's actions with one's faith and values despite the difficulties that may arise from deviating from societal expectations.

As we age, we accumulate a vast array of experiences, each imprinting itself on our minds, while simultaneously, we find that many of these memories fade into obscurity. These recollections, buried deep within the recesses of our minds, often lie dormant until a specific trigger brings them back to the forefront. This phenomenon can manifest as déjà vu, where a familiar scene, scent, or sensation stirs something long forgotten, creating an eerie connection to the past. In such moments, we may be transported back in time, reliving fragments of joy, sadness, or lessons learned, even if we can’t recall the exact details. This interplay between memory and experience enriches our lives yet reminds us of the fleeting nature of time and the hidden treasures within our histories. In other words, it’s a mind thing.

We are at a critical turning point that requires careful evaluation of our future directions. It's imperative that we get our lives organized and align our minds, hearts, and souls with God. When circumstances remind us of similarities, let us pray for wisdom to make the right decisions that benefit us and our loved ones.

 

Rebellion Or Redemption

    I wrestle with the clash between my fleshly desires and spiritual aspirations each day. One moment, I felt an earnest longing to submit to God's Will, to align my thoughts and actions with a higher purpose. Yet, in the blink of an eye, I can quickly become distracted by the temptations and pressures of the mundane world, pulling me away from that divine path I strive to follow.

    Some days are undeniably more challenging than others. On the days when I succeed in quieting the noise around me, when I manage to set aside distractions and truly focus on following God's Will, I experience an unmistakable sense of peace. My thoughts become clear, my mind feels less cluttered, and a profound simplicity washes over my daily tasks. Those moments of clarity allow me to embrace a more profound connection with my spirituality, illuminating my path and reminding me of the beauty of surrendering to that higher calling.

    Surrendering to a higher power entails an immense sense of humility and stepping back from one’s ego and desires. I often grapple with the notion of vulnerability, as I’m not particularly adept at demonstrating what some might perceive as weakness; even acknowledging this struggle feels tinged with pride. Yet, here I stand today, firmly anchored by the unwavering love that God has bestowed upon me. His boundless goodness and mercy have been my lifeline, nurturing and sustaining me throughout every chapter of my life. Without His relentless Grace, I cannot fathom where I would be now.

    I admit to my moments of foolishness and ignorance, recognizing that we all stumble through life with our missteps. In a world where the political and social landscape feels increasingly tumultuous and fraught with division, I question what actions I can take to effect change. Beyond the power of the pen—writing letters, articulating my thoughts—or participating in elections through voting, I often wonder what more I can contribute to this complex dialogue. Changing someone else's mind or heart feels insurmountable, especially when I sometimes struggle to alter my perspectives.

    However, at the core of this journey lies the theme of redemption, a profound reminder that God’s compassion is vast and available to anyone who seeks forgiveness. In that belief, I find hope, clinging to the understanding that even in my limitations, there is a path toward grace and renewal for all who earnestly seek it.

    Recent observations have led me to reflect on the impact of aging on my viewpoint. During a recent drive, I encountered a person lying on the concrete outside a bus stop at a busy intersection, covered in blankets and cardboard, seemingly unresponsive amidst morning traffic. Moments later, I saw a young man holding a sign that read “Need help” at another intersection just two miles away. This experience prompted me to consider the potential for meaningful change in one of the wealthiest countries in the world. If society could prioritize the needs of vulnerable populations, including those facing social, economic, and mental health challenges, there might be opportunities for permanent relief. As I drove past these individuals, I hoped for a more compassionate approach to supporting those in need.

    The world today is engulfed in a vibrant public rebellion, a phenomenon not unlike those seen in ancient times. One might label this era modern, yet fundamentally, there is nothing new under the sun. I hold a sincere conviction that the trajectory of this cycle of rebellion can be altered if not entirely transformed. History has recorded this and should not be erased to protect the future. We should learn from our mistakes and not repeat them.

    To break the unrest, the sins of previous generations, even those that did not directly involve the present descendants, must be acknowledged and addressed. Instead, many current generations find themselves reaping the rewards of these same transgressions—indulging in the allure of idolatry, embracing wealth, wielding power, and basking in a sense of entitlement—rather than standing up against the injustices perpetuated by their forebears. The moment is now! No one will take away anything you have. Sacrifice your pride, not your morals. Otherwise, the enemy from the outside will destroy the nation from the inside.

    There lurks an unmistakable fear among them, a concern that speaking out might result in the loss of what was wrongfully seized from the ancestors of others. Consequently, we are entangled in a mutual quest for comfort and an idealized lifestyle, often at the expense of striving for a more profound existence within the Kingdom of God. Despite the transient nature of our earthly lives, our thoughts frequently gravitate toward what legacy we will leave behind rather than contemplating the eternal consequences of our choices, whether hellish or blissful.