Hello, tender friends!
Cold nights are settling in for keeps in SW Virginia. During the day, it’s still warm enough for my preferred outfits of boots and skirts. Fall is my favorite season in Virginia, as we’re blessed to have a looong fall instead of a super long winter like the ones I grew up with in northern New Jersey.
But what about emotional seasons? We have those too.
This time last year I was finishing up volunteering for West Coast Christian Writers, an amazing organization with amazing leadership. (Oh, maybe I’m biased, but my friend Sarah just so happens to be the executive director of WCCW).
Volunteering got me a free membership to their conference, which I highly recommend because the instruction was amazing. I thought the volunteer experience and other experiences might lead to my dream career. I had time to think about things like that, and I got to feel fancy having my name in the conference catalog.
Now, in this season, my dream job doesn’t feel important. What feels important is time with my dad because I’m the only child of his that lives in state.
“Dad, try to remember my name. What is it?”
“Andrea,” he guesses.
“No, that’s Mom’s name. Try again.”
“Shannon,” he says.
“No, that’s your oldest daughter. Try again.”
“Stacey.”
“Yes, dad, that’s me.”
I quiz him on days of the week, months of the year, and simple math. The quizzes get shorter each week.
I hug him. “I love you, dad.” I say it to comfort him and to remind him who I am. Two birds, one stone.
I am truly grateful for this heartbreak, as odd as it sounds. I’m grateful that I get to be here, up close, when my siblings aren’t. I get more opportunities to pray with my dad and tell him I love him than they do. Over and over, I pray that God will give me some confirmation that my dad is in heaven when he leaves this earth. He repeats prayers as diligently as he’s capable of when I cue him to tell Jesus he believes he died on the cross and wants to follow him. I know he means it, but I’m not God and hope God sees it the same way.
How many more opportunities will I have to tell my dad I love him?
As many as possible, and never enough.
To steal a line from a college poetry professor, already the leaves are swaying in the late sun.
Jesus, stay with me.
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