When Father's Day Hurts...

As Father's Day rolls around again I will be celebrating. But there will be pain.

On Sunday morning our house will be filled with the smell of cooked breakfast, the hurried creation and writing of Father's Day cards and the sounds of 2 little girls delightedly waking up their dad after a much deserved lie-in. We will make new memories as we celebrate the wonderful job my husband does as a dad.

But for me it will mixed in with a sharp reminder that my own dad is no longer here. It's a reminder that the time I had with my own father has passed, and that no new memories can now be made. Father's Day will always be a day that is tinged with sadness, but it will also be a day that compels me to remember the profound influence that my own dad has had on me.

From him I've inherited a taste for bad jokes, a love of the sea, the need to read everything and anything, my knobbly knees and much, much more than I could ever list here. But there is nothing in my life's experience that has taught me so much about trusting in the faithful promises of God than seeing my own dad - a man who loved and served the Lord Jesus - joyfully go to be with his Saviour.

My father was plagued with persistent ill health. But he had a standard answer to the many people who asked if everything was ok. Often the questioner was me. I wanted a response from him that reassured me that, somehow, despite the repeated predictions of the doctors, it would all turn around, and he would miraculously get better. I wanted to hear the reply - "yes!". But instead, my dad repeatedly answered, "It will be one day, love".

What? One day! What good is that now!

His confident reference to a future point of perfection in a moment of present pain and suffering – to me – felt weak, despite a tone, a hope, a glint in his eye that was strong.

As he endured multiple aneurism repairs in the hospital, and as his degenerative muscle condition progressed, my dad took on a stance that I simply couldn't understand. A stance that trusted in a future promise of painlessness, of physical and spiritual restoration, a future that was certain, and most definitely his. My 16-year old self wanted it now, for the present. I wanted to make "everything ok" for the moment that we were in.

My dad was 6 foot 4. He was a strong, reliable, big-hearted, whistling dad– an oak of a man. So how could he see this physical weakness as "ok". He couldn't prevent the multiple operations, or the warning from the consultant that he might not make it through the surgery. He couldn't do anything about the double leg amputation, and finally the failing circulation.

But he shone. Between the cracks of his broken, failing body shone life and hope and joy.

Walking through the hospital ward to his bedside I could hear him before I could see him. Singing. Chatting. Whistling. His skin clear, his eyes shining. While his body was failing his soul was growing and gaining strength, shining through the cracks of a body that wasn't made to last.

And as I struggled, the spirit taught me. As I teetered towards despair Paul's words came to life,
"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us... We are always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body." 2 Corinthians 4 v 7, 10

And so in his weakness he was strong.

And in his dying there was hope. "It will be one day love" is now.

We hunger for the day when, with Christ we stand in glory.

And so Father's Day this year will come and go. And in our house we will celebrate. But we will also remember.

And my Father? He is with his.

As saints of old still line the way,
retelling triumphs of His grace.
We hear their calls and hunger for the day when,
with Christ we stand in glory.