Two Mondays ago…
It’s early afternoon, Monday. I’m sprawled on the living room floor, sun shining through the window, building Lego Transformer Robots that can double as airplanes (not my forte). I’m replaying the day’s activities so far, and reflecting on how nice it’s been: getting back to the routine, going back to swimming lessons, finishing an exhilarating phone call with a screenprinting guy who’s creating a logo for our elementary school’s Running Club. I replay the conversation in my head about the logo design, color, style, print quantities.
“Dad would totally dig hearing about this,” I think.
I can hear his voice in my head…the questions, the comments, the chuckles, the curiosity…the interest.
I feel a tightness in my stomach, like a twinge.
I look at my fingers, they want to reach for the phone.
I miss him. Deeply. It’s almost a physical pain.
In that moment, I am struck by the song that comes on the radio, and it takes me back to the morning dad died (and it’s not Warrant’s 1989 power ballad “Heaven” which, interestingly enough, happened to be playing on Sirius XM’s Hair Nation when I got in the car that Sunday morning).
I’m standing in church with my husband and 8-year-old son, listening to the band’s worship music. Now, when I’m at church my praise style is pretty conservative. Sure, I’ll raise my candle high as we sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve. But put me at any other service, whether contemporary or traditional, and I’m kind of reserved. I clap. At most, I sway. Give me seats at a Bon Jovi concert and I can rock out with the best of ’em. But when I’m at church, I’m pretty laid-back. I do sing at the top of my lungs (but that’s only because no one can hear me.) But on this morning, the morning my dad died, we get to the chorus of the song we’re singing. ..
Savior, He can move the mountains
My God is mighty to save, he is mighty to save
Forever, Author of Salvation
This word echoes from my prayer the night before, “God, you are the Author, and Huckster is the ultimate storyteller. Finish the story as you will…”
He rose and conquered the grave
Jesus conquered the grave
Suddenly, my hands are up. I cannot help myself. I am moved. I am reaching up, up to the Heavens, up to where my dad is, where he went just a few hours ago. Reaching like I never have before. Reaching up to God who now sits face-to-face with my dad, one of His newest arrivals. Reaching up to dad, in an earthly farewell. I am worshiping. I am saying goodbye. The tears flow, uncontrollably, and my hands reach higher, as if I can touch Heaven.
Shine your light and let the whole world see,
For the glory of the risen king, Jesus
Shine your light and let the whole world see
For the glory of the risen king
I am back in the living room, missing my dad. And in those moments when I wish I could be sharing a simple screenprinting conversation with him, I am comforted by the words of a song, and I am reminded that dad is there, and God is there: all I need to do is reach.