Dear Dad,
I’m sure going to miss you when you’re gone. I want you to know this now – because at your funeral, it will be too late to say it. I want you to know how important you are to me, how much I respect you, and how much I appreciate you. No one could ever take your place in my life. I am blessed to have you as my Dad.
From my earliest memories, I know that I’ve always worshiped the ground you walked on. You were always the man I wanted to be when I grew up. Through thick and thin, I’ve always known you were there. I could call you when my car broke down, and you’d drive across the state to get me – or anyone else for that matter. If I had a problem, you usually had a solution. You are kind, giving, and a lot of fun to be around. You are the best Dad a kid could ever have.
Commuting is one of the things I’ve missed over the past decade. I know, this is crazy talk, but hear me out. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m an introvert – commuting allows me time to prepare for the day ahead and process the day just passed. But, as I’ve also said before, be careful what you wish for.
A 20 minute commute is OK. A 30 minute commute, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, can be unbearable. Currently, I get to drive 70 minutes, through some of the most gorgeous countryside anywhere! 30 minutes would be great – 70 minutes is overkill. I’d gladly settle for something in-between. The two-and-a-half hours of driving is killing me.
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I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t understand. I have images burned into my brain – that have wounded and scarred me to the core of my being. I’ve seen things that no caring person should ever have to see.
The other day, a cop friend of mine was talking about some of the things she has seen. She mentioned how they joke about using the MIB “flashy thing” when they retire – to erase all the things they’ve seen.
Last week I met a man who blew my mind. From all outward appearances, one would think this man was a freeloader on the system, but when I asked him what he did in his free time, he told me he attends speaker meetings, sponsors others, and is a lay pastor at his church. Wow. I didn’t see that coming. That will teach me to pre-judge others.
A few hours later, a coworker asked me what we were doing for church, now that we have quit our church? I explained that we were still taking the kids to their morning classes, but at this point, we hadn’t found a replacement. His question haunted me.
His question haunted me.
I’ve been ostracized before; who hasn’t, right? Usually, I decide that I didn’t really want to be a part of any group that doesn’t want me there. It’s always pretty simple in retrospect, but at the time, the rejection is intense. We all hate rejection, but learning to live with it is a part of life. We process, and we move on – like I said, it always seems simple in retrospect.
I’m not a church historian, so I don’t really know when it happened, but at some point the Church (uppercase), began to see itself as the keepers of the keys to Heaven. For some reason, an organization that was created to invite people into the Kingdom of God, has transformed itself into one that pre-screens people to determine their fitness to be a part of the “chosen” ones.
