Child March 22, 2010
The other day I opened a package from my mom. In it I found my dad’s old cell phone. The service was cancelled several months ago after his death, but the SIM card and battery still work fine and my mom thought Sky would like to play with it. The first time I handed it to Sky she immediately turned it on and began chattering away, thrilled to have a “real” phone of her own.
For me, the phone stirred up a sudden rush of emotions. When Sky set it aside, I picked it up and held it for a long time, turning it over, looking at the scratches across the front. My dad used this phone to call me last year on September 22nd. He and my mom were on their way home from the hospital, where they’d just learned of his terminal cancer.
A month later, I was in the car with them, heading home from another trip to the hospital for treatment. I’m not sure if the cancer was in his brain at that point or if the heavy pain meds were clouding his thoughts, but he was very confused by then. He could no longer make calls by himself, but he still wanted to use his phone. “I need to call Nelson,” he told my mom, who was driving. “Okay,” said my mom, pushing my brother’s name on the contact list and handing the phone back. When my dad got Nelson’s voice mail, he left a long, rambling message and then paused at the end. He stumbled over his words and then instead of saying goodbye, wrapped up with, “In Jesus’ name, Amen.” My mom’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and we were suddenly both smiling. It was sweet to think that when dad was confused and couldn’t find the proper words, he defaulted to prayer.
Memories of the last two months of my dad’s life – both good and bad – and the reality that yes, he really is gone from this world forever crashed over me harder than they ever have and I started to cry. I cried so hard it seemed like the tears would never stop. Images of my father in the last days of his life are difficult to forget, and when I remember them I can’t help but wonder why he had to go through so much pain and then die. It’s still confusing to me.
The next morning I listened to a podcast by Francis Chan, who pointed out that we tend to think God owes us answers to the questions we have about life and pain and death. We like to imagine ourselves arriving in heaven and hearing God’s great explanation of suffering in the world. But Chan pointed out that God will not be the one on trial; it will be our judgment day. God is the Father and we are the children.
It made me think about Skylar. She fights me when I want to change her poopy diapers and it’s really annoying. I know she doesn’t understand right now that it’s better to be clean than dirty, and that being clean involves the process of being changed. I’ve explained it to her before, but her little brain isn’t able to understand just yet. I find myself saying to her, “Sky, just stop fighting and trust me on this one, okay? Hold still and let me change you.”
The day after my crying session this week, God reminded me that he is the Father and I am the child. There are things I will never understand during my life on earth. But instead of feeling frustrated at being put in my place, I actually felt relieved. My dad’s sudden and horrific death doesn’t make sense to me or probably to anyone in my family, and that’s okay. Living a life of faith means trusting God in the middle of our confusion, not intellectually working our way out of it. A child is under no pressure to have things all figured out and I’m grateful God doesn’t require that of me; He only asks me to come to Him.
Linni, what a precious post! I’m sorry that holding Papa’s phone caused your tearful meltdown, but I remember his statement that crying lets some of the sadness out. I know your tears helped you. And I absolutely loved the way you said when Papa was confused “and couldn’t find the proper words, he defaulted to prayer.” I remember that phone call very well but had never put it as wisely as you have here. Thank you, Honey.
Love and praying at this end, Mom
Thanks Mom. I’ve been thinking a lot about your post on the waves of grief and how they come out of nowhere, we cry, and then they recede. That’s exactly how it is. I’m glad you sent us the phone. Sometimes life feels so busy that I wonder if I’m taking the time to grieve… I think I needed that cry, especially because it helped me to stop and remember Papa and give my emotions about him to God. Love you.
Thanks to you both. From another child who has recently lost a parent, it is healing and good to read the words you write, and to relate to your confusion. When it comes down to it, it really is so simple as we are God’s children, and we just need to trust him! Thanks again!
Wow, Linnea, that is so timely. I too, love the way you explained that in your dad’s confusion he defaulted to prayer. What a beautiful lesson. Your very last sentence is one I keep reading over and over. I keep putting myself under pressure to figure out the answer to my current big question, but for the second time in as many days God has clearly spoken up that I’m to come to him instead. Both your post and your mom’s have had me in tears today: crying with you and your family as you heal from your deep hurt, and crying in thanksgiving as you minister to others out of your own pain. I thank God for you both and pray He continues to bring you cups of sweetness as deep and drenching as the cups of bitterness.
Love,
Aron
What an amusing, and perfect!, picture of us as compared to Skylar having a diaper change. We don’t intentionally cause our children pain when we change them but sometimes, if they have a rash or a sore bottom it does hurt. If we left them dirty it would only increase their pain, but they don’t understand that yet. Suffering produces all kinds of fruit in our life if we learn from it yet we can push God away and fight Him as if we knew better. You said it perfectly, “being clean involves the process of being changed.” Surely God is saying to me, “Hold still and let me change you.” What a loving and patient heavenly Father. Thank you for that picture!
Linni – thank you for sharing. I too am crying thinking of the recent pain you’ve experienced and remembering my own pain in the loss of my father even though it was over a decade ago. I can tell you that the stretches of time without tears are much longer but there are times when the loss feels just as acute. I am so glad that I (we) have a loving Heavenly Father who provides comfort even when we can’t understand. Thank you again – God used your words to touch something in me today.
Linni….along with all the rest..I’ve cried with you and your family..this morning, reading this -misty-eyed,brought back memories of crying out to God so many times in question at to WHY? Sometimes, the answer comes right away…sometimes..He will reveal Himself to you in various and sundry ways that will be the answer…perhaps over a period of time…..we’re only to trust HIm. Also…He told me when I asked why I cried so easily…He showed me that tears are a ‘cleansing of the soul’…and since that time…I don’t apologize for my tears to anyone for any reason….they are such a comfort to my spirit and release to my soul….happy or sad..let go! Again, your expression of you…very well-stated.
Love you dearly,
i saved the message on my phone and listened to it many times. hearing his voice did me in some a while back. i got a different phone and sent the message to Bates before it was deleted off mine. i have had some meltdowns about Papa being gone from here. even yesterday.. grieving is a process. thanks for the blog. it’s encouraging not to have to have it all figured out…