A Birthday Tribute to My Dad

My dad is an amazing man who will turn 86 tomorrow. I recently spent a very pleasant evening with him. I cooked him dinner, for which he was very grateful, and then we sat in front of the fire (where I had been most of the day) and we chatted about everything from ecology to theology. I was so fortunate to have been blessed with the parents that I had. My childhood was sort of like "Leave It To Beaver" and though I may not have fully appreciated it then, I certainly do now. My folks had been married 61 years when my mom died this past May. I miss my mom a lot but because my memory is so poor, I am especially grateful to still be able to talk to my dad. He keeps thinking that if I write enough, I'll remember more, but I am not convinced. Ask my daughters - their childhood is a blur - as is my own. However, there are a few things that I do remember...

When I was about 17 I experienced a bit of a rebellious season. One night, I climbed out my bedroom window long after I was supposed to be in bed, and ended up cruising around town in the middle of the night with a few friends. To make a long (and embarrassing) story short, we were eventually pulled over and a policeman politely took me home. I stood at my front door while the officer knocked. My parents both got out of bed and answered the door. I can't imagine what they were thinking as they looked at us standing there. But my dad took one quick glance at the policeman and me and said, "No matter what you've done, we still love you!" I was grounded for weeks after that but no punishment meted out could have affected me more than that simple but profound statement.

Dad has always loved camping and all things outdoorsy. While my brother shared this love, I was a less than enthusiastic participant. Nevertheless, he kept trying. One weekend, he took my brother and a friend as well as my girlfriend and I on a backpacking trip in the hills above Santa Barbara. I don't remember much of the trip except that it was very hot and we had to dig holes to use as our bathroom. Two teenage girls did not think that was very enticing. At 86, Dad still goes camping! He has joined the Hannas on several of their trips, much to the delight of his great-grandchildren. He loves adventure! As I sit here writing this, he is on his way to Santa Margarita Lake to launch his brand new inflatable kayak. He doesn't hesitate to try new things and can even be a bit quirky at times. Last summer we were (and still are) inundated with ground squirrels. I stopped in at his house one afternoon and found him sitting in the recliner by the living room window. He had taken the screen off the window and was intently staring outside with his rifle by his side. He was shooting at the squirrels from the comfort of his recliner!

When my girls were growing up, we were fortunate enough to live just four houses down from my parents. Dad is a retired high school teacher and counselor and he has never lost his love of learning. My kids were not very good spellers and they can remember running down the street to Papa's house for a weekly tutoring session. He had far more patience with them than I did. That was about 25 years ago and he is still at it. He recently went on an Elder Hostel trip to Arizona where he spent a week tutoring Indian children on a reservation.

He has never adopted the attitude that he is too old to serve and minister. He has been quietly mentoring several younger men and meeting with them regularly for encouragement, prayer, counsel, and friendship. His example inspires me and it also is a wonderful heritage for my daughters and their kids. His demonstration of his faith will be carried on through the children, both young and old. He is also passionate about our country and is proud of his service in the U.S. Navy. He loves to wear his favorite hat and always appreciates the conversations that ensue with strangers.

Dad will be embarrassed by this birthday tribute so I'll just share one more story to show everyone how truly giving my dad is. He had been very concerned about my car situation. As you may remember, I am driving a very old, somewhat beat-up Buick. (You can read about that here.) Dad had been worrying about what might happen if my car suddenly died. One day, he took it upon himself to "solve" my problem. He got up, drove to SLO, executed his plan, and drove back to my house. It was a Friday, my day off, and I happened to be home when I heard a strange car driving up to the house. I walked outside to this...

It's a hot, little, turbo-charged convertible. Dad graciously sacrificed and now owns this little number in addition to his older Camry. He figured if my car died, I could drive the Camry and he would continue to fold himself into the Miata. Isn't he a thoughtful guy? ☺

Love you, Dad. Happy Birthday!!

The Haven that is Peachy Canyon

I moved to the property on Peachy Canyon Road almost 17 years ago. I had always dreamed of living in the country but never really thought it would happen. I didn't even pray about it. Isn't God good? He gave me one of my heart's desires without my even asking! Anyway, when we moved in, the house had been vacant for three years. We dealt with mice, black widows, snakes, weeds, etc. Actually, nothing has changed. We still deal with all that. But over the years, what a wonderful refuge this place has been.

We started off here in 1995 with Paul and I and our two younger daughters, Jenny and Melissa. My parents moved into the second, smaller house. What a privilege it has been to live so close to my folks for so many years. But God had plans to shelter many more people here on Peachy Canyon. A year or so after moving up here, our oldest daughter, Sarah, joined us. Later, when her boyfriend, Jason,  (now her husband), needed a place to live, we made him some floor space in the office. He was the first future son-in-law to live with us but he wasn't the last. After Zac and Jenny got engaged and Zac started working in L.A., he lived here on the weekends. After they were married, they lived here together for short times both before they moved up north for Jenny to finish college and then afterwards while they waited to buy their house. Donny, son-in-law number three, moved in when he returned from a year at Hume Lake. His parents had moved to Wisconsin and he needed a place to live until he moved into the little house that he and Melissa would later share. And let's not forget the two "vintage" vehicles that accompanied Jason and Donny and found space up next to the shop.

Sons-in-law weren't  the only people to take advantage of all the space God had given us. We met our sweet Tammera when she was just 14 and her family needed places to stay after the house they were renting was no longer available. We took her in for what we thought was just a few months but she was soon staying here more often than not and God graciously grafted her into our family. She is my 4th daughter and her children are my grandchildren and I am so grateful for her. She lives with her husband, Eli, and their children in Tucson now and I miss her terribly. But Peachy Canyon will always be her home.

We've had others stay here, too. James, Danielle and her two dogs (twice ☺), Crystal and her two boys...I can't even remember everyone. But each in their way have blessed me and I think, been blessed by the peacefulness that surrounds us here. Not everyone actually moved in. For many years we have been privileged to use the property for youth group pool parties, college group dinners, gatherings of all sorts. Currently, Donny and Melissa are renting from me and the tables are turned a bit. They could have continued renting in town but God knew I would need some help, after Paul left, with both the finances and the land. What a blessing their presence has been. And to add to the party, Jenny and her three kids have been staying with me during the week. Zac has been working in L.A. for almost a year and only home on weekends. Jenny was just feeling too isolated out at the lake. What fun it is to come home from work to such a houseful! And it doesn't stop at my house, either. My dad, now alone since my mom died almost a year ago, has a friend staying with him due to a family crisis.

I've been thinking about the day when I will sell this place. It's inevitable. I can't take care of 14 acres forever and I'll need to get out from under the mortgage. But even then, Peachy Canyon will continue to shelter me. My hope and prayer is that with the eventual sale of the property, I will be able to buy a smaller place for me and my dad but one that would have no mortgage, hopefully allowing me to quit working sometime before I drop dead. But it will be bittersweet to leave here; so many memories and so many lives. But my peace and my security is not in a place, a home, a property, or a person. My security is in the Lord and He will provide!

The little drawing below was a doodle that I drew on the back of some sermon notes. The notes are dated April 12, 1992. I was daydreaming about a winding, country road and a house at the end of a long driveway. I have kept that drawing in my Bible ever since then. If you've been out to my place, you can see the similarity in the drawing to my Peachy Canyon property. This little sketch was done three and a half years before I ever laid eyes on Peachy Canyon. It is a constant reminder to me that God knows my every thought! The shelter that He has provided to so many over the years assures me that He will continue to be my refuge.

Psalm 91:1

   Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High 
   will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. 

Psalm 18:2

   The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield  and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Easter

Today will be my third Easter without Paul. In some ways, it seems like he's been gone forever. But other times, it's as if he were next to me just yesterday. That first Easter without him was the first time I went back to church. He had left on January 31st and I hadn't been to church since that day. I figured Easter was a good day to give it a try. I knew there would be so many people at church that I would be less noticed. I remember nothing else about that day except that I made it. Made it to church, made it through the day. And that was enough - for that day. I struggled for the whole next year with getting myself to church. So many memories were there and it was painful to be there. My attendance was irregular but I kept at it. Easter, 2011 approached and I read that our church would be having the Stations of the Cross for Good Friday. I decided to go, all by myself, and I was so blessed by the experience. I was needy and God met me there. I didn't have to wonder or struggle or question. I sat in the dark, read the folder that gave guidance on what to reflect on and how to pray, and slowly moved through Christ's suffering, death, and resurrection as well as pondered my own suffering.

For just about the whole next year I continued to struggle with the church thing. I visited other churches and finally settled on a tiny congregation of people that loved the Lord and were so welcoming to me. I knew I needed to be in church - wanted to be in church - but oh, it was difficult. Paul and I had been so involved and one of my greatest joys had been ministering along side of him. Now, everything was different. But that little congregation gave me breathing room and a little more time to heal and I am so grateful to them. I recently decided to come back to my old church. I had mixed feelings. The little church I had been attending had been like a balm to me, soothing and refreshing. But it didn't feel like home. Paul and I had been attending the same church since moving to Paso nearly 17 years ago. Somewhat reluctantly, I left the small group that had been a refuge for me and returned to my home church. That was about two months ago. While getting myself to church is still a struggle, I am no longer haunted by visions of Paul and for that, I am grateful.

And so it was with a lot of anticipation that I approached this Easter. I was looking forward to going to Stations of the Cross again. I went early in the day and there weren't very many people and that suited me just fine. Again I was blessed by the time I spent with the Lord as I contemplated Christ's sacrifice for me. I've been crying about my own losses long enough! Christ gave up His very throne in heaven, for a time, for me! I need to live for Him, not for myself. For the first time in a long time, I feel myself looking ahead. As I prayed on Good Friday, I asked the Lord to help me look up towards Him instead of inward, towards myself. I also asked Him to use me, somehow.

Melissa asked me yesterday that if I had known my marriage would end up like it has, would I have still gotten married. She wanted to know if I had regrets. It was a tough question and one I hadn't really thought about. I finally told her that I had no regrets and despite what has happened I have lots of good memories and of course, awesome daughters. I was reminded of something I had read in the book, One Thousand Gifts. The author, Ann Voskamp, was relating a conversation with her brother-in-law who had buried two children in less than two years. She said to him, "If it were up to me, I'd write this story differently!"

Her brother-in-law responded that maybe he didn't have to understand all that God allows. He tells her that maybe, just maybe, you don't want to change the story, because you don't know what a different ending holds. God knows how it all works out even though we don't. And all the loss we experience in this life draws us closer to the God who loves us endlessly.

So that is where I want to be this Easter. I want to let God write my story and I want to trust Him fully with the plot of my life. I want to be filled with the joy of His salvation and rejoice in the fact that He chose me! In the end, I will spend eternity with the God who gave Himself fully for me. This in-between stuff? It's just the movie trailer.