Showing posts with label daughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daughter. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Who's her Daddy? - A legacy


As I watch his earthly life slip away, I’ve been thinking about everything Rachelle’s dad has given his daughter. Here are just some of the ways that Don will live on through Rachelle:

Food: This family expresses love through food and over food. Love is their food. Food is their love. The bestselling book, “Eat, Pray, Love” describes the heartbeat of the Long family—they love and they eat, the synergy of which rises up as a sort of prayer, a holy fellowship around these two essentials. Conversation over breakfast inevitably reaches back to recipes of the past and forward at least as far as dinner. Don has been speaking love via gastronomy most of his life, putting more than anyone could imagine into his recipes—growing and grinding ingredients than others would barely think to even purchase. “Taste o’ this,” he’d say, handing over a forkful of his latest creation. Rachelle, too, loves the world through her food, which, like her love, is always more abundant than necessary, more delightful than expected. Tonight when we gather to remember Don’s life together, Rachelle will be making pizza, her dad’s favorite. You can bet it will be better than anyone would guess pizza could be. You can also bet there will be leftovers.

Music: Don exults in good music—jazz, Celine Dion, the Four Tenors, and most recently, the Celtic Woman. He would record his favorites from PBS and play them for anyone who would listen when they came over. “You’ve got to hear this,” he would say, sinking into his recliner. Often he’ll be in tears minutes later, fully at the mercy of the music. He likes to get our girls dancing around the room as they listen, fancying themselves to be the singers. Of course, he loves to hear Rachelle sing. His daughter is music herself, with an essence that puts life to a melody, makes it a thing of beauty. Like her dad, Rachelle finds hope, energy, peace—God—in music.

Affection: Don is a hugger, a snuggler, a lover of cuddly animals. He gives backrubs, which must have been the family sport as a child judging by the spontaneous massages that break out at Long family get-togethers. His wife, daughter and granddaughters have always been, “Darlin’” or “Sweets.” Yet his affection is more than a family thing. He has space in his heart for all kinds of people, knowing not a stranger—only friends not yet met. Likewise, Rachelle is the kind of soul who, coming upon a row of five chairs with a single person sitting in a chair on one end, will select the chair next to that person over the other three vacant ones. Space between souls is not a good thing for her. Rachelle’s random back and foot rubbing qualifies her as a true Long, and even the roughest character may qualify as “Sweetie” in her generous language. The world will not sink into loneliness and despair while people like Don and daughter are on the loose, because they will snuggle up, give a hug, work on that knot in the shoulder and let people know that they are not as solitary as they had supposed.

Acknowledgement: Don—whether wearing the hat of pastor, innkeeper, friend, brother or dad—is an encourager. He has a prophetic eye for the best in people and a prophetic voice that puts that vision into words. He speaks to the best part of a soul, with conviction that makes believers of the people he builds up. Best of all, he listens to that best part, relishing opportunities to hear and celebrate people’s stories. Rachelle never needed that rule about saying seven nice things for every criticism; her verbal recipe pours in gallons of sincere compliments for every ounce of censure. She is the best fan I could dream of to bring to speaking engagements, showering heartfelt praise on me after every sermon or presentation I’ve given. Even in times of famine, when my character is a scorched, fruitless wasteland, she finds the one thriving plant in my soul and holds it up as the hallmark of who I am. I think I know where she learned this.

Spiritual Hunger: Don has a voracious appetite for God. He devours reading not only on biblical scholarship and archaeology, but on spirituality as described by yogis, emergent church leaders, scientists and others outside the traditional church in which his faith was forged. He is open to anything that might grow his understanding and experience of the divine. Some ten years ago he ended his employment as a minister, but he never stopped seeing and participating in the work of God. One of the first things that drew me to Rachelle was her genuine interest in things spiritual. Her heart beats to the rhythm of simple, solid faith—the lifeblood of a mind open to ideas that stretch the traditional boxes into which God has been stuffed. She works to create opportunities to learn more about relating with God and to talk about this learning with others. For Rachelle, authentic encounters with God and His people are pretty much the point of being alive.

The irony is this: I find it so easy to love her, while for him I have often found in myself as much criticism as love. How can this be when so much of who she is she learned from him? Dad, forgive me for failing so regularly to connect these dots, to see your goodness spilling over in the woman I love.

Thank you, Dad, for teaching your daughter so much of what matters. I pray for the grace to pass on as much to my little girls. We miss you already. But thank God, the best of you lives on in the people lucky enough to have known your love.

Friday, March 28, 2008

Who's her Daddy?


Deep inside the hospital, in critical condition, lies the man my wife calls “Daddy.” He is not long for this world. Standing at his bedside in the ICU yesterday, I watched Rachelle spoon broth into his shaking lips, wipe his chin, hold his hand, caring for him with all she had in the dwindling hours left.

I stared at father and daughter through my dull disbelief that the end could be so near. How did we get here? Was it not just a season ago that I was bringing a pot of flowers to this man, asking for his daughter’s hand? Could it be more than a few weeks since he, having watched those flowers multiply, had teased me about the omen for our fertility?

How long ago could it have been that he fed, wiped and cared for that same girl who had stolen his heart, and who grew up to steal mine?

Suddenly she was in tears. Jolted by her sobs, yet relieved to have a job to do, I hugged her while scanning the room for Kleenex. Finally, I unwound a yard of single-ply toilet paper from the restroom marked “For Patients Only,” folding it four times before it was anything like a passable snot rag. Rachelle filled it in two seconds. I returned to the toilet for more.

As I rolled out TP—the sole offering I could give my broken-hearted soul mate—my mind fluttered. We had seen it coming. We had hoped he would take better care of himself. He knew better. We hadn’t talked about it with him all that often, knowing it would likely as not make him more stubborn in challenging fate. But he knew. In fact, it could have been ending more slowly and painfully than this. It was actually merciful. And suddenly, through my righteous rationalism, a rogue thought bored its way in: A little girl is losing her Daddy.

In the room, she was pressing her forehead into his. “I love you, Daddy,” she said.

“I love you,” his trembling mouth managed to say.

I noticed that this day would come for me. My dreams, ambitions, hoping, working and tail-chasing would someday get me the same place they get all men—on my back, dying. I could only hope that whatever my flaws—and my sons-in-law will have as easy a time seeing mine as I see his—I might raise my little girls to have half the love and goodness that this daughter of his has. I could only pray that despite all the reasons not to love me, on the day they tell me goodbye, they will choose to love me anyway.

Because Dad, whatever you have to show after your years of toil, as many or as few trophies for your work in the world, however fleeting or misunderstood your life may have seemed to you, it is enough if you have this one thing: your little girl there with her hair on your neck, declaring her love to you.

God, give him grace to feel the love that he has added to the world. May he sense through this somnolent fog just how much Rachelle loves him. May be know through her something of how much You love him.