advent

The day after my dad died, I was taking the trash out, and there was a beautiful sunset. I'm not usually one to marvel at sunsets because I think they are generally overrated. But this sunset had the most beautiful pinks and purples, and it just seemed so big. I felt like God was showing me how big He is--that He is much bigger than my circumstances. For a moment, I felt comforted and, I don't know, like I had gotten a bit of perspective. I pictured the big tapestry of everyone in the world's lives. But then I said (out loud, I think), "But God, you took my dad away from me." And He said to me, "I am your dad." Again, I felt comfort for a moment. But I didn't want to talk about it anymore. So I ended the conversation and went inside.

About a week later, I was going to a doctor's visit, and it was that time of evening when, if you are driving westward, the sun is RIGHT in your eyes. I was blinded the whole way to the doctor's. But on the way home, I was being mooned. I had a perfect view of the moon the whole drive home. It was beautiful and clear and huge. And if it wasn't a full moon, it was pretty darn close. Blake loves the moon, so I have a new-found fondness for it. The moon makes me smile in ways it never did before. I cried the whole way home that evening because I felt like God was trying to be with me. He was like a boyfriend, trying to cheer me up with a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers. He was throwing rocks at my windows and holding a boombox on His shoulders, trying to get my attention. I accepted the bouquet and the serenade, but I told Him, "This doesn't change things between us. I'm not okay, and this still isn't fair."

All I could think for weeks, over and over, like a broken record, "It's not fair." I get it: God is the one who gives and takes away. God works for the good of those who love Him. But it wasn't fair. My dad was fine, right? He wasn't sick. He just had a bad cold, a few nosebleeds. I didn't understand why my dad could be suddenly gone after just a few nosebleeds.

In this season of advent, I am anticipating spending my first Christmas without my dad. We set up my dad's Christmas tree in my dad's house. We will wake up Christmas morning and not have to wait for my dad to wake before opening presents. I was really looking forward to decorating for Christmas because I was thinking it would make me more cheerful, but it's not helping too much. It's no beautiful sunset or clear moon for me.

But here we are, entering the time of year that we celebrate and thank God for coming to earth to be with us. I cannot celebrate the holy holiday of Christmas without fully believing that God my father came to earth to be with me. He is with me. And actually there's nothing fair about that, considering none of us deserve God's outpouring of love to us. This advent season, I can either numbly go through the traditions of decorating a Christmas tree, buying presents, and busying myself getting prepared for baby Malcolm's arrival. Or I can stop and rest in the truth that God is with me.

When my dad was intubated in the hospital, and they were trying to wake him from sedation, my dad was coughing a lot. He was moving around, but he wasn't very "with it" mentally. It scared the hell out of me because he's supposed to be the strong one, right? I sat by his side and held his hand, telling him that it was going to be alright. I picked up his legs when he would kick them off the side of the bed. I readjusted his blanket when it moved, and I put an extra blanket on him because he seemed to be cold. I talked to him about Blake and Malcolm. I told him how scared I was. It is so painful to see those images in my mind. And yet, after some time has passed, I have come to view these moments as holy moments. It was a gift to be there with my dad so that he wasn't alone.

Beautiful sunsets and clear moons can be holy. But not everything that's holy is peaceful. In the pain and tumult of my dad's final days, there was much holiness for me to experience. What makes a moment holy? When God is there. And God was surely there with me in my dad's final days. So though my dad is gone, and I miss him terribly, there is no other option than to celebrate God's presence this advent season (and always) because God our heavenly father is here.