In Memoriam T.M.F.

    I’ve spent a lot of time asking “why?” in the last year. I have a few guesses, but frankly none of them are good enough for the part of me that’s still scarred. At least, I used to think those were scars. Days like today I realize that what I thought were scars were scabs and it doesn’t take much to break them back open and make them bleed. I can see how this might be good for me in some way. I can see I’ve gained emotional stability. I notice when people are hurting now. And when they tell me about it, I can feel their pain better. I don’t mind taking risks and making sacrifices now because I’ve already given up one of the most precious things in the world to me, but I still see value in those things so I don’t sacrifice them carelessly. I’ve learned my limitations better and I’ve pushed my limitations more. There’s just one problem. None of that is worth it to me.

    So now I’m looking at the future. I can see some good possibilities. I always wanted to be an inventor. Well, working as a physics researcher or an engineer is basically modern invention. Teaching is exciting and something I really value. Living in the suburbs, deeply involved in a community of believers, strengthening those who are struggling, building the body of Christ, raising a family would be enjoyable and worthwhile. Becoming a respected scientist who travels to conventions giving seminars, having conversations with brilliant scientists who are a step ahead of everyone else in their knowledge of how the world works would be thrilling, and if I was using that knowledge to help doctors beat cancer, I might savor some sweet samples of revenge. Travelling to a place where people are suffering and hopeless and bringing them a little hope would be uncomfortable, but entirely worthwhile. So now I’m sitting here in Wheaton, this place where thousands of people have branched out to the far reaches of the globe and carried out the great commission in thousands of different ways, and I’m realizing I don’t care that much. All my desire is for the past. I would give every dollar I have (not really that much, it’s not really hyperbole) for one hug from Dad. I would drop out of college and work at McDonald’s if I could bring him back. I don’t want to move on. I want to go back.

    I’ve been struggling for hope. Hope is about the future. Hope for the past doesn’t make sense. If it did, I would be fine. My hope in physical things has been at an all-time low, that means that most of what’s left of my hope is real hope. Unfortunately, I think that shows just how little real hope I had to begin with, but there are still these remnants of hope. Dad spent his time pouring into me and other people around me constantly. That’s the reason it hurts so much that he’s gone. While, the shock that people and lives are not safe is a temptation to live in fear, isolation, and inaction, it’s also proof that something more valuable can remain once life is past. I have hope that I will see him again. That’s enough reason to make him proud. Finally, I know he valued other things more than life. I know I should too. I want to live in safety from loss. Suddenly, safety seems silly to me. Anything we cling to under the sun can be pried out of our grip. We’re meant to be funnels, not buckets. Finally, I think God has a plan for me. And even though I’m numb to the excitement of that right now, I know that I should be and will be excited about that plan.

    Last year, dad kept talking to me about planning a Bible study. He wanted to study 1 Timothy, something about how it was Paul’s message to his son in the faith, Timothy. I’ve been thinking about 1 Timothy sort of like a last message, as if there was some secret message hidden in the text that he wanted me to find. Honestly, I don’t really understand 1 Timothy and I haven’t seen any passages that I remember him quoting regularly. But 2 Timothy has some. There’s a lot about pressing on under trial and maintaining confidence in the gospel.

    He left a lot of holes. I could make a long list of the parts he played in my life. Other people have filled some of those and I’ve appreciated that, but looking back over this last year, I can see a lot of gaps that he would have filled. Some really painful events, that would have been immensely more bearable with him around.

    I’ve been curious about the word spiritual lately. I really don’t know what it means, but it’s not quite cognitive and it’s not quite emotional, and I think it’s more important than either. There are three important things that I used to know on an emotional level, and now I’ve lost the emotions, but I know them better on a cognitive level. I constantly pray you and I will grow in our spiritual grasp of them.  Joy, hope and peace.

Romans 15:13