In June of 1988, a week after my sophomore year of high school ended, I boarded a plane from my home in Southern California to join my parents and sister in our new home located in Roanoke, Virginia. It was something that at the time, I absolutely did not want to do. Two years prior, our family moved from Northern California to Southern California. I had begun to establish friendships in Southern California and knew the pain involved in moving because this was my third move since I was nine. My parents were kind enough to let me stay an extra week in the Los Angeles area with my friends, but the day finally did come when I had to leave. During the long flight eastward that day in June, I remember writing my thoughts down through tears: "Why do I have to start over again? Why do I have to say goodbye to people I care about? Why can't my home just stay my home?"
Very few flights go directly into Roanoke, and such was the case on that flight. My plane landed at Charlotte Douglas International Airport, where I was to find my connecting flight to Roanoke. I exited the plane nervously thinking about how to maneuver my way around the airport screens then to the correct gate. As I stepped into the Charlotte terminal and began looking around, guess who was standing there? My daddy. First came shock, then a smile, then the tears. Only a kind-hearted, completely in touch with his daughter kind of daddy would do something like this. My nerves were instantly shattered in my daddy's presence, and the last leg to my new home was a whole lot more pleasant because I shared it with him.
When school started that year, I quickly became connected to a wonderful group of friends. The pain I had over moving dissipated, and my new life in Virginia began. My friends were involved in a local Baptist church, so because I was both spiritually inquisitive and wanting to hang out with them, I attended regularly. In May of 1989, after participating in a musical with the youth group, I walked up to the pastor, prayed, and became a Christian. For the next few years, that decision proved to be both the greatest blessing and the greatest curse of my life. I had peace and purpose beyond anything I had ever experienced. I knew deep within myself that I was right where I needed to be with my Creator. But unfortunately things were not so smooth at home. My parents' spiritual backgrounds were much different than the Baptist influence their daughter had just dove into. My dad grew up in a Catholic family and community. He, however, had a bad taste in his mouth because he saw hypocrisy, hate, and control within the Church. In fact his mother, brother, and sister's priest commanded them not to go to my parents wedding back in 1963 because she was a Protestant - - that it was sinful for my dad to be marrying outside the Catholic Church. He often joked that he would never be caught dead in church on Palm Sunday because "all kinds of people go that week just to get the free palms."
My parents saw my passion for this new Lord and church back in 1989, and I believe it frightened them. It definitely had to be culture shock coming from the North, to the West Coast, to the South. Up North, people are generally very private about their lives. Spiritual matters are not usually openly discussed. Out West, we found the people to be very nice but often very materialistic. I'm certain there are Christian communities everywhere, but nothing like what you will find down South. Here in Roanoke, there are eleven pages of churches in the phone book. Hundreds of churches! Among the first questions you are asked around here is, "where do you go to church?"
Now that I'm an adult and a parent, I can understand and empathize with the concerns my parents had regarding my new found faith. However for me, the spiritual transformation I experienced was not about the Southern culture, pastoral manipulation, or spiritual weirdness. It was always about my relationship with the One who created and loved me. God had entered my heart and changed me. He became the center of my life, and it was only natural for me to want to share the joy that was within me. I wanted nothing more than for my parents to know what I knew - - just the joy and the peace. Cookie cutter Christianity is not my parents' way and that is okay. I'm sure that I didn't approach it the way I should have, but I was just a baby - both in physical age and spiritual age. I just wanted my mom and dad to understand that Christ's perfection replaces our imperfection, and all He wants is our heart. This gift God gives us is so easy to accept because He gives it so freely. My mom and dad don't realize this, but I spent years praying for them. I prayed their hearts would be softened to God's love. However, there was prayer after prayer after prayer, and all I saw from my dad in particular was push back and arguments about how bad the church is.
But then about five years ago - - something happened. For most of his adult life, my dad's relationship with his brother Henry was strained. When we would visit Massachusetts and try to see him, we wouldn't get return phone calls. There was this silent tension between the two of them, and I never understood why. Dad had his theories about what caused it - - maybe Henry was upset that we moved away from the family? Maybe he was upset that Dad wasn't there when Nana was struggling in a nursing home? Maybe ? Maybe ? Frankly, Dad was baffled. So one day, after Dad had done just about everything he possibly could think to do to get through to my uncle, I said "Daddy, why don't you write Uncle Hank a letter and just tell him that you're sorry. I know you aren't sure what you've done, but maybe you have done something. Saying you're sorry, asking for forgiveness from someone, is an extremely powerful thing." So Dad did just that. A few weeks letter, Dad received a letter back from his brother saying that my dad had done nothing, that he felt he had been a bad brother, was sorry, and hoped God would forgive him.
That single correspondence between my dad and his brother Henry opened up their relationship into something so beautiful. Over the next few years, there were phone calls and visits and dinners out. When my uncle became sick and ultimately passed away a couple of years ago, my dad was the executor of his brother's estate. My uncle trusted my dad with everything, and my dad did an incredible job ensuring everything and everyone was taken care of.
What happened between my dad and his brother - - this incredible exchange of forgiveness and love - - changed my dad. All of a sudden dad was praying. Every day, my dad was going to church to pray. He developed written prayers for everyone in the family, and faithfully executed those prayers every single day. He still does! When he's here in Roanoke, he goes to St Andrews and prays. When I know I'm facing something difficult, I'll email him and ask him to pray that morning. He always does. We have seen incredible things happen in our family in the midst of the struggles, and I know in the depths of my gut that it is in large part due to my father's prayers.
What is most amazing to me is how during my own spiritual and relational struggles the past three years, my dad was stronger than me spiritually. More times than I can count he has told me to cling to my faith, to believe that God has a purpose, and to pray. I believe my prayers for my dad have been answered ten-fold. Not only does my Dad know the same exact Lord I know, he displays God's love to others better than almost every Christian I know.
On this Father's Day weekend, I want my father to know that I love him with all of my heart, am so incredibly grateful for everything he and Mum do for me, and am so proud to call him my daddy!
