Before my husband took the position at our "hometown" church, we had a few people suggest that working at the same church you grew up in may not be the best choice. That piece of advice definitely was something I took into consideration and it kind of always lingered in the back of mind. I worried that they would struggle to see J's potential as a working adult versus the student they remembered. For some reason, that simple advice has lingered in the forefront of mind. I found truth in something that may have contained zero truth and it allowed a dust of doubt to at times develop into dust storms. Can that experience be truth to some? Absolutely. Was that our current truth?
Not necessarily.
*side bar, if you are reading this and wondering if you suggested this to us, please understand it was not you..... these peeps don't read my blog.
This past Thursday marked one year of my dad's unexpected, world-shaking death. If I think about him for too long in one sitting, before tears, I will get this pain in my chest, like someone is pushing my lungs together And if I can endure that for long enough, I can get to the point where I feel physically ill. I'm not a public 'displayer' of emotion. I will search for a corner or wait until everyone is asleep to cry. I really don't even want to talk about it much because the disgusting thing that I think to say is, "you just wait". The thoughts in the depths of my own humanity tend to lend itself to the most selfish parts within me.
A few weeks after dad died, I would go to Meijer and see these much older men limping into the store or standing outside the door smoking and I couldn't help but think, "how did you outlive my dad?" I think the concept of death is impossible to fully grasp. I don't think that concept is for me to grasp.
I sat outside Eagle a day after dad died when no one else was there. We had the normal post death family argument blown out of proportion because we were all tired and devastated.
And I ended up at the church.
I sat outside where the flowers would soon bloom and the sun was shining. It was nothing extraordinary but it was a moment.
You are not a good God. What is wrong with you? What a waste of time. Are you even there? You are so mean. You didn't even let me say good-bye, You are not good. I remember one moment yelling over and over, "are you even there?" until the words were so tangled among the crying and defeat.
Those were the thoughts cascading through my mind. I honestly didn't care how many people were inspired at dad's funeral. I would take every good thing from his funeral, I would take it away. I would, with my own bare hands, rip it away from someone's life if that meant I would get my dad back. I would carelessly, selfishly and with my ugliest self, rip any hope or eternal knowledge that dad's death could have given to someone else. I could have made direct eye contact and without a single apology, I could have easily yanked that from a stranger or loved one's heart....if that meant another moment. I would have ripped an eternity from someone else for a moment with dad.
It's hard to experience loss with no point of return. The pain of loss displays itself in the most raw, desperate, heart wrenching, vulnerable and sometimes super uncool parts of ourselves. But those are still truths. Because the truth isn't always apologetically beautiful.
This morning our pastor mentioned the one year anniversary of dad's death. I felt a sense of relief that dad's name was still being spoken. He gave specific details about walking into the funeral home and pieces that he remembered....pieces that I didn't know about because it was a blur. He hasn't just mentioned dad once. Within the past year, he has reached out to my mom, my brother, my sister and myself....simply remembering dad with us.
And today, would I take a piece of someone's hope away to have dad for a moment?
Yes. But at least I can say that a year later, I would apologize while doing it.
I am also sitting in a cushion of wonderful family and friends within our community that have given me constant support and love. Friends that love not because they fully understand or can sympathize, but friends that almost wish they could fully understand the hurt. I can't imagine desiring to carry the burden and pain of someone else.
Obviously, I'm the girl willing to remove a piece of hope from one person in an attempt to restore a large part of myself.
"Working at a church you grew up in can be disastrous", someone once told me.
Or working in a church you grew up in means that it's likely that your family is still there, your friends that have been in the good, bad and the ugly are still there, and where a year later, your pastor remembers your dad on stage on a Sunday morning. Not because that memory will develop a burst in growth or financial gain......but because we are a family. And a family grows together. We see the parts within each other that are quite nasty and we love well. We don't give up easily or with selfishness and ignorance but we choose to love through the mess.
I remember that day that I left Eagle a few days after dad's death and I asked Justin, "What if none of this is real? What if I am wrong about everything?" Justin responded with, "So what? There isn't any other model of life I'd rather follow than the life of Jesus." And just because all I can see and feel is my own pain at times, that doesn't negate the reality that outside the pain, I know what is true.
So when I walk into Eagle, I see the place I sat, cursed and cried under the late-March sun. I walk into the atrium and remember dad holding at least one grand-kid. On Sundays, I see the chair he sat in. Three times a week, when I walk into work at Eagle, I walk through the moment where I was told that dad had passed. I see the faces that I first encountered after my life had instantly changed. I walk through that sacred place that held a forever moment several times a week.
Thank you for those who have remembered with us. I understand that it can be uncomfortable to discuss, but sometimes it can give life to his memory. And if you accidentally say something super stupid, relax. It's typically something one of us will bring up and we can all have a good laugh at.
I have no trouble remembering.
It's nice that you remember him too.
