A Warm Smelly Blanket…

I wonder what it was like for the prodigal in the hours and days immediately after he “came to his senses.”  Luke makes the jump from “he came to his senses” to “he got up up and came to his father” in three short verses.  The journey between the awakening and the homecoming is what is most intriguing to me.  I am on that road right now…and I have to admit that it seems much harder and more difficult to navigate than the three short verses Luke uses to connect the two in his account of the story.

What was his journey home like?

How long did it take him?

Did he ever doubt his decision?

Did the “distant country” ever feel like home…regardless of how distorted those feelings might have been?

I have to admit that the world I am leaving – the distortions, addictions, lies, and destruction – can often feel like a warm smelly blanket that is comforting to the touch yet dirty & filthy within.  To once again pull that blanket over me will only lead to greater pain but the immediate sensation of familiar comfort is deceptively inviting and cunningly powerful.  The Home that is promised is not yet, and the now is so much more appealing than the hope of what will be…how do I dull my senses of the familiar and sharpen my senses of hope for the promised unknown?

Then I read Nouwen’s expression of his own journey…

“…there has been much inner struggle, and there has been mental, emotional, and spiritual pain.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, had about it the quality of having arrived…I really did not have an inkling of how difficult the journey would be.  I did not realize how deeply rooted my resistance was and how agonizing it would be to ‘come to my senses,’ fall on my knees, and let my tears flow freely.  I did not realize how hard it would be to become truly part of the great event that Rembrandt’s painting portrays.”

and later in the opening pages of The Return of the Prodigal Son Nouwen shares,

“I am still not free enough to let myself be held completely in the safe embrace of the Father.  In many ways I am still moving toward the center.  I am still like the prodigal: traveling, preparing speeches, anticipating how it will be when I finally reach my Father’s house.  But I am, indeed, on my way home.  I have left the distant country and come to feel the nearness of love.”

The nearness of love…

And herein lies the greatest moment of awe – as the journey continues I am already being embraced.  I am simply waiting to experience the fullness of what is already true…He is near, and His embrace is now.

“Who?”

“…’coming home’ meant, for me, walking step by step toward the One who awaits me with open arms and wants to hold me in an eternal embrace. I knew that Rembrandt deeply understood this spiritual homecoming.  I knew that, when Rembrandt painted his Prodigal Son, he had lived a life that had left him with no doubt about his true and final home.”

-Henri Nouwen

Henri Nouwen spent the summer of 1985 traveling around the United States calling Christian communities to fight for justice and peace in Central America.  Shortly after his grueling six week trip across the U.S. Nouwen traveled to Trosly, France where he spent several months at L’Arche, a home for people with mental handicaps.  It was in Trosly where Nouwen had his first encounter with Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son after seeing the painting on a poster pinned to a friend’s door.  Two years later Henri Nouwen resigned from his teaching position at Harvard University and returned to Trosly determined to discover whether or not he was called to live his life with the mentally handicapped people in L’Arche.  In 1986 he decided to make L’Arche his new home and became the pastor of the L’Arche Daybreak community in Toronto, Canada where he served through the remainder of his life.  Henri Nouwen passed away in 1996.

Reading the opening pages of The Return of the Prodigal Son reveals a clear sense of deep longing in the heart of a man weary from traveling and searching for home.  When Nouwen saw the The Prodgial Son he was blindsided by the intimacy of the moment captured in Rembrandt’s painting – the father’s tender touch.  “But, most of all, it was the hands – old man’s hands – as they touched the boy’s shoulders that reached me in a place where I had never been reached before.”

What is home?  Where is home?  Is it a place?  Maybe the story of Nouwen and his journey leading up to his years of observation and study of Rembrandt’s painting stir a deeper question around this idea of home.  Is it a question of “what?“  Is it a question of “where?“  Or is it a question of “who?“  Rembrandt leaves much to wonder about where this famous homecoming takes place…or the specific details surrounding this moment.  The what and where are left in as much shadow as the backdrop of the painting itself.  However, the who is certain.  The old man.  The father.  And his tender touch…

Home becomes home when there is no longer the question of who.  I am home when I am with my Father, and I experience the fullness of Home when I allow myself to, once again, be embraced by Him.

It’s exciting to re-read The Return of the Prodigal Son…tonight, I picked up the book again and read through the first few pages of The Prologue.  This could take a while. 

But I’m in no hurry…

the prodigal…

Walking through the threshold from darkness into light is painful.  Those first few moments when the eyes are forced to adjust to the forgotten could be reason enough to run back into the old familiar.  Darkness can become home, and leaving home is never easy…regardless of how distorted it may be.  Home…

What was it like for the prodigal to adjust to the reality of his life in darkness?  How painful was it for him to “come to his senses?”  How difficult was it to finally decide it was time to go home, back to his real home?  I can only imagine through the lens of my own life, and I am slowly walking into light…

This blog was created 19 months ago to capture the story of my father’s passing and the journey of our family during the last 6 months of his life.  I remember one afternoon sitting with dad crying because of the overwhelming reality that he was dying…I was sitting near his bed and laid my head down next to his arm burying my face in the sheets hoping to mute the sound of my tears.  He put his hand on my head and I felt his weak fingers trying to offer strength and comfort as I wept.  The power of that moment has not been forgotten…my father’s hand and his gentle touch.

There is another father/son moment that has always captivated me…a moment captured by Rembrandt in his painting, The Return of the Prodigal Son – a tattered and torn son kneeling before his father as the father’s hands welcome him home.  During this past year I finally picked up a book by Henri Nouwen inspired by this very painting.  It’s simple, Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son is the best book I have ever read.  I did not know how Nouwen’s story and his insight into the Parable of the Son (or Father) would serve as a path of healing for me…and that is why I have decided to start writing again, to continue this journey.  This is my canvas, these words are my brush, and the image to come is unknown…

I spent 6 months learning how to connect with my father before he passed away…did that set the stage for a lifetime of learning how to connect with God?  A f(F)ather holds the keys of life for his son, I want to know my Father.  The journey Home continues…

“The Last of the Firsts…”

Easter Sunday
(This last year was a year of firsts, a new life without dad. March 8th marked the last of the firsts…)

11:14PM
The pages on the calendar have come full circle. One year later the memories of dad are still fresh…especially after reading through past “Family Updates.” Maybe this will forever be part of the process…to remember. That’s what King David did to stir his faith – he remembered the faithfulness of God (Psalm 77:11). That’s why this blog was created – to remember – not just dad, but the faithfulness of God during this last year, and specifically, the last several months of dad’s life. Amidst all of the chaos, confusion, pain, and unknown the goodness and faithfulness of God were, and continue to be, clearly evident. Before dad went Home our family experienced points of healing that were thought to be lost hopes. They became reality. Mom and Dad fell in love again; Dad and I shared conversations of the heart that I will never forget, and dad admitted things to us that we thought would forever fly under his radar. Honest conversations can sometimes be more precious and life-giving than anything else.

I’m sitting here thinking about this past year and find myself wrestling with the word, “orphan.” I know orphan is defined as a fatherless child, and I am 29, but have I really grown up?  Is it arrogant to so quickly assume that I have matured beyond the status of “child”…that I have put childish thoughts and actions behind me? As I look back at this year (and if I’m honest, for much of my life) it’s clear that I have played the role of a child very well…the loss of my dad has only exposed the reality that I have practically lived my life as an orphan, as one without a father…or better yet, as one who has rejected a Father. Maybe I hid it under banners titled, “independence,” or “maturity,” or maybe even “manhod.” But it’s simple; I’m hardwired to live my life as an orphan…as a loner. And the greatest threat to a loner is intimacy. Where did it go wrong?

6 Months

(I know I told you that the family updates were over, but a lot of you have asked how we are doing and I wanted to just say hi…I didn’t title this a “Family Update” so technically I am still holding true to my last email )

This month marks 6 months since dad was freed from the chains of cancer…I still smile and tear up at the thought of dad freed and experiencing life as was intended.  It’s not getting any easier to mourn dad or the loss of who dad was becoming, but my family and I are learning how to move forward with a true understanding of hope.  I continue to wrestle with the idea that hope is not in the absence of pain or in the presence of temporal happiness – it is exclusive to the promise of Heaven, where death will be undone and life brilliantly revealed in Jesus’ glory.  Can hope, I mean true Hope, be fulfilled this side of heaven?  I don’t think so.  And it is in hope’s delayed fulfillment that I experience what the Lord calls, “the narrow road.”

Family Update #22 – Final Update (recap, videos)

Happy 4th of July!

I can’t believe that this is the 22nd email that has been sent since learning about dad’s cancer. It’s been a wild ride…and one that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Do you remember that email I sent on November 3rd? I read it again this morning wondering what I said – how did we begin this whole journey? I have attached the email and I hope you join me in looking back at how faithful God has been in this entire story. This is what I wrote on November 3rd after explaining how God took care of the expenses for dad’s first round of chemo: “He is making Himself known to me and my family in ways that leave me in awe…and to think, it has only just begun. I eagerly await all that God wants to do in my family through this…” Yes, the Lord has done more than I could have ever imagined in revealing Himself to our family. You have been a part of this journey in prayer and support…one day I hope you understand how much you have blessed my mom, my brother, and me.

In this email I want to share a little about my trip to Russia and Africa, what’s next for me, what’s next for mom and DR, and then you will hear from mom and DR – they have included a short note offering an update and thanks.

(click below to hear more from the family and to videos highlighting summer travels)

Family Update #21 – A bit shorter :)

The garage is done!  It’s been twelve years since mom has been able to use our garage…she was shocked!  I got home from Orlando on Monday morning and by 8PM Monday night, we were finished…I was amazed.  Ozzie, JudyAnn, Shane and Shane, Dave, Reggie…thank you.  I had no idea that we would be able to knock out as much as we did.  I’m waiting on final numbers for the cost of a new garage door and opener, but we hope to have that purchased and installed by the end of July.  I wish you could have seen mom’s face when she came home from the airport and saw the clean garage.  I’m sure there was, and possibly still is, a fear as to what I threw away without her knowing…but hey, it’s gone!  (How’s that for sensitivity?

Family Update #20

Ok, I’ll just take a moment and pause right here…I knew the last update I sent was long, but I had no idea how long it was. I copied and pasted the email in Microsoft Word and then formatted it with the font and spacing that I used when writing papers for college…uh yeah, that last email was the equivalent of a 9 page paper! I just have to laugh at the irony. I looked for ways to delay writing papers in college and now I find myself doing it because it’s therapeutic. I promise, this update is much shorter…I’m tired, but I wanted to send a note before I leave for Orlando tomorrow…

Family Update #19 – The Grieving Process, Raw & Real…

This is a bit longer than usual (which is scary, I know) so please don’t worry about reading all of it.  I have titled sections of it to hopefully break it up a little, but there are specific prayer requests and a request for help at the bottom of the email.  If my many words were washed away and you were able to hear me say only one thing, it would be, “Thank you.”  I really don’t know how to tell you how special you are and how much it has meant for me and our family to be able to share this journey with you.  You are loved.

I must confess in starting this update that I really have no idea what is going to pour out on this page.  The stampeding thoughts in my mind escape any attempt at being corralled.  I have been waiting to write this update knowing that tomorrow marks the two month anniversary of dad’s passing.  I had hoped that sitting down to write would help in taking another step in this grieving process…

Family Update #18

I was seven years old.  I remember mom and dad taking us for a walk along on our neighborhood street in Monterey, CA.  It wasn’t uncommon for us to take walks together…hmm, “together.”  It was always mom, dad, and DR walking with each other while I was 100 feet ahead doing my own thing; maybe breaking off a tree branch from a low hanging limb and then having sword fights with any other tree that dared come within my reach, or throwing rocks into the bushes along the side of the road, or finding some other form of entertainment to pass the time.  It didn’t matter what was happening, I just knew that I wanted to be in front and ahead of everyone else doing my own thing, alone.