Day 316

Because maybe

You’re gonna be the one that saves me

—Wonderwall, Oasis

My dad is strong, but fragile.

It must be a Linford thing, how we let our emotions engulf us.

And it must be a father-daughter thing, how we know truly how the other is feeling without even a hint of it in their voice.

“It’s going to be okay, Jamie.”

I know deep down he’s saying that, because he’s the dad.  Because he doesn’t want me to worry.

But also because he’s trying to talk himself into believing it.

It’s so hard to be 2,000 miles away from him.  All I want to do is be there beside him.  But I’m not.  I’m here.

I saw a missed called from my parents after dinner tonight, and when I called back, I could hear it immediately in mom’s voice that something was wrong.

And then she passed the phone to dad.

I tried to hold it together, and I did, but as soon as we hung up, I just started bawling.

In the quiet darkness of my car, I just sobbed.

God, I thought we were done.

God, I’m so tired.

God, I don’t know if I can fight anymore.

God, what are you trying to teach me?!

Thinking that if I only knew what lesson was on His chalkboard that the test would cease, my dad would be home, and my burden would be no more.

But that’s not the case.  No, whatever God is trying to teach me, whatever He’s trying to teach us as a family has yet to sink in.

And here I sit two thousand miles away.  And there he lies, two thousand miles away, in a hospital bed, waiting for his heart to be stopped so they can start it again.

Even to be dead for a nano-second is still to be dead.

Is there symbolism here, God?  What are you working on, Holy Spirit?  For those who live must die to gain?  Is it too much to hope that this is but a turning point in my father’s life and not the end of it?

My prayers for my family to be saved haven’t stopped.  But I realize at this point that nothing of which I’ve asked from God comes to me as I think it will.  And no easy thing is it to accept Christ and welcome him into your heart, so by what means will it come?

Exhausted.  Drained.  Aching.  Hurting.  Desperate.

These are the adjectives that describe my family right now.

And these are the very same that described my life almost two years ago when I asked God into my life.

May this be what brings him closer to Christ and not the story we tell at his funeral.  May God be his wonderwall.

We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf... Hebrews 6:19-20

Jesus, you've been there, done that.  You walk before my father, you've walked before me.  You clear the way long before we even step foot onto the path.  Be with him tomorrow and let his heart be at peace.  And let me be at peace, knowing if He takes my father, God is still good.  If He doesn’t save my father, God is still good.  God is always good and His glory will always prevail.