Recently Donna  asked what our moms taught us.  It was easy for me to answer, but I could appreciate the awkwardness of those whose relationship with their mom was strained.   My own  relationship with my father was…….complicated.  I used to think I understood it, that I had made sense of the confusion.  But it inevitably comes down to a co-mingling of love and stubbornness, open and closed hearts, effort and apathy on both ends, mine and his.  When he was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer it was time to clear the chess pieces off the board, to begin again, to affirm our love, to cry and say good-bye. 

Privately, secretly, I used to resist the notion that I was like my dad; there remains no doubt that I am my father’s daughter.  I acknowledge both the strengths and weaknesses I’ve received and am grateful for these lessons:

1.  To love the Word of God.  My father had an incredible mind and knew Scripture backwards and forwards.  We used to give him a verse and he would supply the reference (something BTW that I do horribly).  We would find obscure, really buried verses and he would tilt his head back, fix his gaze on some spot on the ceiling and work his way verbally to the verse: “Leviticus 10…no, 9, and, um, verse 22—somewhere between verses 20 and 25.”    He was right so often that when he missed we marked it on the calendar.  12 years after his death, I received his Bible.  It was falling apart, bits of papers tucked here and there.  Reading through it, reading the notes in his writing, gave me a view of his heart that healed my own heart more than I can tell.

2.  To play the piano by ear.   I can close my eyes and hear my father’s rendition of Jesus Loves Me full of diminished and augmented chords.  He influenced my playing more than anyone except Audrey St. Marie.  My favorite story: he was the speaker at a church conference.  For some reason the pianist was missing and he offered to play.  As he played the hymns by heart, he had his Greek New Testament open and was reviewing some verses before he spoke!

3.  To be frugal.   My father did the grocery shopping on his way home from work.  We called it the Suburban Safari: each day he took a different route home and stopped at grocery stores to pick up their loss-leader bargains.  When I was a young girl he taught me how to cut a whole chicken in pieces, feeling the leg joint before cutting.  For some odd reason, I also learned to save every grocery receipt.  My dear MIL finally convinced me that it was OK to discard the receipt.

4.  To rise to the need.   My dad taught at a very small Christian college.  His classes were notoriously difficult (i.e., Hebrew and Greek).  At times a subject needed to be taught and no teacher was available to do it.  More than once, he took on challenging assignments as a way of helping out.

5.  Books make the best gifts.   Every birthday and Christmas brought a special book.  I regret that I only have two of all the original Little House books that I received this way.  He enjoyed the best children’s books and passed that love to all his kids.  The finances were necessarily tight, but there was always money for music and books.

6.  To always be prepared.   When you hear that phrase you may think of a Boy Scout with a Leatherman tool on his belt.  To me it means never, NEVER, go anywhere without a book to read.  One never knows what delays may come up and one must be prepared!

7.  Meet grief with few words.   It’s always hard to know what to say when a tragedy strikes.  Sometimes the best thing is nothing at all. One time a colleague at the college lost a young child.  This colleague told me how comforting my father’s visit was.  My dad came and sat with him for the evening.  He never said one word. 

For years I struggled with the whys and wherefores of our difficulties.  I can say with honesty that it doesn’t matter anymore.  Maybe I’ve learned to trust God with the details and to let it go.