The Word Fathers Long To Hear

Regular readers know our daughter Jenny, who died unexpectedly in October 1995. So in honor of Father's Day, I share this brief essay about her that I prepared for a writing contest.

And to that I add a few journal snippets from Father's Days past.
-----
On Friday we made another expedition to Deal Cemetery in Ladelle to decorate Jenny's grave.

I miss Jenny and often feel sadness because I'll never see her again in this life. She was, after all, one-third of my small flock, and I sometimes feel wronged over what seems to be her untimely death. Instead of being discouraged, however, I must learn to thank God for the 22 memorable years He gave us together.

Blind and profoundly retarded from birth, Jenny could see only with the eyes of her heart. But the future holds a particular hope, one expressed in the epitaph (from the Bible's book of John) we had inscribed on her tombstone. When we finally stand face to face in heaven, I fully expect her to lovingly repeat those same words back to me.

But this time they will be more than mere symbols carved in cold, lifeless granite. Coming from the lips of one who never spoke a single word in her entire 22 years, I expect them to ring with the warm sweetness of all that heaven holds: "I once was blind, but now I see." I anticipate that day and the healing it will bring.

And soon after the echoes of joy over newfound sight have died away, I expect--and even hope for--the pleasure of one word thus far denied me despite my desires and prayers to hear it. For with Jenny's sight will come recognition of an intent face, one perceived but until then unseen. And then will come the one word fathers long to hear: "Daddy!"
-----
(1987) I received many nice presents for Father's Day: swim suit, shorts and shirt, cap, framed picture that Barrett (age 6) had drawn, book, three tapes of music and some money from Jen. To be loved is a great reward, and I'm grateful.

(1993) I've had a wonderful Father's Day breakfast. Mary and Jen gave me two missionary books to read to Barrett (age 12), and he gave me a knife just like his. I am so blessed.

(1995) I had a wonderful surprise present for Father's Day--a Super Leatherman Tool. Because of the cost, I wouldn't have bought one for myself, but Mary and Barrett (age 14) got one for me. And Barrett said in church that I was flexible, spending time with him and Jenny. So much here goes undone, but my time of opportunity with my children is rapidly vanishing.
-----
Times change. Diapers and infant seats quickly give way to jeans and training wheels and cars and college and independence.... and beyond.

But Father's Day reminds me that the sometimes-rocky transition from breadwinner and trainer to counselor and friend is both necessary and non-optional.

Copyright 2004 James McAlister

Printer friendly version

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Parallel Tracks Of Good And Bad

The late Ron Dunn, a preacher whom I highly esteem, coined a truism I frequently lean upon: Good and bad run along parallel tracks and often arrive about the same time. Though some had warned us, nothing could have prepared us for our first visit to the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. From children to the aged, the outward devastation of pernicious disease on frail human bodies overloaded our senses. They are courageous souls in hand-to-hand combat with a vicious enemy of seemingly inexhaustible tenacity. But they press on. To cover the almost-inevitable baldness that cancer treatment wreaks, many select colorful head scarves or stylish wigs as banners for their individual battles. Calling cancer a bad thing is a gross and trivial understatement. But even amid their roiling seas of trouble, good persists in bobbing to the surface as cancer patients openly discuss both defeats and victories. Without a hint of bitterness, Mr. Boudreaux relates the loss of a leg and other traumati...
Read more

Learning With Ollie In The School Of Basics

Oliver Wickerham Gatchell wouldn't have stood for it. Nope. He was just too practical. As I saw him do many times, he would have risen up and demanded an accounting. I first encountered him in 1963. I was a college freshman, and he was a crusty, white-headed old engineer teaching the most basic entry-level course. Whispers from the older students warned us: Ollie Gatchell would strike fear in our hearts. And so he did, making that initial engineering course a baptism by fire. On the first day of class, he didn't bother introducing himself. Instead, he instantly solidified his reputation with a challenge: "OK, you prospective engineers. Let's see who can figure out how to get the lead into his pencil." Nobody could. Those mechanical pencils were easily fumbled, but we did learn how to use them--thanks to the demanding Ollie Gatchell. Knowing the necessity of discipline and order in engineering work, he despised inefficiency and imprecision. One class period found u...
Read more