Dear Dad...

Yesterday I got the call that you missed your dialysis appointment, and you're NEVER late for that.  Somehow in my heart, I knew it wasn't going to be good.

I left work and on the way to your house I told the Lord, "I don't know what I'm about to face, but I WILL TRUST YOU."

 I have to.  There's no other way to get through this hurt without believing that God is sovereign.

The police officers met me in the driveway.  They were kind.  And gentle.  And they held me up as I cried. 

Your friends came and said they were so shocked.  They had just seen you at church.  They had just brought food to your house.

The ambulance came to take you away and I asked if I could please see you before they moved your body.  I had to know.

And there you were, lying back on the bed like I'd seen you do so many times before, the fingertips of your right hand on the button snaps of your western shirt; your left elbow resting on the bed, making your left hand up in the air, index finger almost pointing.  Your glasses on and cell phone in your pocket, fully dressed and ready to go somewhere...but I don't think you knew you were dressing for a trip to Heaven.

It gives me peace in my heart to know you went to sleep, took a little nap, and woke up to see sights that I only dream about. 

I'm so curious, and a little bit jealous, to know what you're seeing, who you're talking to. 

While you were in the hospital last month, I found myself praying that the Lord would just take you home.  You were SO very sick, and it was scaring me how depressed you were getting.  I knew you were tired and that you were really just longing for peace and health.

But I didn't expect it to be like this.

I didn't know it would hurt so much.

I thought I was ready to let you go and be happy for you.

But I'm crying. 

I'm trying to remember that you are with the One that you lived for and loved, the One you wrote about and taught us about.  And that comforts me.

But it's still painful.

However, I don't want you back.  No, you are the blessed one. 

In the secret place of my childhood memories, you are always 30 years old, tall and handsome, with a strong body, firm hands, and thick black hair.

Is that what you look like now?  I think so.  Grandma Lance will be able to recognize you looking like that!

I'm thankful for the 46 years I had with you.  They were stormy and rocky, joyful and blessed, stressful and hard, filled with learning and growing for both of us.  Our relationship wasn't "text-book" by any means.  We were far too much alike to have anything "normal!" 

But you loved me.

And I loved you.

What else could we have asked for?

I am trusting in the God of all grace to one day redeem every broken place in our hearts and our relationship.  And I believe His word that says there will come a day when there will be no more weeping, "He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces," Isaiah 25:8.

And so today, as I reflect in the midst of chaos and phone calls, questions and paperwork, I asked the Lord for a verse to hang onto, and this is the one that gives me hope; a vision of you, my handsome Daddy, rejoicing in Zion today with Jesus and your loved ones:
Isaiah 35:10 says, "And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain gladness and joy, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

Good-bye for now, Dad.

I love you.