This is my first post after my father's death.
About 4 weeks ago I woke up early because it was a beautiful day. Winter had given way to spring and I wanted to embrace the new warm weather by spending some time getting healthier, so I went for a jog. In the middle of my run I got a message from my brother that said "I need to talk to you".
Any time someone needs to talk to you it can be scary, but my brother has been going through some difficult things in his own right, so I thought I had a good idea of what he needed to talk about. I didn't.
I finished my jog and then called my brother back once I got home. I'm glad I was at home with my wife when he answered the phone. Thank God for blessings like that. Yukari started crying while I was still trying to understand the words my brother said. It's amazing how slowly and quickly your mind can work at times. When my mind did start working again I could only think about one thing: I needed to get home.
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of buying plane tickets, getting my newborn daughter a passport, packing clothes, calling students and friends, cancelling appointments and trying to get home as quickly as I could. I've been so thankful for my wife and her family and for their generosity to me and their gracious acceptance into their family under a difficult situation for a long time, but I've never been more thankful for the family I married into than in those hours before Yukari, Rina and I were able to board the airplane home. While I can't often speak to my new family (because I'm not very good at speaking Japanese and they aren't very good at English) I learned in an indescribable way that love surpasses language. Sitting next to my father-in-law as he drove us to the American Embassy, back to our apartment, to the airport (for a flight we all knew we wouldn't be able to make), back to our apartment and then to the airport again the next day, just sitting and not saying anything was one of the most overwhelming displays of love I've ever received. I hope that one day I can express just how much those moments meant to me. If not in words, then in some other way.
We made it to Tennessee safely. I was more stressed than I knew and said some hurtful things to the people I love. I didn't do well in the situation and for that I'm really, truly sorry. My wife saw my father in person for the first time in the funeral home. She said some very kind words to him and left us alone.
The rest of the week was a beautiful time with family, friends, and a multitude of people from a variety of backgrounds who were impacted by my father during his life. His memorial service was deemed a "Celebration of Life" and for many of the people who went, it was a celebration. For me it felt different, from the moment my wife left me alone in that funeral home my thoughts have centered on how much I've failed.
When I saw those hundreds (literally hundreds) of people who came from all over Tennessee to that small church to remember my dad and how much he loved them I thought about how I failed in understanding my father's love.
I thought about my plans to move back to Tennessee after my parents retired. I thought about my own foolishness in planning to use my daughter to make my dad proud of me.
I thought about all of the ways I was different than what I thought my father wanted from me. I've been thinking a lot about the ways I've failed. A lot of people have been asking me how I am and if I'm okay, and what I want to express is a deep sense of hope, the hope that comes from believing in a God that is the author of life and gives life eternal, and a hope that comes from knowing that I'm not alone in my failures, that I'm following in the precedence of almost every biblical figure apart from Christ. I want to show that I know these things to be true, but I also don't want to hide that what I'm experiencing now is definitely more on the spectrum of sad than happy. I have a deep, enduring hope and trust, but the surface, the moment to moment, is an enduring sadness, a feeling of loss and regret. While I don't feel helpless, I don't exactly feel "alright" either. I wanted to write a message about dealing with my failures by looking at biblical examples, (I was thinking about Jacob and the way he disappointed his father in comparison to his brother; David who dealt with a deep depression in his failures to live righteously and meet the expectations of his heavenly father, and the prodigal son who experienced the joy of acceptance even though he expected rejection by his father) but even as I prepare that message for my church family, it's not the message I want to put here. It would end up being more pedantic than honest and what I want to show here isn't as clean as all that. I know the stories, and I know the theology, but some (if not most) problems and some sadnesses aren't erased by a lecture or a bible study lesson.
It's fitting that I would see myself as Jacob in my relationship to my father, because now I feel like I could use a real good wrestling match.
Being a follower of Christ means believing in a message of eternal hope. The promise of life and life eternal was a central theme in Christ's message. Usually my image of "hope" is a happy one. Maybe it's because most of my struggles have originated internally, and this is such a different kind of difficult situation, but I'm seeing that a hopeful person isn't always a happy person. So this is me, hopefully trudging through my failures, with both my fathers.
So pray for me.
