Some Christians amaze me

Not because of their good works, or their awesome miracles, their faith that moves mountains, but because they have any faith at all. I was reading Andy's account of the death watch at his father's bed. We've done this twice--in 1996 for my sister and my husband's step-father. You are with them, and yet they aren't there. But I didn't rush to the hospitals in Bradenton and Indianapolis loaded with personal baggage. How much harder that would have made saying good-bye. Andy writes:

We had a good week anyway. We laughed a lot, and cried a little. We spent time with funeral home staff members, lawyers, doctors, and nurses, but we still had a lot of time left over to reminisce, to compare memories and to try to make some sense out of the chaos of a home that featured an alcoholic, crazy mother and a philandering, adulterous father who would grab his car keys and drive away whenever the butcher knives appeared, my mother’s weapon of choice to torment the kids. He ran away from us all his life. Now he can’t run anymore.

He’s left behind a mess. His estate, such as it is, was left to a former roommate who is now dead. His latest will, which was supposed to designate my Columbus sister Cathy as the recipient of his home, was never signed, and so the good State of Ohio gets to figure it all out. My dad’s house apparently goes to the estate of the former roommate. Whoopee. I’m washing my hands of the whole affair, even though technically I’ve been named as the executor of his will. It’s what I told him I would do, and would not do when he told me he was leaving the house to his roommate. I refuse to execute injustice, at least if I can help it.

Many days I remember to thank God for my fine, upright, honest parents, who worked hard and loved their children and extended family, always available for moral and economic support. And I ask forgiveness for the many times I was cranky or short with them when they didn't see things my way. After all, they weren't "fun," they rarely talked about our accomplishments (would be unseemly), we didn't take vacations, they often ignored my demands for more attention, they insisted that I do the right thing, be respectful and have good manners. I had to go to church, had to earn my own way, had to do well in school (actually, they never, ever said that--it was my own idea based on what I thought they wanted). They wouldn't take my kids off my hands when I was desperate for a break and oftened ignored my own failures at parenting, and just looked the other way! My Dad could be so casual about money that one time he sent me $10,000 (coupon bond) in the U.S. mail uninsured with no information or explanation about what it was. Even when I was 60 years old he thought he needed to remind me to put on an apron, but by then I could get back at him by hugging him, something not on his list. Some of the best times I had with Dad were the last two years of his life, and I still wonder why we waited so long. And when their time this side of eternity was over, they simply closed their eyes and were gone. Then there are the days I completely forget about them and think I got here all on my own, without their genes, love, hard work and discipline. Andy's blog was a good reminder.

65th wedding anniversary, 1999