Good morning sons-
Merry Christmas Eve 2013 to you. I
write this to you from the bottom bedroom just next to the bathroom in your
Papa’s cabin in Colorado. Hopefully this place will be the setting for many
beautiful memories from your childhood both in the icy white of winter and the
vibrant colors of summer. I’ve been
aching to get here for the longest time. I’ve yearned for the silence and the
space and the grandeur of the mountains. There’s not much silence in the house
as you and the Marsolek girls play ring around the rosy and such, but outside,
it is so still, so empty and yet so full. In the still silence you are
confronted with all the thoughts and emotions that fill you up to the point of
overflow. Bear, you’re just 2 ½, but you’re such a manchild. How you understand
social situations and the subtleties of communication, both verbal and
nonverbal, its amazing. Boss, you’re still in your mommas belly for another 3
months and I’m so very excited to meet you. It’s such a wondrous thing to have
kids and dream about what kind of person they might be. So far as we can tell
right now, you’re a pretty chill guy, content to save most of your movement for
a few good donkey kicks to various vital organs inside your mom. Not sure what
that means yet, but I’m eager to find out.
This morning, as I was taking out the
trash here at the cabin, I was struck by the quiet and noticed that in the
east, the sun was just preparing to peak out over the ridge. I decided to grab
a brisk moment of solitude and watch it rise fully into the sky. As I did, I
started to think about the things I’ve been too busy to think about, like
missing my dad, like the pit of loneliness I feel when I’ve been distant from
the Father, like my inadequacy stuff that the enemy tries to lie to me about,
but especially my dad. It’s been just over 5 weeks since my dad, your Papi Rus,
went home to be with Jesus. I miss him so much. Not all the time, becaue I’m an
adult and I have my own family and my own life, but in those moments that you
still share with your dad even when you’re grown. I missed him when texted your
Noni and Gigi to tell them we were headed into the mountains and would be out
of cell range. I would typically always just text my dad that. I missed him
yesterday when I was out scouting for Christmas trees and just riding around
with your Papa Kevin in his new Jeep. We ran up on a pack of mule deer, 4 or 5
does and one buck, and they didn’t spook, so we got some pretty good pictures
of them. On the way back, I stopped to take a shot of a beautiful view. I so
wanted to send those pictures to my dad. To share with him the wild beauty and
freedom that he hadn’t experienced in such a long time. You know that for the
last 4 years of his life, he was pretty much homebound, restricted by his pride
and his health to hide out from the world and all its beauty and splendor and
heartache. I tried to share with him as much of my life as I could, and I think
he enjoyed it as much as you can enjoy someone else’s joy. But maybe his joy
was fuller, knowing that his son was filling up with life’s goodness. I think
that’s the joy I just experienced watching Bear discover that he can see his
own spit particles dance in the morning sun beams as they shine in through the
window. Pure discovery, pure joy, pure wonder. The same wonder perhaps that I
felt this morning as I watched the sun peak over the trees, but looking
different than I’ve ever seen it. It looked to me not like the typical yellow
ball of fire in the sky, but more like a clear diamond, shifting and moving
like clear molten lava. A ring of pale crimson surrounded the diamond. Not
bright red, but deeper and softer like the underside of a rose petal. And from
the diamond sun, wisps of gold, more pure and delicate than anything I’ve ever
seen, danced their way around, swirling like fall leaves in a breeze. Such
beauty. And yet just a shadow. I’m reading the Chronicles of Narnia this week,
and if I’m struck by anything, it is the deep mystery of the Lord and my
limited understanding of all that the universe holds, and the seeming folly
that I bring with me as the Lord invites me to discover him and his kingdom
more and more.
I want you both to know something.
This year has been incredibly difficult and incredibly good all at once. This
spring, I spent a semester working 20 hours a week, taking 15 hours of grad
school classes, interning at the Tulsa Boys Home 20 hours a week and attempting
to be a husband and father. In the middle of that, I found out about the blood
pressure stuff, then I graduated with my masters, walked with all my friends,
convinced the announcer to tell everyone I had a smoking hot wife, drove to
Stillwater twice a week that summer so that I could actually graduate and
looked forward to my new career. We found out we had Boss on the way and then
two months later, I landed my first job, and those two months before were a
major shot to my self worth and manliness feelings as I tried to figure out how
to take care of finances and imagine taking care of the whole family
financially while you’re unemployed is a bit of a trip. I started work and then
about a month later was my dad’s birthday. November 11 to be exact. In the last
4 years, I’ve always had a sense of knowing that my dad wasn’t going to be
around forever, and towards the end, that sense got stronger and sometimes that
led me to avoid being around him or talking to him. It was just really hard.
But on that night that we went over to celebrate, I decided to just kneel down
by his chair, and pour out my heart to him. I told him that I loved him, that
he was a good man, that I was proud to be his son. I told him that I knew that
life hadn’t turned out the way he wanted it to, but nonetheless, it had been
good. I reminded him that you can tell a tree by its fruit, and the fruit of
his life was exceptional. It was vulnerable, it was raw, it was honest. It was
the last real conversation I had with my dad, and I’m so so grateful I did. The
last thing he did say to me was something about how I looked funny without my
beard (I grew it out for 5 months and then shaved it that week). My last words
to him were something about not giving the nurses too hard a time. That was how
our relationship was. I poured out my heart to him. He received it. I hoped he
would reciprocate. He usually didn’t. We would banter or talk about football or
something like that. The moments that are the hardest are the moments when I’m
watching football and something crazy happens, or thinking of sending him a
picture or when there’s a storm on the way and he would typically send me a
warning because those were his moments. He chose those moments to reach out and
connect with me. They weren’t deeply emotional or sentimental, but they were
the moments where he felt safe and able to connect, and I’d give anything to
get a text from him right now.
Sorry just needed to grieve there for a second.
So back to the point… All of this has happened in the last 12 months, and not
once have I thought “ I have a good life because good things are happening” or
“Life is bad because hard things are happening”. Life is life. Good and bad
happen together all the time. Life is joy and sorrow side by side. That we have
a single moment of joy is a gift. That we have breath in our lungs is a
treasure. That we have love in our hearts for each other and moments to share
like today, Christmas Eve 2013 is a kiss from Heaven. We live in a sinful,
fallen world, separated from our Father and our true home. We need a savior, a
messiah to rescue and reconcile us. This I am realizing in a deeper, truer,
more honest way this year. And I am so thankful for Jesus. So thankful that he
loved us enough to lower himself and come to us and take on our sinful
humanity. So thankful that he knows what it means to suffer and was not afraid
to enter into suffering on my behalf. I’m so thankful that in the moments of my
deepest sorrow he is not far off, not aloof, but he is near to me. He was with
me as I sat beside my father and read scriptures to him about the hope of
resurrection. He was with me as I sat by my mom and told his that he was dying
and didn’t have much time left. He was there by my side as I knelt and prayed
at his side and in the moment that he left this earth, I faced the true despair
of death and loneliness, and I was not consumed. My grief poured out like water;
I felt completely helpless and weak and he was my strength. He was my sustainer
and the lifter of my head. I’m not saying it wasn’t awful, I’m not saying that
I didn’t have a massive headache from crying my eyes out. I’m not even saying
that I don’t have a headache right now from crying as I type. What I am saying
is that we do not have to fear death, or loneliness, or failure, or weakness.
War has already been waged against these foes, and they stand defeated. We can
enter the hard stuff and not be overcome. So what have we to fear? What can
stand between us and our participation in God’s kingdom being established here
and now? I can’t really think of anything, and I’m pretty smart. So there. Love
you boys.
Dad.
