Holding on... And clinging to Jesus

Dad at Great-Grandma Chastain's funeral

So, it's that day again. That day in the year that makes me all sentimental. For me it's a memorial day. Some years, I'm just out of it. Other years, it's just a day of bittersweetness. I'd say that Bittersweet is my theme for this day after 13 years. 13 years. So weird. Yeah, I lost Dad 13 years ago. That's a really long time.

Uncle Robert, Gramma Marie and Dad.
This is the photo of Dad we used for his funeral program.

I was out in the garage yesterday, sorting through my "Dad" box and found my journal from that year. Wow. I read some of those entries and I am so far removed from that state of mind. So far removed from the person that I was when he died. I was irritated at the self that I was 13 years ago. And I was disappointed in the self that I was 13 years ago.

I guess I could give myself a break. I was a senior in high school who focused on girl stuff. Relationships/friendships/clothes. Blah. I see it all the time in the kids in our high school group -- it's just called youth, I think. I was so concerned with "my" world, that I was blinded to what was going on in the bigger picture, of what was going on with Mom and Dad.

I think that if you asked me, "What was the most important day of your life?" Initially, I might say... when I finally realized I was in love with Bryan... or our wedding day or the day Bryson was just 2 pink lines on a home prego test or when each of my children took their very first breath and then i took them in my arms. Because all of those things are such milestones, such a precious treasure chest of love and joy and excitement and expectation and hope! I loved those days in my life. Each one, kept nice and cozy in my "happy memories" box in my heart, for me to pull out and relive once in awhile.

But I've given it some thought. It was a question for an essay contest that I forgot to enter. And even though I know I won't be entered to win $3,000 for posting it here, I'd like to answer that question.

Do you ever look back and see a clearly defined moment or line or chapter or whatever you wanna call it in your life? I have a few. But the first one was the day that my uncle Wayne, holding me tight against him, by my elbows, whispered in my ear on my front steps, "Kellie. Sweetie. Listen to me. Sweetie, your Daddy died."

Whoah, I'll tell ya, everything that happened that day is soldered into my memory. And of course, everything right before that, too. I can almost speak about it now without breaking down, but my last words to my dad were... words that I wish hadn't been my last.

The last night I talked to him, I had no clue what was going on in the heart of the man that stood before me. I had no empathy or compassion with what he might have been feeling. I just knew what "I" felt. For me, it was black and white, cause and effect. Circumstances were such that he was heading into the "effect" of something he "caused." And if the effect was such-and-such then he deserved it, whatever the consequences were.

He asked me what I thought about him.

Oh, Lord, he asked me what I thought about him. And I gave him the "consequences" shpiel. I was too wrapped up in my own perceived hurt to see what he was really asking: Do you know that I'm struggling? Do you see that I'm hurting? Do you understand that I need your love and comfort?

This little 3x5 card was in Dad's wallet.
I think it's something he wrote down during rehab.
It's on my fridge now.

My 17-yo mind couldn't see past how the "effect" would affect me. I don't often go back to that convo with my dad b/c I have taken it before the Lord so many times -- and I know I'm forgiven. (Let's take a deep breath here, because I know this is not normally the usual tone of my posts.) But, I have to tell you, yesterday, reading through my journal from that time, I wanted to reach through the years and just shake that girl and tell her to wake up. To look around. To look up at her dad and tell him that she doesn't understand, but that she loves him anyway. That's what he needed. I wanted to reach through the years and tell her she should've been writing down the really important stuff, the stuff that matters. And to stop worrying about herself, so she could see beyond herself and her teenage drama.

Dad died March 6th. Out of the blue, shock of a lifetime. It rattled everyone who knew him. It did more than rattle me, it crumbled the hardness of my heart. It shattered the windows to my soul.

I haven't been the same girl inside ever since. On many levels. I am not that girl anymore. She was ignorant and blinded, immature and well, gosh, she was just a kid.

The other clearly defined line in my life was when I rededicated my life to Jesus and was born-again (again). And I know that's when change really came, that life-giving water flooded my soul. It washed the windows, it softened the pieces of my broken heart. And Christ brought healing, and mended my heart in a way only He can do.

I am still ignorant and blinded, I still lack maturity in areas, but I'll never not realize the value of family. The gift of life. The moments that define a relationship. The compassion that comes as a gift from the Lord. Life is short, it's such a cliche, but it is. And tomorrow may not come.

I didn't realize the depth of my parents' life. They had a life! Together! And maybe it sounds strange, but I didn't know that or get that when I was 17. Their life was important and it was what held our little agnostic family together. I guess that's partly the reason I'm passionate about marriage and passionate about our children knowing the depth of Bryan and I's love for each other, passionate about Christ being the center of our marriage. I want them to REALLY know that family is a gift.

Doschades family 1991(ish). I was in junior high.
(I can tell from the poodle perm and the fancy sweater.)

Dad was larger than life. He was kind and funny. He was tender. He was strong. He was manly. He was goofy. He was smart and gregarious. He unashamedly adored his wife and was incredibly proud of his kids. He made time to visit with strangers, so he could call them friends. He had a listening ear and a hearty laugh. He worked hard and he loved much. He "didn't come here to have no bad time."

Mom & Dad, 1994(ish). I love that turquoise shirt.
Mom gave it to me. Bryan & I both wear it.
I love this photo. It's my favorite.

He was a great Dad and a good man. And in his absence, Another has picked up where he left off. I know some women may struggle with seeing God as God the Father, as God her Father, because of the humanity and failure of their own dads to fulfill his role like he should. But my dad was a strong father, who raised a strong daughter and made it easy for me to allow God to move from "way out there" to Father in here, in my heart. And I'm grateful.

I wouldn't be where I am today, who I am today without him and without Him.

So, I often whisper to Jesus, on days that are extraordinarily sentimental, like this one... "Tell Dad I miss him... tell Dad I love him... tell Dad I still need him..." And I hold on. I hold on to my husband and my babes, and I hold on to my family back home. I hold on to my memories of a tender, loving Dad and all that he taught me about character, integrity, love... through his life and through his death. And I cling to Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, for your ways. I don't understand the why's sometimes. But I can look back at the road you've walked with me, seeing some of the crossroads, seeing the signs and directions and it gives me hope. You have a plan, you give me hope. And I have a future in You. You are so good to me. Thank you for Dad. I needed him. And thank you for Your Son, I needed Him, too. Be with my fam, I know they're missin' Dad, too. Continue giving us glimmers of "Rob" in those we love and in the friends we meet? That's how these grandkids of his can catch a glimpse of who he was.

I love you, Jesus. I do.

Thank you, God, for your faithfulness...

Kennady holding a photo of Uncle Kev (left) and Dad.
We think Karsyn has Grampa's ears!!! Cute, huh!

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, And a time to die;
A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill, And a time to heal;

A time to break down, And a time to build up;
A time to weep, And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, And a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain, And a time to lose;
A time to keep, And a time to throw away;
A time to tear, And a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, And a time to speak;
A time to love, And a time to hate;
A time of war, And a time of peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Today it was time to remember.

Still missin' you, Dad.
--Rocket

(More March 6th ponderings... 2008, 2007)