Dads and Discipline

I've written about my Dad here before. I know I've shared previously that almost anytime I've met anyone who knew my Dad, the next words out of their mouths (after learning I was his daughter) were, "He is the nicest man." He truly was a kind and decent man, and I was so extraordinarily fortunate to have him as a father. 

But even my sweet, gentle Dad could put his foot down at times. Mom was the primary disciplinarian, largely because she was the lucky duck who got to spend the most time with me (and my older siblings) as we were growing up — through toddlerhood and teen-dom, and all manner of ruckuses raised, while Dad was at his law office. But Dad could lay down the law (no pun intended) when and if he had to. And if you think a cheesed-off Mom can be scary, nothing will get your attention quicker than a normally soft-spoken, sweet-tempered Dad using his "I've had it!" voice. 

I suspect many — if not most — of my fellow Gen-Xers (and likely our Boomer elders and Millennial youngers) are acquainted with the phrase, "I'll give you something to cry about!" Today, I'm here to give you — to give us all — something to cry about. Just...maybe not in the way you might think. 

Faith and Second Chances

Just as I've previously shared stories regarding my Dad, so have I shared messages at times from my church. I don't attend as often as I should, but I return, over and over. It's a good church and I feel fortunate to have found it almost 20 years ago now. 

Today began a new series called "My Second Chance," with guest speaker John O'Leary. I happen to know John (indirectly), as I worked with his older brother, Jim, for many years and have been friends for, well, shoot, close to 30 years now. I actually knew Jim for several years before I learned of John's story. It's still a very tough story to hear, though I've read it and heard John speak on it several times. 

You see, John was injured very badly in a fire at the age of 9. I won't be able to do the story justice in attempting to retell it — for that, I'll simply invite you to watch him share it himself. 

(It starts at about the 36-minute mark of the video, but I'd invite you to watch the entire service if you're interested.)

What We Fear Most

What I will share is that the fire was one John started himself, in a bid to imitate a trick he'd seen some older kids doing. John was burned over 100 percent of his body. The fact that he survived and is here to share his story is a miracle. And if you watch/listen to his story, I suspect you'll get a sense of higher purpose. 

One thing John shared early in today's message was his instinctive reaction when his Dad, Denny (also a lawyer), entered his hospital room for the first time after the fire. "Dad's going to kill me." I was immediately transported back to the moments after I fell out of my crib at the age of 3. (Yes, I remember the incident — parts of it anyway — quite clearly; it's one of my earliest memories.) I fell out of my crib because I was supposed to be taking a nap and didn't want to, so instead, after rocking it back and forth a few times in protest, I'd climbed up on the end of it to reach out to a little teddy bear coat hanger above it on the wall and...since the crib had moved away from the wall, reached too far and tumbled out of it. I didn't realize it at the time (I was 3, after all), but I'd managed to crack my forehead open on a sharp corner of the wooden puzzles that were stacked neatly (normally) underneath the crib. I'm sure it hurt. But I wasn't worried about that. I was worried that I was going to be in trouble. "Dad's going to kill me." 

My situation was obviously less dire than John's, though it did necessitate a trek to the Emergency Room. Three stitches later, and I was patched up fairly well. John spent five months in the hospital recovering from his burns and has endured multiple surgeries. The worst I had to endure was my physician grandfather attempting to remove the stitches in my parents' family room a few weeks later. There's still a faint scar, but you really have to squint to see it. John's scars are profound. 

Still, when he shared today that his immediate concern — despite his horrific injuries — was his father being upset with him, it connected with me instantly. I remember that feeling. And it's not lost on me — nor, I suspect, most who share John's faith — the import of a Father's love and the fear and shame of feeling as though you've let Him down. The worry that you've screwed things up so badly that there's no way you could be forgiven. And yet, we are. 

Jesus Wept

John spoke throughout his message today about weeping — tears he himself has cried and others have cried for him. Tears of anguish, but also tears of joy, when the sense of redemption washed over him. "Your life is a precious, priceless gift. With that gift, you have a single job now: It is to say 'Yes' to being used for good." 

RELATED: My Father's Daughter

Keeping the Faith: Keep Playing

I'd already connected with John's story on multiple levels, as noted above — and I promise, you will, too. But then, at the end, John, with his precious and priceless gift, gave a precious and priceless gift to me: a love note from my Dad. 

My Dad wasn't one to outright say his "I love you's." He showed his love rather than speaking it. One of the ways he showed it was by sending me funny little notes — often newspaper comic clippings with a note scrawled across the bottom in his inscrutable handwriting. I could generally decipher it with some effort. Typically, they were signed, "Love, Dad," or "Love, Dear Old Dad." 

Dad wasn't all that great a singer, though he fancied himself one while in the shower. Turn that water on, and Luciano Pavarotti was treating us to a private performance as we could hear him bellowing out some operatic-sounding bit throughout the house. He'd sing the hymns in church, too, and, like many, "Amazing Grace" was his favorite. I can never hear it and not think of my Dad. 

And so, this morning, to wrap up his truly beautiful message, John O'Leary, who lost his fingers in a fire almost 40 years ago, sat and played a song on the piano: "Amazing Grace," it was. And I knew — as sure as I've known at any point since my Dad left us over five years ago — that he was here with me. Just sending a little love note and reminder of a father's love. And of our Father's love. 

And I wept — not in sadness or grief, but for the sheer joy of having known my Dad and having been once again reminded of it. 

Soul on Fire

As predicted above, I've not even come remotely close to doing justice to John's message today. I've not touched on the inspiration he also received from his Mom — or from the friendship he developed with Jack and Joe Buck. I promise you, much as I've ever promised y'all anything, you will not regret taking the time to watch and listen to John's message. 

Even more will have a chance to watch and hear his story sometime later this fall, as "Soul on Fire" is set to be released by Sony's "Affirm Films" in October. I know I'll be there to watch it when it comes out. 

And I expect it'll give me something to cry about. In the best of ways.