This is a copy of a note that I posted on my Facebook page two years ago. As the "note" says, it is a direct copy from my journal the day I found out his cancer was terminal. Sunday, March 25th will be the three year anniversary of my dad's passing-I still miss him.
This was taken from my Journal dated 2-2-09 the day that we found out my dad’s cancer was terminal.
When I was younger I spent a great deal more time with my dad than I do now, and although we do not spend as much time together as we did in those days when I was younger, I like to think our visits now are of greater quality. Every moment we have together now is spent talking of the Lord, the work He is doing in our lives, and how He uses each of us to reach others. There are not many other people who have fanned so vigorously the flames of the Holy Spirit in my life than my dad. Our discussions over the past several years have helped shape my pastoral and teaching styles as well as lead to my own personal growth.
When I look back on our time together and all of our many adventures (and sometimes misadventures) the greatest memories are always of camping and hiking. Anyone who has ever back-packed with my dad knows that he is notorious for stretching the truth when it comes to distance. The man, it always seemed, had no concept of distance or sometimes time. If you were to ever ask him—after what seemed like hours of walking—‘how much further?’, he would always respond with one of several answers: ‘Just over this hill’, ‘one more turn’, the always popular and vague ‘maybe another ½ mile or so’, or my personal catch all favorite ‘just a little further.’ ‘How much further?’ I would ask. ‘Just a little further son, just a little further.’
As I look back on our hiking adventures—through the lens of time—and the understanding that only comes from being a parent, I think maybe he wasn’t stretching the truth. To him the end of our time together was always too close—always just around the turn or just over the next hill, the truth was he never wanted our time to end. Maybe neither of us were every ready for our hikes to be over. An awkward ‘man-hug’ the quick ‘love you’ and the separation for another week or two—or maybe three. You see I think when we were apart—when I wasn’t there, that was the longest trip for him. At those times the distance seemed unbearable—days felt like weeks and hours felt like days; until once again we found ourselves on a familiar trail—and me asking ‘How much further dad?’ From up ahead the answer would come back ‘Just a little further son—just a little further.’
I miss the walks with my dad—but I will always treasure the lessons that I learned from him: that time with your children and those you love is precious. I also take comfort in our recent talks—of my spiritual growth and his role in my discipleship. I know that it is just a little further now, maybe around this hill—or the next and we will be together again and this time our walk will never end.
When I was younger I spent a great deal more time with my dad than I do now, and although we do not spend as much time together as we did in those days when I was younger, I like to think our visits now are of greater quality. Every moment we have together now is spent talking of the Lord, the work He is doing in our lives, and how He uses each of us to reach others. There are not many other people who have fanned so vigorously the flames of the Holy Spirit in my life than my dad. Our discussions over the past several years have helped shape my pastoral and teaching styles as well as lead to my own personal growth.
When I look back on our time together and all of our many adventures (and sometimes misadventures) the greatest memories are always of camping and hiking. Anyone who has ever back-packed with my dad knows that he is notorious for stretching the truth when it comes to distance. The man, it always seemed, had no concept of distance or sometimes time. If you were to ever ask him—after what seemed like hours of walking—‘how much further?’, he would always respond with one of several answers: ‘Just over this hill’, ‘one more turn’, the always popular and vague ‘maybe another ½ mile or so’, or my personal catch all favorite ‘just a little further.’ ‘How much further?’ I would ask. ‘Just a little further son, just a little further.’
As I look back on our hiking adventures—through the lens of time—and the understanding that only comes from being a parent, I think maybe he wasn’t stretching the truth. To him the end of our time together was always too close—always just around the turn or just over the next hill, the truth was he never wanted our time to end. Maybe neither of us were every ready for our hikes to be over. An awkward ‘man-hug’ the quick ‘love you’ and the separation for another week or two—or maybe three. You see I think when we were apart—when I wasn’t there, that was the longest trip for him. At those times the distance seemed unbearable—days felt like weeks and hours felt like days; until once again we found ourselves on a familiar trail—and me asking ‘How much further dad?’ From up ahead the answer would come back ‘Just a little further son—just a little further.’
I miss the walks with my dad—but I will always treasure the lessons that I learned from him: that time with your children and those you love is precious. I also take comfort in our recent talks—of my spiritual growth and his role in my discipleship. I know that it is just a little further now, maybe around this hill—or the next and we will be together again and this time our walk will never end.
