Sunday, June 17, 2012
It wasn't planned, but it worked out perfectly, that I would be with my Dad this summer on Father's Day. Serendipity.
Never knew my bio Dad, but that never mattered...the Dad I know has always been my Dad. I suggested church ( he is a faithful, I am not. I prefer the Church of Harley Davidson on Sunday) and brunch. I dragged myself out of bed after the Warehousians reunion didn't wrap up until 1am Sunday morning...but thats okay, because withouth the alcohol and illegal substances, partying is not nearly as debilitating as it used to be.
Christ Community Church is nestled in between the cornfields in Grant County;cornfields that are parched and thirsty due to the lack of rainfall this year. My Dad has many friends at the church and it was almost embarrasing as he proudly introduced me to everyone of them, making the rounds of the growing Sunday crowd in the sanctuary. I met Frances, Dorothy, Sue, Bill.....and on and on. Each one making sure they reminded me what a 'gem'my Dad was....this I already know, afterall, he raised me, but I guess they felt compelled to remind me on this special day.
As we took our seat (fourth row from the stage, in the center, left side of the pew, dont mess with the faithful's seating arrangements on a Sunday morning, regardless of the denomination), I settled in and listened to snippets of conversation around me...it had to do with so and so's recent or pending surgery, how so and so is fearful of their crop this year due to lack of rain, isn't it amazing how many beans are already on the kitchen garden plants, look at so and so's grand daughter hasn't she gotten big? I hear she's driving now, doesn't seem possible, and dozens of similar conversations going on around me....the fabric of life that a church congregation feels responsible for weaving.
This being a non-denominational church (but smacking of Baptist all over the place), serves up a healthy helping of God mixed with electric guitars, a monster drum set (and I KNOW the drummer has rock n roll in his veins), a quartet up front, piano, organ, and the ubiquitous choir (sans robes....shocking for this Presbyterian). The sermon begins with a long list of 'prayer concerns' being read, then the 'faithful' are called to the alter (where boxes of tissues are conveniently stashed at kneeling level) to pray...I guess God listens better the closer you are to the alter in a suplicating position.
The pastor talked about Dads, he has a folksy, good 'ole boy way of delivering the word of God, sneeks it right under your nose while you are chuckling at his jokes. I like this guy, until he tells me that if 'you dont believe in MY God, you dont believe in God,' this is precisely why I joined the Church of Harley Davidson on Sundays; I can talk to the God of my understanding without criticism, hypocrisy, or judgment. Thank you very much; but on this day, I listen and nod because my Dad beleives just like Pastor Tom believes and thats okay with me.
After the service, I connect with an old friend of mine since second grade; we all too quickly have to catch up on our lives as she scoops her grandson from the nursery....great to see you Debbie!!!
Dad and I head to Cracker Barrel for brunch; and we both agree, it was a good way to spend a Dad's Day!!
July 3, 2013 Typical Pennsylvania Road I always hate saying ‘Goodbye’ to my Dad. He won’t travel since Mom passed several years ago, which means I don’t see him except in the summer when I travel North - or every few years during the Holidays. I’ve learned many things from my Dad; some of the lessons came hard, some of the lessons were difficult, and unfortunately, most of the lessons were learned much later in life. Had I paid attention the first time, my journey would not have been as rough, and my ability to grasp the many opportunities presented to me would have been easier. As my Dad and I both age, we get a long better, and our relationship had deepened after my Mom passed...for this I am grateful. I left Indiana early this morning - taking 35S - the fields were shrouded in a chilly mist as the sun cast a pinkish glow to the East. I was filled with anticipation that I was going to see Frank Lloyd Wright’s ‘Falling Water’ home south of Pittsburgh. Wh...
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