Carry On
for Dad
The preacher punctuated: The Son. Could do nothing. Apart from. The Father.
For a moment I understood the Galilean for I believe I can do nothing apart
from my father, my father who daily intercedes on my behalf, my father who will
be one year older in a fistful of days, my father who every Friday morning leads the
old folks who’ve lost their minds in songs they’ll never forget.
Someone once said I write what my father dreams. Maybe that’s what Jesus did,
he wrote what the Father dreamed, maybe that’s why he was called the Word. Maybe.
I don’t know. All I know is that for years I have commended myself into my father’s
hands and unless I am something more than a man, which I am not, I too will one day
feel the dereliction on this side of the stormy banks.
Until then my father keeps dreaming. Until then I keep on writing. And until then
their hearts will go on singing – those men and women with skin like Japanese rice paper
who lean forward once a week, near the end of the week, in their death chairs to recall
a land that is fairer than day. They cannot remember such music on their own
for they. would sing nothing. apart from. my father.
eyes = leaking. I used to work in “old people’s homes”. Folks there always hold a special place in my heart. Bless your dad.
Wow. and also? you are so very blessed to have such a father. as my children are.
John . . .honestly brother, my heart hardly knows what to do with your words. It seems as though every time I read a ‘fistful’ of them, I ache with the aroma of deep earthy glory — the unquestionable breath of the Father. I guess I just say “thanks” for making me double over with the gut-ache of glory. Odd. Thanksgiving stretches further than we might imagine!
You write what your father dreams – what an image. More powerful still is the picture you paint here of a true saint, someone who does the good, common, godly work of encouragement day after day. And as the daughter and DIL of two residents of that ethereal sphere of cognitive loss, I say God bless your dad. And you, too, for writing it down.
Holy Moly! Great as usual. Thanks again John Blase. Amazing Grace.
I did not have a father like this…you are blessed and so are those that sing with him…and Japanese rice paper…wow, I am a fan now and look forward to your postings. Please keep dreaming.
John, I love your father and miss him deeply since we moved from Nashville. I am one of the countless which he impacted. Never met a shepherd who loved his flock more.
Sometimes, I start to write responses to you, pause, erase… and then just end up saying “Wow.” Happy Birthday to your Daddy. = ) I’m so blessed for his influence on you.
John,
“One of my two Beloved Sons, in whom I am well-pleased”!
Love,
Dad
Incredible, John. I’m stunned to the core with the beauty of “Maybe that’s what Jesus did,
he wrote what the Father dreamed, maybe that’s why he was called the Word.” Thank you!