Living at home

My father

Five years ago today, I had my last conversation in this life with my Daddy.

I don’t remember the exact last words my father spoke to me, though I do remember his last words in general. Lying in his bed, he must have been imagining his funeral in the days to come. Being the practical Yankee that he was, this didn’t bother him. Being the man in charge that he also was, he had an idea. “David,” he said to my husband, “I’ve been thinking. They could probably play Taps at my funeral. Yeah, that’d be good.”

So I don’t remember his last words, but I do remember his last message to me. Taking care of some little thing for him, I stopped and knelt next to his chair, put my head on his chest and asked him to say my name. When I was a little girl, I used to love to lay my head on his great big barrel chest and listen to his voice rumble. I wanted that comfort one more time. With my head on his chest, five years ago, Daddy patted my head and held me close. And I heard the big voice, now small and fading, say “You were the apple of my eye. No regrets, Marla. No regrets.”

I knew what he meant, because it was a message he’d preached his whole life. Live in such a way that when you reach the end of your life, you know you’ve lived it to your best. No regrets. Dad knew his future, and the One who held it, and he was confident and unafraid. What a legacy.

That amazing affirmation of who I was (the apple of his eye) and how to live (no regrets) did so much to  bring me back to the center of my being. With the love of my earthly father secure, I’d also learned the love of my heavenly father. And the full trust, knowledge that I was precious, and sense of close attachment to my heavenly father is what created in me the deep-seated sense that all was well. Even while my earthly father, the center of our family, was getting ready to leave us. All was well.

And all is well.

That’s what having a home does for you: it creates the core space in your being that keeps you centered, focused. But in order to create that centering, that absolute conviction that you are loved and vital, filled with God’s power and purpose, you MUST create that inward home. The reality of Christ living IN you creates and fills that void.

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I feel lost and alone.”

“You don’t know how damaged I am.”

“I don’t want to trust people anymore.”

These are the cries of hearts that haven’t found their home, haven’t begun to live out of the center of a Father who loves them, affirms them, nurtures them, protects them.

I’m thankful for my Dad, for his unbelievable presence and stability, and the example he set for all of us. I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to hit the mark that he set for us. And if I do, that will be a worthwhile use of my time. But more than Dad, I’m thankful for the Father that he showed me. I’m thankful for knowing that there’s something bigger, better out there to live for. And that God, who is so loving and so omnipresent and all-knowing that he eclipses all else, He loves me.

I’m the apple of his eye.

Tagged as: Bud Johnson, center, community, Dad, death, Elbridge S. Johnson, faith, fathers, home