It is the dawn of the second anniversary of my father’s death. It will be the third Father’s Day without him. I still remember how surreal that phone call was. I had just laid down in bed. My father had been fighting an infection, and had a doctor’s appointment day after next. He had no history of medical problems. It seemed as though it might be the beginning of something bigger…and it was much bigger and faster than we thought. He laid down that night and died.
But what his artistry created still lives. The loons trill and I am far away; far away from grown up responsibilities, new jobs and writing deadlines. Instead I am inside my father’s imagination. Because he imagined a peaceful place of solace, and it spilled forth in the form of a home.
For most of his career, this real live apprentice of Frank Lloyd Wright gave the gift of his architectural skills to help non-profit organizations. His artist’s paintbrush was used on the canvas of other people’s dreams. But with one last stroke of his brush, he created a home that he designed and built for my mother and himself. It is a showcase of the artist that had been pushed aside for a lifetime; pushed aside in order to serve us with a paycheck, in order to serve others in their dreams, in order to serve God with His purposes and plans.
He got to spend one calendar year in the home he dreamed of.
Looking out of windows he watched leafy shadows dappled on green grass, and he saw everything explode into golden yellow like autumn fireworks.
He delighted in the heaviest snow in years as he viewed a real winter wonderland. He got excited with expectation when green pushed through rocky soil…but he never saw that summer’s life even though he fully expected to.
The light falls across the room, just the way he planned for it to and time stands still. In the freeze frame I am able to take inventory and really see what my life amounts to. Most of what I thought was important a moment ago, seems unimportant. All that matters is now, this holy moment. A holy moment provided by my both my fathers, both of whom are in Heaven.
And it’s a little heaven on earth. A preview of mansions to come.
When my parents married, he went on ahead of Mother, from Omaha to Chicago, to prepare a home for her. Before my father died, he prepared a beautiful dwelling for my mother to live in for the rest of her years in beauty and comfort. Now he has gone on before us to the Heavenly country, and I am certain that he and Jesus are preparing a place for us there as well.
It is frightening how a person can be here today and gone tomorrow…but my father has left a piece of himself that will be remembered for years to come, even after we are long gone. It makes me wonder about every house, who built it and why? Was the house built for love? My father’s house was.The walls were built with love and the life lived within them was built in love. And it all makes me wonder, what will remain of me when I am gone?
Won’t you join me on Fridays for a new series and linkup called, “Take Off Your Shoes, You’re On Holy Ground!”? Each week a post will be shared about the significance of a place and you will be able to share as well!! Just 1) Write a post about how a place has ministered to you. 2) Add your post to the linkup. 3) Add the button to your post. 4)Visit and encourage your neighbors!