There are a few stories I could tell today, but this one rises to the forefront of my mind.
I was in sixth grade, and my basketball team was returning from a father and son outing to see the Nets play the Knicks at the Meadowlands. I can’t remember who won, but I certainly remember what happened on the way home. We were cruising back down the Garden State Parkway in a greyhound bus when the driver asked all the rowdy kids to quiet down and remain in their seats. It wasn’t a simple matter of his being distracted. There was a serious problem.
The bus’s accelerator was stuck, and the driver couldn’t slow it down. (No, Keanu Reeves does not enter this story).
As first, the kids (including myself) thought this was awesome, especially as we zoomed through our first toll booth. Our dads took it a bit more seriously, and as the adventure continued, their concerned looks convinced us that this was no laughing matter. I soon realized that unless something happened to slow the bus down, we would eventually run out of highway, and that would not be a good thing.
Our escapade continued for over an hour, complete with police cars racing ahead to clear the way. As I sat in my seat, I kept looking at my father, who was sitting next to me. While he seemed a bit concerned, he kept telling me not to worry, that things would be alright, smiling confidently as he spoke, which went a long way toward putting my mind at ease. Thankfully, after a while, the bus driver managed to regain control of the bus, and we arrived safely at our destination. When we did, the whole thing didn’t seem so bad – more like a grand adventure, one that I and the other kids were sure to brag about the next day at school.
But the most important part of this so-called adventure was what I overheard later that night. My Dad was talking to my Mom about what happened. As I said, on the bus, my Dad kept projecting an attitude of calm confidence. But when he talked to my Mom, all of that shattered. He had been really shaken up by the whole thing. He really thought that we were going to crash. And as I continued to listen (I was a bad little eavesdropper, I suppose), I heard my Dad say something I will never forget. He said, with his heart rising in his throat, that he had been ready to put me on the floor and wrap himself around me to protect me from being hurt in the crash. The words sank into my mind with lightning speed –my Dad was saying that if the bus had crashed, he would have been willing to put himself in a position to absorb the full impact of the disaster, giving up his own life in the process, in order to save mine.
Looking back, I can say this was one of the most impactful moments of my life. I already knew my Dad loved me. But to hear him say he was willing to give his life for me – that told me how much he loved me. And when you know that you are loved to that extent, well, that really changes the way you feel about yourself. That changes the way you feel about – everything. Life is never the same again once you know that someone sees you as worth dying for. It lets you know you are more than a little special in their eyes.
It was years before I communicated to my Father what that meant to me. But eventually I did. In the past few days, I had the opportunity to remind him. I credit my Dad, in this and other instances I could write about, for teaching me what the love of a father looks like. And I credit my Dad, in this and other instances I could write about, for teaching me what the love of God looks like. It looks like Calvary. It looks like a love willing to wrap itself around the beloved and absorb the full impact of a disaster, giving up its own life in the process in order to save the beloved.
Yeah, my Dad taught me that. In the love he showed to me, I saw the love of God.
Yesterday morning, I lost my Dad to Covid-19. We had suspected he had it for a week, and when the test came back positive, we knew there was a good chance that this would be it. As we talked again and again, my Dad remained my Dad. He never once seemed concerned about himself. His only concern was that the rest of his family was safe and well. And if he could have, he would have gladly wrapped himself around each of us, and absorbed the full impact of the disaster, to save even just one of us.
That was my Dad. And now, he is face to face with the One who wrapped his arms around him.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent