Father's Day

This Father's Day afternoon was spent going through quite a few things that belonged to my late father. Some of that stuff has been sitting in our basement for 2 1/2 years. My husband did not force me to face all those memories before I was ready. I needed time and healing to be able to endure such a task. I was amazed that I could get rid of so much. Almost everything, in fact.

Oh sure, there are some things I won't be giving up, like the cross he wore that was made out of 5 nails to symbolize the 5 wounds of Christ on the cross; or dozens of sermon tapes that I hope to digitize and share with my family; or his library books (many of them, anyway); or the guitar he played when singing us to sleep; or his favorite pair of cowboy boots. Yes, I wanted to keep the cowboy boots. Surely anyone who knew him can understand that.

With the passage of time, the memory of my father is still vivid, and letting "things" go, I now realize, does not threaten those memories. If anything, the burden of mere "stuff" clouds the legacy of the man who is no longer here to use it, but is rather enjoying the treasures he stored up in Heaven. I miss my earthly father every day, but he is in the presence of my Heavenly Father.

And with a hope like that, I have much to be thankful for this Father's Day.

Invisible Fruit

Is it appropriate to ask someone how their faith is doing? Or to ask someone how someone else's faith is doing? I'm not even sure how to answer when I am asked these questions; "Well, on a scale of 1 to 10 I'd put young Sally at about a 2 1/2, while Fred over there is a solid 7."

I'm not sure if I really get it. I was brought up to believe that only God can see a man's heart, so we must go by what a he confesses. After all, no one can say, "Jesus is Lord," except by the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 12:3b). Faith is to bear fruit. I think fruit includes confession. We discern from what is spoken (see Matt. 15:18-19) or confessed, and what is done (see James 2). If a person claims to be a Christian but insists on speaking and living in a way that brings shame to himself and the Church, aren't we right to question the state of that person's faith? After all, how could church discipline be practiced if such judgements could not be made?

And yet it can be a very dangerous thing to judge another sinner with our imperfect judgement (see Matt. 7:1-5). Keep in mind that one does not go from being a babe to a mighty warrior in the Faith overnight. And even mighty warriors are capable of terrible sins.

But look at it from the flip side; haven't we all known Christians whom we admired for their bold and steadfast faith? What was it that triggered that admiration? Perhaps it was something they said or how they behaved (i.e., their works) during a particular situation or trial. Or perhaps their faith became apparent to you over time as you witnessed how they lived their lives in humble service to Christ and His Church. However it happened, I'm quite certain you didn't just sense a vibe. Their faith was shown to you in some way.

I don't think that asking someone how their faith or the faith of someone close to them is will be a part of my regular conversation starters any time soon. But encountering people who do make such queries has made me consider the role of works in the Christian life. Deep down, I do expect more from someone who calls himself a Christian. It has no bearing on their justification; that's not the issue here. But if one can't, or even shouldn't, take note of the works in a Christian's life, then we might as well grow trees that bear invisible fruit (cf. Matt. 7:15-20).

On this, his birthday...

My dad would have been 56 today.

If things had turned out differently, we might have had a party. My mom might have cooked his favorite: prime rib. I might have unearthed my old (and very limited) cake decorating supplies to bake him a chocolate cake with chocolate icing to eat with chocolate ice cream topped with chocolate fudge. The family might have chipped in to buy him a special gift. I might have been sitting at my usual spot at the kitchen table next to him while we talked theology until well after midnight.

But things didn't turn out differently. Instead, I am having a glass of his favorite scotch (Balvenie) in honor of his memory. It was actually his bottle, come to think of it. Thanks, Dad.

In those turbulent high school years I saw my dad as my rock, my steady anchor and support in that raging sea of stereotypical teenage angst. I could tell him anything, ask him anything, and he would drop what he was doing to be what a father should be. Now he is gone, and try as I might, sometimes I can't help but feel alone. It doesn't make sense. I have a wonderful husband, a caring family, and supportive Christian friends. But that connection - that deep understanding I shared with my dad and no one else - that is gone.

A friend and mentor explained to me recently that the Lord sometimes takes our idols away from us. Perhaps that is what God has done here for me. Now my dad is with Jesus, and my heart and mind are more frequently drawn to Him than they ever were.

That is, I believe, what my dad would want. The cross was his life. He constantly pointed others to Christ. In his death, I am reminded that the Gospel gives life. My dad is forgiven, and so am I. When the Lord calls me home, what a happy reunion it will be.

Here's to you, Dad.

Proper Distinctions

Is sanctification Law or Gospel? This has been a topic of discussion in the Smith household for a few days now...

Distraction

I was ready for school to start. It's exciting to be working with older students. Even though it's more difficult, I find that reading about the political intrigues of the Italian Renaissance is much more enjoyable than figuring out how to teach 7-year-olds what sounds "th" makes.

But there is a different way in which I was looking forward to school. It provides me with a built-in distraction from so many burdens. I don't mean to complain because, yes, things could be a lot worse and, yes, despite my cares I am still immensely blessed. Yet to acknowledge that doesn't flip a magical switch and remove the sadness that I carry.

The story is that when Martin Luther was depressed, he threw himself into his work. I definitely think it's more desirable to do that than to sit around and wallow in self-pity. If I'm focusing on something worthwhile, something immediate, and something emotionally neutral, then I'm NOT focusing on sorrow, and pain, and loss. How can that be a bad thing?

A couple of nights ago as I was falling asleep, I was thinking about what happens when I stop and step back from my work. Where has my distraction led me? I take my head out of the sand and the crosses I bear are as real as ever. What's worse is that in using my job as a set of blinders to take my eyes off of the hurt I risk blinding myself to the good things in life. A long walk in cool twilight. New songs on the radio. Enjoying a drink and cigar on the deck with my husband. The pleasure of rambling about whatever strikes my fancy at my computer. Picking garden ripe tomatoes. The joy of decorating my house. A thoughtful gift from a good friend.

Yes, I was looking forward to school for its value as a distraction. I'm sure it will remain a temptation for me to treat it as one. But I need to remind myself that it's not worth taking my eyes off of what is important.

Calculators are Magic!

School has been in session for one week today. This time last year I was in a daze, a fog of insensibility brought on by the overwhelming realization that I don't know anything! It's one thing to go to school and earn a degree, but try teaching children - of any age - something...anything. Maybe it's just me, but the more I teach, the more I have to come to terms with my own ignorance. It's quite humbling, actually.

But today was a little different. Today I actually taught my algebra 1 students something: scientific calculators do fractions. I had taken for granted that they knew how to use their calculators. "I wish we could do fractions on this thing," one girl said. "You can," I said, half thinking she was making a very weird joke. I guess I thought people were born knowing how to use a calculator.

I know it's just a little thing, but the light bulbs that went on for those kids when they realized how to enter "five-ninths" into their calculators without having to make it a decimal was oddly rewarding for me. "This thing was SO worth six bucks!" according to one boy. Yes, that was my triumph of the day. Now if only I could get that to happen with an actual lesson...