Not all fathers are heroic but I'm unmovable in my conviction we are all meant to be. And that we can be.
I witnessed it myself in the remarkable story of my father. It’s likely my dad’s greatest lesson for me was when he taught me how to jump.
Some might suggest 2021 has not gotten off to a great start. And I might agree. I'm not alone I don't think. A popular meme right now commiserates "'I'd like to cancel my subscription to 2021... the 7-day trial is enough".
In any case we have an invitation to continue learning what we were invited to learn last year - that hope in anything but God is foolish. For our future preservation in tough circumstances we simply must learn to find our souls some better footing than to place our hope in a year, a person, a nation or an earthly outcome.
"That could never happen. This is the U.S.A." -said almost everyone just a few months ago.
The world is getting its eyes opened. Nation by nation, kingdom by kingdom, the powers of evil have been working quite secretly to secure power and bring the world into chaos and darkness. It's like in the great movies, only it's real.
Can we handle this much reality?
Like our heroes, could this be our finest hour?
I love seeing how through random relationships with kingdom minded men and women, the Father has outlasted my resistance. He continues to shock me with the intimate way He offers himself in both fathering and friendship. Somewhere along the way in the journey of my becoming a son, the Wild Goose called me into a relationship with a wildly glorious Russian saint,
When I was 10 years old I payed good money to see Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark nine (9) times in the theater. Regular price was a whopping $1.25 but the matinee was only $.75, leaving money for a soda. That Summer I carried a makeshift whip at my side and changed my name to Indiana.
There are moments when beauty hurts. Sitting with my bare feet in the cold running water I watched my kids frolic. We'd been here catching bugs and other critters for a while to stretch our legs after hundreds of miles on the road. We needed to carry on if we wanted to cross the continental divide while it was still light. But this small stream had exactly what I wanted.
I was by myself with the windows down in Big Bend National Park. Mine was the only car on the highway, meandering through painfully beautiful landscapes and listening to a playlist I created for just such quintessential Texas moments. With the red granite cliffs of the Chisos Mountains to the left of me and the desert to the right and in front of me, the imposing landscape begged to be complemented with loud music from the masters of Texas songwriting:
“Step again, old man. Breathe.”. That's what my head kept telling me to do. So I did. Thousands of times. The hypnotic voice talked me up to 14,255 feet where the air is thin (compared to San Antonio) and the view is...indescribable. It was like being in an airplane, except that it was cold and windy and you had plenty of legroom (but without the desire to move your legs any more).