Creating Moments and Memories --- While You Can

To celebrate their 50^th wedding anniversary we flew them to Canada, First Class. We met them at the Calgary airport as they arrived, helping them navigate Customs and collect their luggage. Then we escorted them on a week-long tour of the Canadian Rockies, all expenses paid.

They were 73 and 71 years young at the time, still vital enough to enjoy the journey. Dad had been injured a few years earlier in a hit-and-run; his replacement joints and sockets couldn’t manage long bursts of hiking. Mom’s arthritis hindered her a bit too. We did a lot of our traveling by car, with short strolls to scenic vistas. With a bit of encouragement from us they rode a tramway to the top of a Banff peak, thrilling to the sights below.

It was the trip of a lifetime for both of them; they talked about it for more than a decade until Mom’s sudden passing. Mom died two months ago today; it still seems surreal. We spent those last difficult days and weeks in hospital rooms and rehab centers, running errands for the two of them and doing anything possible to make things more manageable and serene.

Looking back --- we recognize the value of doing things for those you love --- while you can. We saved for most of a year to pull off the anniversary trip. Used some hotel points and some airline miles, then blazed through a stack of carefully hoarded cash. But regardless of our total expenses, the value of the trip was “priceless.” We knew it then; we are even more certain of it today.

Mom’s in heaven now. We assume her eternal surroundings look pretty much like the Canadian Rockies. We’ve seen much of the world so far --- 42 nations and counting --- and we’ve witnessed a lot of beauty.  Switzerland, Austria and many other places are awe-inspiring. But for sheer scenic beauty it’s hard to top the vistas along the Bow Valley Parkway through Canada’s Rocky Mountains.

Here’s a pic of Mom and Dad, one of our favorite photos of them. They’re standing on a bridge in Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada. They’re happy, relaxed --- going places they’ve never gone, seeing things they’ve never seen. We sacrificed a lot to make it possible for them; we would do it again in a heartbeat.

Who do you love, and how might you choose to express what you feel? The journey of life is fragile and quickly over; this present life is comes down to intentionality and setting priorities. Do what you can, while you can.  Tomorrow is uncertain; the only thing you own for certain is today.

Teaching My Dad to Shave

            Forty years ago, give or take a whisker, my father taught me how to shave. We stood at the big sink in the hall bath, both of our razors at the ready. My dad, a vintage straight-blade man, showed me how to hold the handle at an angle, how to glide across my face instead of slicing. His hands steady, Dad was the very picture of confidence.

            Me, not so much. I had waited so long for this moment, only to discover that I was clumsy with a razor. I was introduced to the styptic pencil, a painful invention that somehow worked miracles despite the sting. I learned how to tear off the smallest piece of tissue, loft it onto a fresh wound, and wait for the blood to congeal behind it.

            I sliced and diced a lot, but eventually I learned how to shave. Mostly I wondered why I had wasted so much time looking forward to this ritual. For what? So I could carve open a fresh wound, sting myself with a wax pencil, then go off on my date with a scar?

            Shaving is so overrated.

            All of those memories came flooding back on Wednesday morning as I stepped into my father’s small apartment in suburban Kansas City. It’s a tidy place every Sunday evening, after my wife and I have finished the laundry, washed the dishes, and picked up the week’s mess. Then we kiss dad goodbye, shut the door, and the apartment swiftly reverts to its normal chaos.

            Wednesday, as we made our regular midweek appearance, Dad greeted us at the door unshaven. Paul Newman’s eyes with white wisps of beard clinging to his shaggy chin. “Dad,” I chided him gently, “maybe it’s time for a shave.”

            Expecting to find him this way, I was carrying a new shaver mixed in with the week’s groceries --- an electric appliance hidden among the hot dogs and Easy Mac. “Dad,” I told him, “I think maybe shaving would be easier with this.” I pulled the shaver out of its plastic cocoon and set it down on the table beside him.

            Dad picked it up, admiring its heft and design. “This is a Norelco,” Dad beamed, “I can tell by the three heads.” He bounced it back and forth in his hands a bit, smiling.

            A few wobbly steps on the worn carpet and there we stood, in the hall bath of his seniors-only apartment. I plugged in the new shaver and showed Dad how to work the pop-out trimmer on the side. “Use this on the longer stuff,” I advised him. “Then when you’re down to just the stubble, let those three heads do the work.”

            Dad grinned at that, and I saw my youthful self in his face. Tentative, maybe a little uncertain, but happy to be learning a new ritual. We were back in our usual places, but this time our roles had switched up a little.

This time I was the confident one, calmly playing the part of teacher and mentor.  I showed Dad a few tricks of the electric shaving trade, then wisely got out of his way. Dad is a man --- older and slower but no less a man than he’s ever been. He takes direction well, but he’ll want to figure this stuff out on his own. That’s what we men do.

That’s what I did, all those years ago, and it’s worked out pretty well overall. We men study and learn, but after a point we end up figuring things out on our own, by trial and error, by stupidity and repetition, by consequences and outcomes.

Dad will be a pro with his new razor soon, I have no doubt.

He’ll find some unshaven guy, somewhere down there on the second floor, and Dad will tell the guy he really ought to get a Norelco. And before the guy can even defend himself, Dad will be telling him exactly how the thing works, step by step.

Calm and confident, Dad will use his natural gifts as a teacher.

A mentor’s work is never done.

A Faithful Servant Goes Home

Standing along the shore of a beautiful Wisconsin lake on a perfect fall day, I smile at the groom as both of us wait for the bride to descend to the grassy lawn. All eyes turn in the same direction --- atop a long wooden flight of stairs, a bride will appear --- radiant and beautiful on her special day.

She won't be alone when we see her. On her arm will be the dad who has raised her, the Godly man who has been an example to this bride, and to all of us --- devoted husband, loving father, loyal churchman, mission-minded believer. We are eager to see the bride today, but we also want to watch her father beam with evident pride.

We've rehearsed all this on the day before, and it went well --- more casual, a little more

laughter, a few pranks. Today is

the wedding and even the littlest cousins are on their best behavior. There's room for good humor, but also room for respect. We are counting our blessings as we unite Hunter and Meghan in happy and lasting union. Even the weather cooperates; answered prayers.

Two loving family circles and a great group of supportive friends have gathered here for a wedding celebration. This is a time for joy.

In those first few moments after learning that Paul Dennis was gone, God took our thoughts to the weddings ---- Jeremy's wedding, Meghan's wedding. Lisa and I were praying for Lori and Jeremy and Meghan --- and almost instantly, God brought the two weddings into our thoughts and prayers. Right there in our grief, not fully understanding what was happening, we stopped and just thanked God that Paul lived to see both of his children grow into adulthood, marry wisely, and form families of their own.

So many brides walk down the aisle alone, never having known the love of a father. So many grooms grow up without a Godly male example to respect and follow. Meghan and Jeremy grew up with a warm and wonderful dad who loved God, loved his wife, loved his kids, and loved helping others --- at home or far away. Paul Dennis showed us what Godly manhood looks like --- humility, service to others, faithfulness to marriage and family, compassion for those in need.

Paul has gone home. It seems too soon, too early --- Paul seems too young. We must trust the timing of our Heavenly Father even though we don't understand the why and the when. As for the where --- well, that was Paul. He served on so many trips to so many places --- always showing up, always helping, always caring, always giving, always loving --- it seems natural for him to go home while serving and helping in a faraway land. Those trips defined his life among us.

Paul has crossed the finish line. He lived to see his kids grown and married; he lived to share his son, give away his daughter, and welcome two new adults into the family circle. He saw a lot, gave a lot, lived a lot --- and now he's gone home.

He leaves a legacy that all of us will respect and remember. And there is no doubt that Paul crossed the finish line and was welcomed into the arms of a loving Heavenly Father. There is no doubt that Paul heard, as he entered his heart's true home: "Well done, good and faithful servant."