Memories ...
This past week was full of them, as I leafed through scrapbooks, photo albums, and steamer trunks. As I was part and parcel of two memorial services: one at a national cemetery, and one at a retirement home.
It is a shame that all of our earthly life would boil down to scraps in a garage. When our children must go through our possessions, it might be just as well to hire a truck and haul it all away. Sad.
To have Father's Day on the heels of the memorials for my dad is just too poignant.
The siblings and I heard glowing remembrances from his friends at the retirement center and the church he had chosen to attend. Unfortunately, that was the persona he showed to the outside world. We knew someone totally different.
"A great listener." To us ... don't argue with him because he will not listen.
"Generous." To us ... all the money spent on strangers and his family forgotten.
"A friend to all." To us ... nebulous at best.
"Always there for you." To us ... never there for us.
Double life. Duplicitous. Those were how we knew him. So when the glowing remembrances ended with the "minister" saying, "I'll bet you kids were so proud to have a dad like that...", we admittedly looked at each other and rolled our eyes.
Now, when I say he lived a double life, I mean that in many senses of the phrase. After he had strokes, he did become more affectionate with family ... to a degree. But in all our growing up years, he was extremely guarded with any affection. Most emotional memories are stained negatively, not positively.
So, although the photos and writings may have shown the world one side of my dad, the one the family remembers is ... absence, distrust, clandestine meetings, disease, Mom's tears.
He lived such a hidden life apart from our family that he no doubt used his "religiosity" to cover it. He was always liberal theologically, but after retiring from the chaplaincy he whole-heartedly embraced any denomination (and attended several) that leaned far from biblical truth.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating, that I'm eternally grateful that Dad went into the Air Force as a chaplain. God used OTHER chaplains to speak biblical truth into our lives, as chaplains rotated preaching schedules on each base. While my father spoke from written and read notes, other chaplains spoke from a heart devoted to Jesus and God's Word. The difference became crystal clear.
Try as you might, you cannot change truth by continually believing a lie. The truth remains.
And so do the memories, even though softened by time.
