My Father

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Tonight at a Bible study, a guy asked who at the group was a child of missionaries. No hands went up. Preachers, next. One and a half hands went up (she was not dismembered, just indecisive). Elders, a few. Deacons, a WHOLE bunch.

First off, I hope that the order that he used does not betray a hierarchy that many people seem to hold in the importance of those roles. Secondly, I was taken aback for a moment at how many of these very dear and good-hearted people were raised in a house where Jesus was clearly a priority. One guy, Mark, even mentioned how his father was his own biggest encourager, as well as an inspiration to live up to.

My father is not a Christian. He is a wonderful man with such a big heart, but he has never seen the import of "religion," besides being grateful for "what it has done" for other family members.

As soon as I got baptized, I remember how I got to work! I just about wore out my knees asking God to "soften Dad's heart," to "open his eyes/heart/etc.," to "work in him." And I asked Dad to come to church one morning when I was going to read a poem I wrote.

He came, and I daydreamed of his tearful admission that he wanted to be baptized, that he wanted to put his faith in Jesus. And later that night, I couldn't wait and asked him if he wanted to come again the next Sunday.

He told me, with more than a little sadness in his eyes, that it wasn't for him.

But I kept praying.

Now I don't even know if such a prayer is worth the words. I don't think that is how God works, springing into someone's heart and doing all the tidying up and changing without cooperation or even the volition of the man, like Calvinists think.

But I want to pray these words. Because I want God to save my Dad. Because I want him to be in heaven. Because he deserves it more than I could, and yet God would stoop to embrace a mess like me. And, because I am afraid to talk to him and want God to do all the work himself.

Because how could a mess like me show the glory of God?