He is Curious – The Sequel (NOT!!!!)
The wonderful thing about conversation is that it curtails solo theories. It stops me following a path that becomes more and more convoluted when I walk it alone.
Yesterday’s piece “He Is Curious” … https://justmebeingcurious.com/2014/02/01/he-is-curious/
In my cleverness and enthusiasm, I wrote today’s piece: “He is Curious – The Sequel”. did that yesterday. All ready to go this morning. And it is a convoluted experience. Real to me, but a “you had to be there” kind of sequel moment. Terribly convoluted to others.
Fortunately Little Monk popped up a comment last night about the “need” week I blackboarded through. And my clever sequel was canned. Right then and there. Shelved for another time maybe. Or not.
Little Monk: The Hidden Agenda: 31st March 2013
We were “talking” about need, love, simplicity, father … The extension of his thought is that we have “no need to do.” Anything. Nothing at all: Father = father. Children = children. Love = love.
(Please read it. Words are important and I do not wish to add my interpretation to his thoughts or words)
My reply was that unless the lord walked me through this train of thought, please would he accept my caution. His loving response was …
And that sent to me to sleep thousands of miles away, right here, with a big grin on my face. Simple. Profound. Relevant.
So what has the lord been shifting whilst I slept? He has been shifting “stuff” as usual. And the result: Our Father. The end.
“Our Father” full stop. Father = father. Children = children. Love = love. Because for me and my stuff …
I had a father for many years. When I was a wee one, he was a strict daddy. We had rules. Us children played away from him a lot of times. Tennis balls, tricycles, cops and robbers, cowboys, explorers, rebels. We had discipline. We had the bible. We had bible reading notes. We had church. We had choir. We had confirmation. He was a father. He was our father. The only one we got.
And I left home, I did stuff. Had girlfriends, had jobs. But he was still my father. And mum was still my mum. And as we changed he changed. Less need of rules. More time for other stuff in his life. And he grew “gentler.” He giggled more. And he remained dad. Always had been, always would be. Always just dad.
We have an extended family. Others branches, other names. Other ways of doing stuff. Different priorities and memories. We never minded. They were still family. Our family. My family. We can trace back our family tree. And whilst it’s interesting, it’s not real. Today. Now. Here. Us. That is real. That is my family. And dad is always dad.
Then in my mid-forties and dad in his late seventies … We spent three months together he and I.
Dad was dying of cancer and lived alone. My moving in just sort of happened. My own wife and children picking up the pieces without me. My own brothers and sisters were all around as well. Financially, giving time, giving support, giving each other advice and breaks and help. Because that was energy sapping, emotionally sapping, financially sapping. Very sapping. It took so many giving so much to allow dad to stay in his home for those three months. And was so very, very rewarding. Then – and still now.
Because for the first time my dad became more that “dad”. For the first time my dad became Steve. Became the person he had always been. The human being with his own life. The life I had never seen. Never had more than glimpsed behind my label for him: Dad. Father. Forty years I had loved that guy. Forty years I had loved a label. Real love. Not pretend. And yet had never ever had need to see more that a shallow image of who he really was. He had never needed to show me more than that shallow image. Love didn’t need to get deep and complicated. He was our father. That was all.
Which is why those three months were such a gift.
(and is now an gift over which we, as brothers and sisters, both agree and disagree: who did and who didn’t, who saw “the person” best, who saw this way or that way or a completely different way …
And that for me is a great sadness. That we can slice and dice such a wonderful memory needing ours to the “only way.”)
That is what my lord has been doing whilst I slept.
Does any of this sound familiar to the God Stuff? “Our Father. Is.” And then the arguments start! The slice and dice. All of the “stuff” we love to hate.
So, dearest Little Monk, I think the lord and you have it. Not the same as me. Not exactly. But you know something? That doesn’t matter. I love hearing about your dad, because he just happens to be my dad. And I know you love hearing about my dad, because he is your dad.
None of us need to do anything. Other than be loved. Without conditions, or buts, no earn anything, without “doing”.
Except just like my own family dad, I would move mountains for him. Not because he would love me better. Not because I would love him better. Not for any reason. Other than he is My Father.
How about you?