For Those Missing Dad This Father's Day

Last night I listened to something that I guess I didn't think I would ever hear … or at least, not this soon.

I listened to my dad share a story about my father-in-law, Wes Bishop, in his church sermon.
One dad talking about the other.
My hero talking about my other hero.

But I guess that's not really the part that made it unique.

What made it unique was the tense my dad used when talking about Wes.
A tense I didn't think I would have to hear for a long time.
Past tense.

It's actually the tense we are all using these days when we talk about Wes.
Because a year and a half ago cancer began to take over, and 8 months ago we said goodbye.

It still doesn't feel right using past tense.
Past tense just doesn't make sense when talking about the ones you love, about the ones who have always been there.

I mean, wasn't he just here?

He was just going to Rangers games with his three boys.
Just washing dishes with his wife.
Just jogging around the Sweetwater High School football field.
Just mowing the lawn, eating Mexican food with Tim and Cherie, taking afternoon naps.
Just singing hymns in church, going to work and sipping coffee from the mug I gave him for Christmas.

He was just here.
And now he's not.

So this Father's Day is … well … different.
It comes with a buffet of emotions.
A main course of sadness with sides of frustration.
A pile of mashed confusion and a boiling pot of anger.
But then, there's some dessert too.
Some sweet gratitude, love and this one other emotion that I'm trying to eat more of ...
Hope.

Actually I think hope is more than an emotion.
I think it's a lifestyle, a gift, and as dad said last night in his sermon - it's a choice.

When you walk through pain, "you can either choose to press into the problem or press into God's promises," dad said.

You can choose to drown in despair or walk in hope.

So this Father's Day that feels a little uncomfortable, what if I chose to hope more?
Hope more in what God has promised.

When Wes passed, the lasts words that he listened to on earth were a promise from an old hymn that gently sings,

"And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own;And the joy we share as we tarry there,None other has ever known."

C. Austin Miles wrote these lyrics based on Mary's reaction when visiting the grave of Jesus that Sunday morning after he had died on a cross the Friday before. 
When she arrived, she saw an empty garden tomb. 
Jesus, her Savior, was and still is alive.
Jesus defeated death and promises to defeat death for all who put their hope in Him.

That's it. 
That's the hope.  

Hope in a risen Savior. 

It's the hope my sweet father-in-law chose to press into even in his final moments.

It's the hope my sweet dad has taught me not only from the church pulpit but in the carpool line, in my room while kissing me goodnight, around the dinner table, even in his text messages. 

So this Father's Day, I want to honor both of my dads.

I want to honor them by sharing the only thing that they taught me really matters. 

Sharing the hope that they have chosen to trust.

The hope of Jesus. 

I can't help but picture Wes during his first Father's Day in heaven.

Today he is living out those last words he heard on earth. 

He is walking with Jesus, talking with Jesus, tasting a joy I have never known.

Yes, this Father's Day comes with a buffet of emotions.

But as I choose to press into the promise of Jesus, press into the promise of eternity, I notice a difference. Instead of piling up seconds of sadness, I find myself walking over to the dessert. 

More hope please.