"Hitherto the Lord Has Helped Us"

For All Saints' Day, I decided to assemble a tribute to my father, now in Heaven for one year (which must be like a few seconds for him). I gathered may things that were part of his daily routine and tokens that we associate with him--like his guitar, his aftershave, his sunglasses, and a book--spread over one of his flannel shirts, which was part of his winter uniform. He was in the habit of writing reminder notes to himself and I included a note he wrote, with his distinctive block print, in the last week of his earthly life.

The truth from one of Dad's favorite passages:
"And this is the testimony, that God gave us eternal life and this life is in his Son." I John 5:11

Then Came October

October 26, 2002
San Antonio, Texas

This is my favorite picture of my father and me together on our birthday in 2002. I was attending a conference in San Atone. My parents flew in from Phoenix and my brother drove over from Houston to celebrate my father's 60th birthday.

A bright spot for this year: I know my father is alive and I know I will see him again. As a new year of life, God willing, is posed before me, I think of my own transit in time and of how much time has passed so quickly.

Everything is relative to eternity. This is truth freighted with hope which carries the years so swiftly. I'm grateful for the moments that I can recognize--not being particularly burdened by anything--that everything is a gift taking me closer to home.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

September

This is me and la madre at an event at her church.

When she gave me the picture, I immediately noticed the proptosis in my left eye, a trace from Graves Disease. It appears wider than the right one because it became slightly displaced in my illness and it will always be that way. It registered as a "what's wrong with this picture?" moment, and I pointed it out to Mom. She said, "I don't notice it." I know it's not that noticeable, and most days, I don't see it either unless I am really tired. But in this world full of mirrors, women know their own faces. After years of applying eyeliner and mascara, I know what my brain registers as normal.This woman knows that she used to look ever so slightly different.

Don't we all? I think we get an impression of how we look that is fixed in our younger years: a face that is free of the wear and tear of the years. A visage without sun damage, scars, sickness, signs of sleep deprivation, or even smile lines. We all used to look different, and still, we look like ourselves.

The face that I want to see someday is the one that has no traces of being part of a fallen world--the one that reflects the light from the face of Christ. I don't know if there will be mirrors in Heaven (I almost hope not), but that doesn't matter. I know I'll be able to see exactly what I'm looking for in the faces of you and you and you--my friends, my family, my God. We will all look different, and yet, we will all look like ourselves.

More from Dad's Letter

"My dear child, you have the opportunity to blossom into a magnificent instrument of the Lord. Do not compromise on the principles you have been taught from childhood. Although family and studies and life and living each have their importance, put God first in all things and hold forth the name of our Lord. . . . Remember what you have been taught. Remember me in your prayers. Do the best that you can in your studies and enjoy the circumstances that the Lord has provided for you."

Nostalgia

In late August many years ago, my parents left me at Hillsdale College in Michigan. I was a transfer student and it was my junior year. Our parting, on their wedding anniversary, was difficult. I had never seen my father shed a tear--not even when his mother died, but he cried at our goodbye. We knew we wouldn't see each other for four months.

My father wrote to me every week while I was away--every single week. I don't think he missed a week in the two years I was there. All my housemates came to expect to see the letter waiting for me on Saturday mornings.

I've been thinking of those letters since my dad died. I saved them all. Tonight, I finally pulled the file box out and found the first letter he sent. Here is some of what he said:

"I'm sure you know that leaving you was one of the hardest things I (and your mom) have ever had to do. Frankly, I didn't want to go but it was necessary. As result of our departure you were able to get on with what you needed to do--mainly adjust--which I am sure you are able to do. You are a good woman with a good head on your shoulders and I have no doubt that you will be very OK. I cried for you and I pray for you. You will show your class and do me proud."

I miss that man.

I have come to recognize that most of our adult lives are negotiating one adjustment after the other--the comings and goings, the births and deaths, the new years and the old. We make our deepest grooves, creating permanent spaces, in the love we give and receive from the heart.

What Became of the Seeds

Dahlia

Zinnia

Many, many weeks ago, I planted dahlia and zinnia seeds in my flower garden. Summer has turned the seeds from little sprouting plants to flowers. For this, I am very grateful. It is so hot and dry here in the desert, and I didn't know if I would see my hopes become anything. In a year of many firsts, I have my first flowers from seeds. They are a marvel to me. So intricate, transitory, and beautiful in the light of day. I count the small gains that have grown up in time.

Under the Influence

La Reine de Saba

On Monday, I was in search of a recipe in Bon Appetit and I came under the influence of the latest Julia Child craze. There on the website was a picture of a chocolate cake from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. My mom loves chocolate cake, so I copied the recipe and stuck it in a file for future reference. I didn't know that the cake was going to be in the film Julie and Julia, which Mom and I went to see yesterday. After we left the theater, Mom mentioned the cake. I told her I had the recipe.

"You do?" She was a little incredulous. I just happened to have all the ingredients on hand, but I didn't tell her. The name of the cake is translated the Queen of Sheba.

While Queen Mom was at work, I left a message on her voice mail this afternoon saying I had a surprise for her and that it was edible.

She liked it. It's hard not to rejoice at the marriage of chocolate, butter and eggs.