We were at the doctor’s office because of a fall. Honestly, I thought he was having a stroke when he couldn’t touch his nose, but it was dehydration again.
The doctor had called paramedics to help me get him to the hospital when all of a sudden he broke out into a full belt of the tenor part to Holy Holy Holy. It filled the hall of the clinic. He didn’t want to go to the hospital, so he started singing?
He was eighty-six and a handful, and though for the moment I was a little uncomfortable, I didn’t say, “Shh, Dad, can you hold it down?”
But when paramedics walked into the room all decked out in their full firemen’s gear complete with helmets, he stopped. “Well,” he said, “I better not mess around with these guys. I’ll do what they say!” But it was okay to mess with me?
Oh Dad, if you were still here, i would say, “Remember the day you read me my first Bible story? You were sitting in your black winged chair—a contemporary design for the contemporary architect. I sat on a wing as you told me the story of Joseph, the favorite son with a slew of jealous brothers.”
I would tell him how that was the beginning of learning to love God’s Love Letter. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate his life than to give thanks that this prodigal returned home.
I miss him every day but I have a funny feeling about this eternal life thing, that we’re never really apart, that according to God’s plan we’re never more than one memory, one thought, one wink, or one wing away. And one day we’ll all be together again. And then there will be no paramedics! 😉
Bill Wenzler 2.9.29 – 6.29.16