Talking to My Dad About Nothing
When I was 21, I collapsed unconscious onto the kitchen floor of my childhood home. My father scooped me up and carried me to my bedroom and I cried because I thought that I was dying. I was a week into a break from college because I had a mysterious illness that doctors couldn’t identify.
This year I am 34, and I wanted to write a book. I told you about it back in December. I was all geared up for a series of Happy Stories About Hard Things. But like 2013, I have been sick. It’s different this time, and I don’t think that I’m dying. But I still haven’t been able to bring myself to write here. Instead, it’s been a season of listening and learning. A season in conversation with those around me.
I’ve conversed with doctors and experts and friends. I’ve talked to myself in my car listening to podcasts and devotionals. But I’ve also been talking to my Dad.
Sometimes we talk about the Braves, or his golf trip, or a movie we’ve both seen, or the World Cup and how Erling Haaland might not be human. But mostly we just talk about the day.
My work and his.
People we’ve talked to.
How my Mom’s doing.
And in the midst of my sickness, those talks have been a balm for my soul. Because it has stirred me to talk with our shared Father as well.
My work and His.
People we’ve talked to.
How my Mom’s doing.
I talk some and mostly I listen. And in the midst of my sickness I learn to “keep myself in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life” (Jude 1:21).
And I learn to appreciate my sick life because “this is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24).
I’ll keep talking to my Dad, even if it’s about nothing, because it’s good for my soul.
And one day He’ll scoop me up and carry me, but I won’t cry because I won’t be scared.
I’ll be home.
