For what is your life? It is even as a vapor which
appears for a little while but then vanishes away.
James 4:14
The Bible, in its logical and honest way, portrays life as something like a vapor or mist, which is visible for a little while, but then it's gone...
appears for a little while but then vanishes away.
James 4:14
The Bible, in its logical and honest way, portrays life as something like a vapor or mist, which is visible for a little while, but then it's gone...
And isn't it true? Life is brief. Our time on earth, when compared with eternity, is as a grain of sand on the seashore.
But also true is that our lives, if lived wisely, can be like the fragrance of a flower, something which casts a sweet aroma that may linger long after we're gone. Such is the case with my father. As today marks one year since he passed away at the age of 101.
One year later and my tears continue to flow. You see, my Dad was a very special person. Friendly, kindhearted and easygoing, many sought his wisdom and advice. He was a hard worker, too, and a dedicated family man who did his best to provide for his wife, and his only child, me.
Like most fathers, his dream was to see me finish school, get married, raise my own family and live a good life. And he hoped as well to be a proud grandfather one day. He longed for the joy of having a bunch of grandkids at his feet, taking them out for ice cream the way he often did with me. But life isn't always so serene and simple.
Unfortunately, for my father and me, I was to experience many years of emotional turbulence along with a host of other adolescent-type struggles. I battled depression. I was a stubborn and rebellious child. I was distant and remote, as well, and my strange behaviors caused him much grief. It affected my mother in the same way. Inexplicably, I would spurn their love, causing my parents to shed many tears. This was my self-destructive nature at work.
Then, when I was arrested at the age of twenty-four, my father was devastated and heartbroken. What had happened to his beloved son, he wanted to know. It was all so senseless. For my father, it was a nightmare.
Yet, my dad never stopped loving me or believing in me. He never rejected or disowned me for my crimes, or for ruining so many lives, including my own. He was a true encourager who stuck with me until the end.
But also true is that our lives, if lived wisely, can be like the fragrance of a flower, something which casts a sweet aroma that may linger long after we're gone. Such is the case with my father. As today marks one year since he passed away at the age of 101.
One year later and my tears continue to flow. You see, my Dad was a very special person. Friendly, kindhearted and easygoing, many sought his wisdom and advice. He was a hard worker, too, and a dedicated family man who did his best to provide for his wife, and his only child, me.
Like most fathers, his dream was to see me finish school, get married, raise my own family and live a good life. And he hoped as well to be a proud grandfather one day. He longed for the joy of having a bunch of grandkids at his feet, taking them out for ice cream the way he often did with me. But life isn't always so serene and simple.
Unfortunately, for my father and me, I was to experience many years of emotional turbulence along with a host of other adolescent-type struggles. I battled depression. I was a stubborn and rebellious child. I was distant and remote, as well, and my strange behaviors caused him much grief. It affected my mother in the same way. Inexplicably, I would spurn their love, causing my parents to shed many tears. This was my self-destructive nature at work.
Then, when I was arrested at the age of twenty-four, my father was devastated and heartbroken. What had happened to his beloved son, he wanted to know. It was all so senseless. For my father, it was a nightmare.
Yet, my dad never stopped loving me or believing in me. He never rejected or disowned me for my crimes, or for ruining so many lives, including my own. He was a true encourager who stuck with me until the end.
| Frankly, my dad, as a Jew, could teach many Christians about true forgiveness by the way he lived, even by the way he continued to treat me. From the outset he found it in his heart to forgive me, a son who brought him much public shame. And my Dad never allowed bitterness or unforgiveness to poison his spirit. He held no grudges toward me and he demonstrated lots of compassion. All told, I'm a blessed man. "I love you, dad. I miss you very much!" D.B. |  |
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