Some Good Dirt

My dad passed away one week ago today. Saturday we buried him.  It was a really nice funeral with lots of nice things being said about him and all of his accomplishments. He lived a full life and shared God's love with lots and lots of people from all around the globe and from different walks of life. It feels really good to have been lucky enough to have been his son.  If I only ever accomplish a smidgen of what he did on this earth, in my lifetime, I’ll be happy. 

But Dad wasn't perfect. He was opinionated and hardheaded, or maybe determined is more of a proper thing to say. He didn’t worry too much about what other people thought. That, along with being a dreamer and visionary, allowed him the ability to get things done.

As a kid growing up on the farm, it often felt like my siblings and I were tools that he would use to get done what he set out to accomplish. There were even those years in my teens and early twenties where I was bitter and angry about it. Maybe it wasn't the fact that I felt overworked and misused as much as it was that I felt like everything was about dad, and that I wasn't able to be my own self. It took awhile, but eventually I forgave him and through that, started seeing that everything he did wasn't just about himself, even though some of my perceptions were true. His identity was in Christ. Everything he did and everything he was passionate about, and even the person that he was, those were the things that God wanted him to use to share God's love with others.

Whether it happened during his years in war-torn Germany or earlier in life, I'm not sure. But somewhere along the way dad acquired a great love for God and a passion to share Jesus with everyone, especially the down and outers in his life. That became the drive behind everything he did. Farming was the vehicle that allowed him to preach, and also allowed him the ability to get out in the community. He wasn't always able to get the pieces of his life to fit perfectly together but he was determined and didn't let that get in the way of what he felt called to do.  Sometimes as a family, we suffered for it. But dad tried to make it right. He wanted to be a better dad. He gave each of us kids cows that we could raise and breed and create our own little herds on the farm, while he paid for the feed and all of the other expenses. We could sell them or do whatever we saw fit.  He even asked how he could be a better dad. I didn't respond. I just assumed that it couldn't be that hard to figure out how to be a better dad. 

And now I'm finding out that I've inherited or learned a lot of those traits and characteristics from Dad. Both the good and the bad. I've had my own experiences that have helped me see my faults, and helped me realize that I can't be good enough to earn my way to heaven and that only believing in Jesus gives me that ticket. Just like Dad. 

I've also learned that we were created for a purpose. Our bodies are basically made from dust and other properties that God breathes life into. The combination of our body and our personality and our mannerisms create the vehicle that our soul lives in while we're on this earth. Like Dad, I  believe that when we die our bodies go back to  the dirt and if we believe the gospel message of Christ, then our soul goes to heaven.

I've experienced God's love so deeply that I want my whole life to share God with others and just like Dad, I see my passions and interests as ways to do that.

And just like my dad, I get so determined and so dogmatic about doing what I think I'm supposed to be doing, that sometimes I hurt those around me. For me, it's writing outdoor stories with little tidbits of God's love sprinkled in here or there. To do that, I’m constantly looking for one more story, one more turkey, one more shed, one more adventurous story, just a little more time in the woods. And to make up for the lost time in the shop, I work a little later. And that takes time away from my family and that's when I start to find things getting out of whack. I'm trying hard to find that balance and just like Dad, I wish I was better at it. 

As we stood by the grave and the pastor said those words, “earth to earth, ashes to ashes and dust to dust”,  through my tears, I couldn't hold back the thought, “that must have been some good dirt”.