Tuesday, November 13, 2007
My daddy died in February, and even now, there are so many times I wish I could talk to him. Nobody loved me like my daddy. It wasn't perfect love, but it was daddy love and nobody calls me baby in quite the same way he did, or makes it okay for me to be his little girl.
Sometimes I read things and I want to call him share and talk about it. Once, when I couldn't find my keys and Ken got mad at me for losing ANOTHER set, I prayed that Jesus would help me find them. To be honest I asked St. Anthony for some intercessory prayer on this matter, as well as St. Anne. I heard they're prayers are helpful when you lose things, especially important things. And since I'd gotten so chatty soliciting the prayers of people who were in heaven, I went ahead and asked Daddy to talk to Jesus about it, too. Ha! St. James! I don't think the Holy Spirit would have gotten them mixed up--the more the merrier! You can't have too many friends in high places. I just knew he'd tell the Lord, "She's kind of a goofball, but she gets it from me. Will you please help her find those keys, Jesus?"
Not that Jesus needs help hearing our prayers. I just think We belong to each other, on earth as it is in heaven. And praying for one another is what we do.
I did find my keys! And before Ken had to change the locks. AGAIN. I think those prayers were instrumental in touching Ken's heart, too. I'm telling you, that man was not gonna let me have any more keys!
Yeah. I miss Daddy.
Lots of times I've wanted to ask him about all of this Catholic stuff. He was Catholic once, and he missed it, but he didn't like all the Latin. I'll bet I could tell him how a part of me feels like I'd be betraying my Orthodox friends if I switched, but I'm certain, CERTAIN, he'd give me the assurance that God wouldn't be mad at me for wanting to serve Him better. He'd see my heart in this. He wouldn't think this was more restless wandering.
I think he'd give me permission. He'd tell me to follow where Jesus and my heart led me. I think he'd let me know that life is too short to get caught up in minutiae, and if being Roman Catholic floats my boat, then do it, because the water gets rough.
But still, it would feel so good to hear his take on all this. This man who despite his drug habit, made sure he and my mother had me baptized shortly after coming home from the hospital (I was a preemie, and stayed six weeks, until my weight went up to five pounds). And here's the irony, I was baptized Roman Catholic. Don't think the humor of that is lost on me.
Grace and peace,