The following account is written to the hopeful and the hopeless-whichever category you may find yourself. To everything there is a season; a time for every purpose under heaven. With God all things are possible.
In the 1950's divorce was a serious matter. There was not an "irreconcilable differences" option. Before a judge could rule for the dissolution of such sacred vows, personal issues were made public in a court of law. Divorce was bitter, nasty and rare. My Italian-Catholic Mother and my Russian-Jewish Father divorced when I was two. Mommie was awarded the sole custody of the three of us children (Cris, Greg and myself) even though she still had a few wild oats to sow. My siblings went to live with our grandparents but I was much too young for them to care for especially since I was a sickly child. By my third birthday, I was miraculously placed with a family who loved me back to health. They became an integral part of my well-being. I was four years old when a man came to see me. I did not know who he was. I was told he was my Daddy yet I must never tell that he had been there. He brought me a transistor radio. I sat with him while his arms encircled me. I knew I loved him. Then he was gone. The number of times I can remember my Father being a part of my life, I can count on my fingers. And even though I was surrounded by righteous men, I cannot recount how many times my heart privately cried for my very own Daddy-the one I should have had the right to call Daddy. I did not see him again for at least six or seven years. By that time, I also was living with my grandparents. One afternoon my Poppa was standing in the driveway talking with some man. When I approached he asked if I knew who this person was. I diligently searched the face of a stranger. No, I did not have clue. "Are you sure?" he questioned. "Yes". Should I know? "This is your Father, Herman". I was stunned. He came upstairs for a brief visit and then he was gone. Years passed before I saw him next. He showed up for Cris's wedding apparently with the approval of my Mom. I had no idea she even knew of his whereabouts. By this time I was 19, already married then divorced with a two year daughter. Rebellious and angry, I was disillusioned by life, truth and most of all God. When my "Father" had the nerve to ask me where I had been all these years I went ballistic. Where had I been? Where the .... had he been? He was the adult. I was not responsible for keeping track of him. I unleashed upon him all the pain caused by his absence. Vulgar was my language and worse my obscene attitude. He disappeared again but I expected and welcomed it.
Later that year my life forever changed. I thought I was alright but I wasn't. My world was dark. The future only held the surety of death. I selfishly lived for whatever temporal pleasure that would distract me from my grim sentence. I declared war against God. I perceived Him as harsh, ignorant and most likely mythical. My finiteness however proved no match for His infiniteness. My rage would not weaken His mercy. My blind hatred could not diminish His grace. In spite of my unwillingness, God unveiled Himself for me. He declared to me His name-the name of Jesus. He was and is Savior and Salvation for all mankind -for me. I accepted His sovereignty. I could do nothing less. He rescued me from Hades. His abounding love allowed me to abundantly live. His incredible forgiveness taught me to graciously forgive.
Doctor Dobson founder of the "Focus on the Family" ministry will never know the impact his "Father's Day" broadcast had on this thirty year old kid. I listened as children of all ages paid tribute to their fathers. I sobbed the whole program. I longed for my elusive Dad. I regretted the harsh words and my unbridled rebellion. I doubted that reconciliation would ever be possible but still I needed to apologize. I longed for my Dad to know the One that caused this change. I wrote of my conversion hoping he might see the Lord's awesome work so skillfully wrought in my life. I secured the address of his parents from my Mom and sent the letter. I did not expect a reply. I did not receive one.
Years later, Greg, tracked down a work number for Herman and made the call. He discovered that Herman, during his second marriage, adopted two daughters he raised from their birth as his own. He was currently married to a much younger oriental woman he met in China where he had been teaching. They had been married for 30 years though they lived apart. They had no children of their own but had "adopted" 13 girls. Herman was now a proclaimed Buddhist. He promised to call Greg and arrange a time to get together. They lived amazing close in proximity. Greg did not hear back. He wrote him off while I had a million questions.
For my 50th birthday I contacted Herman. The conversation was strained as I introduced myself. I told him it was my birthday and this call was a present to me from me. I assured him I did not want anything from him other than to get to know him some. I continued to contact him periodically during the year at his workplace. He never offered his personal number. On my 51st birthday however, I received a phone call on my answering machine from him. "This is your Father. Happy Birthday Baby I love you". I was elated. For the next couple years I continued with non -intrusive phone calls. I pursued him gently not wanting to scare him away. I suggested he contact Greg. He always promised he would but never did. Cris was adamant she wanted no part of him. I did not care. I wanted him no matter how little of himself he gave. To his credit, he did remember to call me for my birthdays.
I traveled to California from Colorado to visit family and included Herman on my stops. My husband Bruce & I met him at his work. I was struck by how much resemblance there was between him and Greg. He certainly could not deny that boy was his own flesh and blood. The visit was brief. He showed us around the massive machinery that was his life's work. He never so much as offered me a cup of coffee or invited me to his home but still I was content. More years passed. The next time we went to California I brought Greg and his wife to meet our Dad. Herman was recently retired due to poor health. His legs were giving him trouble making it hard for him to walk but his mind was keen. Greg and Herman immediately became Father and Son. They were two peas in a pod. If you saw one, you saw the other.
Cris was not taken in so readily. Whenever I spoke of Herman she still wanted no part of him. On her 59th birthday Herman left another message that he wanted me to wish her a happy birthday anonymously. I played her the message. She heard his voice and immediately relented. The next month she went out to California to spend some long overdue yet precious time with her Dad.
November 2011 was the year Chris was turning 60. Greg and Dad (who was now 84 years old) flew out as the ultimate surprise!!!! Our Dad was introduced for the first time to his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He had a huge amount of family here in Colorado ready to embrace him. It was a very special full week. Not only did we have that huge surprise birthday party, two days later was Thanksgiving. We did sightseeing and celebrating. We even attended a concert of my beautiful talented friend Stephanie Pauline.
My Dad took sick the Saturday morning he was to depart as did Bruce. I drove my brother to the airport by myself at 5 am. I returned home to a very ill man. My Dad was feverish and dazed and confused. He mistook the trash can repeatedly for the toilet. It was a mess and I was mess. I already was spent from the week long activities. My emotional state had me reeling and rocking. I had just sworn to my Dad I was willing to care for him the rest of his days and here at the first sign of complications I was ready to crumble. I felt ashamed. I prayed for the Lord to give me the strength to endure. I woke Dad up every couple of hours to hydrate him. I cleaned up the urine. He returned to health over the next two days. I never mentioned the scope of his illness to him. He was to fly back at the end of the week but until then I had my Daddy mainly to myself. Those remaining days turned out to be the biggest blessing for me. My Dad and I talked and shared. Many questions were answered. The thirteen girls were sponsored adoptions from Vietnam. I learned about my grandparents, his protectiveness for his little brother and the trials of being a young American Jew in the wake of World War 11. He related how the divorce devastated him because he wasn't allowed to see his kids. We enjoyed classic movies together while I rested my head against him. He loved our backyard with the feeders and variety of birds. He loved the front yard with the majestic view of Pike's Peak. He listened to Bruce sing and play acoustic guitar. My Dad read my poetry with perception. He asked for copies of his great grandsons' art work. He went shopping with me even though he had to stay in the car while I ran in the Mall to purchase Hanukah dresses for my granddaughters. We got his hair cut. I purchased his favorite foods including the German brand of Black Forest gummy bears he liked. I bought him thermals, new t-shirts and warm comfortable slippers. I filled a glass of water nightly to soak his dentures in. I helped him with his socks. I tucked an hundred dollar bill in his wallet and packed kosher holiday candies in his suitcase. I made a photo album for him featuring his Colorado family. He encouraged Bruce to build raging fires in the wood burner. He cuddled our toothless little dachshund Tillie. He shared the bed with Moses our big grey Tabby. Best of all, he listened to our favorite Pastor preach the new covenant gospel of grace. He absorbed it all. He fit right in.
During the week Dad revealed his health concerns. He confessed he had been spitting up blood and was scheduled for some test upon his return. He knew he could not live alone much longer. We discussed him making a permanent move to Colorado. I vowed to take care of him. I meant it for I truly fell in love with my Dad that week. One evening I asked if we could anoint him with Holy Oil. "Do you understand Dad that I am anointing you in the name of the Son of God, Jesus who died for your sins and rose from the grave and has secured for you eternal life?" "I have no problem with that" was his unabashed reply. I looked toward Bruce. He too realized the significance of my Dad's acknowledgement. Using two weeks' time, the Lord restored to me my Daddy not only for this fleeting lifetime but for all eternity. The impossible had been made possible.
My Daddy and I drove to the airport together. If I ever doubted his love for me, I did not now. He tangibly beamed with pride as he told the flight assistant "This is my daughter". The good bye was hard. I cried all the way home and over the next weeks. I did have his promise to return in July.
My Dad entered the hospital for testing in March. He never left. He had an aggressive cancer. I called him several times while he was in hospice. The night before he passed he managed a weak "I love you baby. I'll talk with you tomorrow." I was unsettled in my spirit. I had not said what I really wanted to tell him. I called early in the morning before work. He listened as I bawled. "Don't try to speak Daddy. I know it is too hard. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. I want you to know you are the best Dad ever. Just rest Dad. Jesus will carry you through this. I know we will all be together-you, Cris, Greg and me. I love you Daddy". I received the call an hour later my Father had passed.
I remembered the kindness of the Lord. His mercy endures forever. Thank you, Lord, for my Daddy.
Why do we support non-profits like More than Music? Because God is using this ministry to touch the hearts and lives of people in need. Because they are doing what we can't do, and they can't do what they do without us!
