I’ve seen dreams that move the mountains/Hope that doesn’t
ever end/Even when the sky is falling/And I’ve seen miracles just happen/silent
prayers get answered/Broken hearts become brand new/That’s what faith can do.
Those lyrics from Kutless’s song “That’s What Faith Can Do”
are the words I would use to describe a moment 35 years in the making—the day
my Dad and I went hiking. You may scoff and say I’m being over-dramatic, but it
was a poignant moment with the significance not lost on either one of us.
“Dad, want to go hiking with me next week?”
“Sure, I would love to. When?”“Let me check my work schedule and I’ll see when I’m off.”
“We can go to South Mountain.”
“Actually, I think we should go to Crowder’s Mountain.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ve never, ever been there in my
entire life.”
“Sounds like a plan Stan,” and with those words our plans
were signed, sealed and delivered . . . a Dad/son outing just the two of us. I
was so excited, considering my Dad and I have never gone and done anything just
the two of us not counting going to watch the Carolina Panthers play when I was
a sports editor and he was my photographer for the Lincoln Times-News. My Dad, who is now one of my best friends and biggest supporters, and I weren’t close growing up. As is often the case, with being a product of divorce, I saw him every other weekend. I knew he loved me and he knew I loved him. We remained in each other’s prayers, but we loved each other from a distance. I know I speak for both of us when I say we were selfish . . . there were times where we were hurt from the other’s actions . . . and we wanted that relationship more than anything in the world, yet too disobedient and stubborn to take even the proverbially hard first step.
I’ve seen dreams that climb the mountain (move the mountains). That’s what that day was—a dream that came true. A blue-eyed, blonde-headed boy’s dream coming to fruition as a brown-headed, albeit with a receding hair line, grown-man. While that moment was WAY TOO LONG in the making, it happened because of faith. Hope that doesn’t ever end/even when the sky is falling/And I’ve seen miracles just happen/silent prayers get answered . . . our hope never ended that we would one day have the type of closeness we both desired. We always maintained faith that God would not only wash away all the past hurt, and bitterness, in His perfect grace and Son’s blood, but that He would restore our relationship in a way ONLY He, the Restorer of all things, can.
Under the loving touch of Papa, God has restored our relationship before doing something even more amazing building it stronger than ever before. It’s no coincidence Jesus was a carpenter in His younger days! There is simply nothing too broken in His hands. He is the ultimate Frank the Fixer! And that’s what our faith, mixed with deep longings of two neglected hearts, did once they met Jehovah Rapha.
My uncle, my Dad’s older (68) brother Bob, from his death bed, texted these words, “ Have a great hike with your Dad tomorrow. Love and prayers! June 3, 2014 4:06 p.m.
Although my anticipation had reached a fever pitch, that thoughtfulness in the form of 47 letters and 11 words, let me know something special was on the horizon.
There we sat, after driving 25 minutes, in the parking lot as my Dad tearfully expressed his gratitude for this special day. I said little. . . but as he sobbed, I joined him with joyful tears running over in my heart, my eyes teared up. It was a moment I’ll never forget. Two men forsaking their egos and exchanging machismo for humbled gratitude. . . it was beauty that would make Heidi Klum blush.
We made the 2.8 trek up the mountain. Though I wouldn’t call the terrain treacherous, it was challenging in spots. My Dad and I took pictures along the way—of the Timber rattlesnake we prayerfully were protected from, of the scenery, the rocks, the lush trees, the billowing clouds, the challenging trail. When we made it to the top, we had a picnic. My Dad had my favorite—a peanut butter and jelly and some potato chips. Even though, we were only on top of the mountain, we were on top of the world!
ONLY GOD is capable of orchestrating this moment. I soaked it all in like a sponge, attempting to absorb an entire ocean drop by drop—the cool breeze, the sun’s warmth, the Creator’s beauty and my Dad . . . a man who used to resemble a stranger, who now is one of my best friends, my mentor, one of my heroes and brother. I listened to his words. It wasn’t so much what was said. It was the magical instant, sitting on those rocks where we were just ‘there’ in complete silence. There are few twinkles of time as special, familiar and filled with contentment than that of silence shared—not uncomfortable or awkward—between friends. It’s magical. When any need to utter a single syllable is swept away like the quietest tornado.
Broken hearts become brand new/That’s what faith can do.
In the past 10 years, my Dad has endured much pain, grief and sorrow. Lost two kids, 16 and 22, a marriage, all three of his brothers and nearly his life, twice, and while he has every reason to bitter, he’s learned how to focus on the restored life God has given him-- a true helpmate, encouraging partner and best friend his wife Gracie, his health, a Kingdom family, two kids who appreciate him more than ever before and eyes that no longer are blind—eyes full of sight with a heart full of love. His broken heart has become brand new!
Each step up that mountain and each imprint back down, I was that blue-eyed little boy again. The hike was in some ways the completion of a rite of passage into manhood, for me, but it was the exclamation point of God’s full restoration.
There is NOTHING too broken for Jesus. It doesn’t matter how fractured a relationship, or hopeless the situation, is. In the hands of a miracle-working God , the impossible becomes more than we could have ever hoped, dreamed of or prayed for. My Dad’s heart is literally, spiritually and physically, brand new. He had triple-bypass a year ago and he died on the table for seven and a half minutes.
I marveled at my Dad’s endurance, how good of shape, especially from a cardiovascular standpoint, he is in, but more so, I marveled at God’s faithfulness. See, His delay does not equal His denial, but we often throw up the white flag by ceasing to pray it—whatever it is—through! Never lose faith or grow weary. God has a plan and it’s PERFECT. It doesn’t mean it won’t contain hurt, deep sadness and frustration, but it does mean all of the tragedies bring about the sweetest death, our self-reliance, and births something even more beautiful—our trust in Jesus.
When I was a kid, I thought my Dad could rope the moon. He wasn’t physically big in terms of stature, but, in my eyes, he was. Now, he’s the smallest he’s ever been, 160 pounds, but he is a mountain of a man. I do not focus on how much weight as he’s lost as much as I focus on how much wisdom, fierce-allegiance and deep-rooted intimacy in Christ he’s gained. That’s what makes a MAN.
It’s not how big your muscles are, how many beers you can drink, women you can slay or how much money you make. The true measure of a man is found in realizing all you have is weakness and all God has is strength, so in finding yourself to be puny, you find He is STRONG—stronger than you ever realized! In your life, you may feel like God is nothing more than a Friend turned Stranger, like He’s not loving and that He doesn’t meet your needs, but life is worth the living just because He lives!
We made it to the top of the mountain, which was sweet indeed, but day-by-day, moment-by-precious-moment, we press forward to the Promise Land and, with each step, we find the one thing that makes life worth living . . . the Promise Land is beautiful, and while fulfilling, it’s ugly and empty compared to the Author of the journey! And miracles? They are the work of His righteous hand, but not what makes Him GREAT!
