Oh my, Tresta, tears welled up as I read this essay about your dad.... such a cross of beauty and truth and grief. The power of place is a real thing and who knows but that your dad and Eugene Peterson's paths crossed once.... And the gift of knowing that your dad's place was cared for by a company owned by Christians is indeed a comfort.
My mother died of cancer when she was 55, I was 31. When she was in the ER at UCLA where we'd taken her because of her pain, I was told in no uncertain terms there would be no talk of Jesus at her memorial service (although my brother the pastor could do the service). Years before she'd accepted Jesus but the ensuing difficulties of her life buried that decision and in the end she seemed resigned to a hard life. However, seeds had been planted along the way by my brother and I, many prayers prayed on her behalf.
I wasn't with her when she finally passed as I had to return from SoCal to our home in the Central Valley in CA, but my sister recounted what she witnessed right at the end of mom's life. She'd been in a coma for several days and my sister and her husband had been keeping vigil. L. glanced at my mom in her hospital bed and my mother's eyes blinked open, a tear rolled down her cheek and she looked at my sister and said, "Sorry," and she was gone.
I've hung on to that last scene all these years, confident that my mother's spirit knew what the truth was, that a single word "sorry" summed up all that was in her heart before she left this Earth.
We cling to hope and continue to be kind and "trust in the slow work of God" (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin).
It is a blessed work, my friend, one which you carry on well.
I found my way over to this post and then to the essay about your Dad from the note you left on my note, so thank you for leaving it.
It's so interesting that the words I've been trying to get to have overlapping themes with all that you've touched on. Earlier this week I was trying to write about my Dad and the hards part of his life and death but I wasn't sure my readers were prepared to have such a personal, vulnerable story dropped into their inbox. So I have been trying to find other angles to talk about grief this week. I'm not there yet.
Your essay was beautiful. I love that there was clearly something cathartic for you in writing it but also clearly something for your reader as well and isn't that what we are trying to do when we write-give something to ourselves AND others? Also somehow you managed to make this come out like an invitation rather than a shameful conviction- "these days I think a lot about how I might be that answer to someone else’s prayers. In what ways is my life a witness to those who refuse to listen to a loved voice anymore, who love a place but don’t know the God who created it?”
I just said something similar to my 18 year old son who was close to tears because his best friend is not a Christian and he worries-what if something bad happens tomorrow. "What if you don't have to have to right answers to her question about God", I asked him, "What if you are there in her life to love her unconditionally when everyone else in her life hasn't?"
Oh my goodness, your writing is filled with tenderness and hope, even in the midst of grief for your father. So beautiful! This paragraph especially stopped me in my tracks:
“I prayed for years that Dad would not be able to escape the goodness of God, and these days I think a lot about how I might be that answer to someone else’s prayers. In what ways is my life a witness to those who refuse to listen to a loved voice anymore, who love a place but don’t know the God who created it?”
Wow. May God use me, all of us, to be that voice in the lives He has planted us among. Thank you for sharing your heart so beautifully!
Tresta, sweet girl, this essay is beautiful and so on-time !
“ I prayed for years that Dad would not be able to escape the goodness of God, and these days I think a lot about how I might be that answer to someone else’s prayers. In what ways is my life a witness to those who refuse to listen to a loved voice anymore, who love a place but don’t know the God who created it?
The options left to us are to continue forcing truth on those who don’t want it, giving them fuel for their distrust and dislike, and holding debates—as if anyone was ever argued into the kingdom of God—or, to choose kindness. To trust in the work of the Spirit. A daily, repetitious dependence on the unspoken truth that is everywhere. ”
This particular passage resonates with my heart and confirms the direction the Lord has been leading. His ways are higher, and He is able! Thank you for sharing your story ❤️🔥
I’m trying not to sob. Dad said to me years ago, “you don’t try to convert me and I won’t try to convert you”. These words, friend, are such hope. God had done so much in healing our relationship and this essay is a huge hug and kindness from God. I am sorry for the loss of your dear dad and will continue to pray for your heart. My dad is literally on his way to Alaska and I am praying that he and my stepmom see God and know how very much He loves them. I’m so grateful for the relationship God has given me with both of them.
Tresta, I love how your essay embraces mystery. There is so much we don't know about what happens between Here and There. You make space for a very big God, and the love of your dad shines through so strongly. I get the sense he is with you as you celebrate the beauty of the natural world around you.
Oh my, Tresta, tears welled up as I read this essay about your dad.... such a cross of beauty and truth and grief. The power of place is a real thing and who knows but that your dad and Eugene Peterson's paths crossed once.... And the gift of knowing that your dad's place was cared for by a company owned by Christians is indeed a comfort.
My mother died of cancer when she was 55, I was 31. When she was in the ER at UCLA where we'd taken her because of her pain, I was told in no uncertain terms there would be no talk of Jesus at her memorial service (although my brother the pastor could do the service). Years before she'd accepted Jesus but the ensuing difficulties of her life buried that decision and in the end she seemed resigned to a hard life. However, seeds had been planted along the way by my brother and I, many prayers prayed on her behalf.
I wasn't with her when she finally passed as I had to return from SoCal to our home in the Central Valley in CA, but my sister recounted what she witnessed right at the end of mom's life. She'd been in a coma for several days and my sister and her husband had been keeping vigil. L. glanced at my mom in her hospital bed and my mother's eyes blinked open, a tear rolled down her cheek and she looked at my sister and said, "Sorry," and she was gone.
I've hung on to that last scene all these years, confident that my mother's spirit knew what the truth was, that a single word "sorry" summed up all that was in her heart before she left this Earth.
We cling to hope and continue to be kind and "trust in the slow work of God" (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin).
It is a blessed work, my friend, one which you carry on well.
Peace.
This was beautiful, and true, and holy. Thank you.
This is one of the best essays I read in a long time. Thank you for sharing this.
I found my way over to this post and then to the essay about your Dad from the note you left on my note, so thank you for leaving it.
It's so interesting that the words I've been trying to get to have overlapping themes with all that you've touched on. Earlier this week I was trying to write about my Dad and the hards part of his life and death but I wasn't sure my readers were prepared to have such a personal, vulnerable story dropped into their inbox. So I have been trying to find other angles to talk about grief this week. I'm not there yet.
Your essay was beautiful. I love that there was clearly something cathartic for you in writing it but also clearly something for your reader as well and isn't that what we are trying to do when we write-give something to ourselves AND others? Also somehow you managed to make this come out like an invitation rather than a shameful conviction- "these days I think a lot about how I might be that answer to someone else’s prayers. In what ways is my life a witness to those who refuse to listen to a loved voice anymore, who love a place but don’t know the God who created it?”
I just said something similar to my 18 year old son who was close to tears because his best friend is not a Christian and he worries-what if something bad happens tomorrow. "What if you don't have to have to right answers to her question about God", I asked him, "What if you are there in her life to love her unconditionally when everyone else in her life hasn't?"
Oh my goodness, your writing is filled with tenderness and hope, even in the midst of grief for your father. So beautiful! This paragraph especially stopped me in my tracks:
“I prayed for years that Dad would not be able to escape the goodness of God, and these days I think a lot about how I might be that answer to someone else’s prayers. In what ways is my life a witness to those who refuse to listen to a loved voice anymore, who love a place but don’t know the God who created it?”
Wow. May God use me, all of us, to be that voice in the lives He has planted us among. Thank you for sharing your heart so beautifully!
Tresta, sweet girl, this essay is beautiful and so on-time !
“ I prayed for years that Dad would not be able to escape the goodness of God, and these days I think a lot about how I might be that answer to someone else’s prayers. In what ways is my life a witness to those who refuse to listen to a loved voice anymore, who love a place but don’t know the God who created it?
The options left to us are to continue forcing truth on those who don’t want it, giving them fuel for their distrust and dislike, and holding debates—as if anyone was ever argued into the kingdom of God—or, to choose kindness. To trust in the work of the Spirit. A daily, repetitious dependence on the unspoken truth that is everywhere. ”
This particular passage resonates with my heart and confirms the direction the Lord has been leading. His ways are higher, and He is able! Thank you for sharing your story ❤️🔥
I’m trying not to sob. Dad said to me years ago, “you don’t try to convert me and I won’t try to convert you”. These words, friend, are such hope. God had done so much in healing our relationship and this essay is a huge hug and kindness from God. I am sorry for the loss of your dear dad and will continue to pray for your heart. My dad is literally on his way to Alaska and I am praying that he and my stepmom see God and know how very much He loves them. I’m so grateful for the relationship God has given me with both of them.
This was beautiful, Tresta. Thanks for sharing.
Tresta, I love how your essay embraces mystery. There is so much we don't know about what happens between Here and There. You make space for a very big God, and the love of your dad shines through so strongly. I get the sense he is with you as you celebrate the beauty of the natural world around you.