Four Years

It's four years now since my dad passed away.

Dad wasn't perfect. There were hurts in our family while I was growing up, as a result of some of Dad's actions. Some of those wounds were healed before he died, and for that I am most grateful.

He never gave any indication that he was a believer, so that part is difficult. I never prayed so hard for him as I did when he lay in the hospital a half a country away from me in his last days. I have a calm about it now. I wouldn't go so far as to say a peace, but I don't freak out about it. I pray that God saved my dad from the jaws of eternal punishment at the last minute. Which is kind of funny now that I think about it, because my dad was always late for everything. Maybe, by God's grace, he barely squeaked into heaven.

You know, in a way I guess we ALL actually barely squeak into heaven. Based upon our own merit, none of us would be there. But then, for some unknown reason, God chooses us. Imperfect, sinful us. Plucked from the pit and raised up. A most amazing gift.