A Christmas Letter to my Dad

Dear Dad:

It seems strange to write a letter to you like this. I mean, you’ve been gone now for the last two Christmases--this will be the third since you passed--and in many ways, life has moved on...as you told me it would, years ago. It's also strange to write this because you and I wrote each other very little.

And yet, tonight after Deena had gone to bed early, and I was wrapping the Christmas gifts, I found myself thinking of you. 

It still seems strange sometimes to go back home and not see you there. (Though there is a nice comfy chair there you’d love, I’m sure.) It’s really hard this time of year; I remember all the years you took pictures of us kids at the top of the stairs...and the year we all beat you to it. That flash had to be visible for a three mile radius! I remember bit and pieces from both birthdays and Christmases past: The 100 in 1 electronic kit, the Starfleet Academy manual (and Enterprise blueprints), and all the LEGO are still in my possession. (As well as more electronics, Star Trek books, and even LEGO than I ever thought I’d own in a lifetime.) Making stuffing, and having you taste it. Trips to Helen and Louie’s in the motor home. (Or, as Amy put it, “Barbie’s Dream Home.”) 

I’ve tried to hold up my end of the bargain. I promised to be a good son and watch Mom for you. I’ve tried to keep an eye on Mom without being a pest. You’d be proud of her; she gets around pretty good these days. She’s active enough, gets out of the house, and drives. She flies on her own, too. 

When we went to the Big Island, we had a GPS you’d have laughed at. My little unit butchered every Hawai’ian name. We all still laugh about it. (That, and trying to find Diamond Lil’s in Salt Lake City.) 

I’m still helping clean up the house as well...I’m going to want to discuss with you some of the more interesting findings. For example, I know you knew nobody was using serial bus ports on computers; USB connections work so much better. So why were there, what--a half dozen or so?--adaptors for serial busses? Plus the cables? 

I don’t even want to know why there were hundreds of 5 1/4 inch floppies. I do want to know where you hid the slides. Part of my early life is on those, and I’d really like to rediscover part of that. 

So many things. I know all the medals you earned in the Navy. I wish I knew how you earned them all. You never really talked about them, or much else of you Navy time. I understand why as a vet myself. I also never knew you cared much for baseball, much less were a Yankees fan. I know you never totally understood my tastes in music. (That’s okay...I never totally understood yours, either.) But you did instill a love of good music, which means I’ll never like rap. 

I also know you never could quite figure out what I saw in some of the girls I dated. That’s cool; you weren’t dating them...I was. You and Mom taught me to look past certain things, and see the person inside. I learned to see certain qualities I knew you and Mom didn’t see. That’s okay too. (I’m still trying to get the “being a good husband” thing down as well, and I am wondering if I’ll ever get it right. Even approaching 19 years of marriage--after 4 years of dating on top of that--I’m still trying to get things right.)

You’ve missed seeing me with the quartet. We have fun, and we do reasonably well. (We are getting better every week.) You watched me compete with barbershop choruses at all levels, yet due to work/guests from out of town (I don’t remember which) missed the only Command Performance I ever had in both intermediate and high school. That was hard for me to understand at the time. There were other things I never understood: how you could solve algebra in your head, and I couldn’t get the same answer twice. (And then there was the time I got one answer, you had another, the book had a third...and my instructor got a fourth answer and none of them matched.)

I remember when you told us as a family we might have a chance to live in Europe while you would be in the Middle East. As much as the education I would have gotten would have been a benefit, given the way things have turned out in the Middle East, it’s better that deal fell through.

You taught me to honor my commitments, even when not a pleasant thing to do. I guess that’s part of what pulled my butt through Moody and TEDS: I made a commitment, and by gar I wasn’t gonna quit. (No matter how badly I wanted to turn tail and run.) 

You taught me how to change a tire, spark plugs, headlights and taillights, several wiring harnesses, my own oil and oil filter, and the fuel filter. These days, I’m lucky if I can find the latch to open the hood. Changing my own oil is out of the question...no place to dump it. You also taught me to use the right tool for the job. 

In some ways, that’s a lesson I’m still learning; again this year I cut the wrapping paper for the gifts with my Swiss Army Knife. (Some things never change.) You’d have been proud of me. Yes, I still have a knife that weighs a ton. But hey--I’ve carried Swiss steel since 1976-77ish. Why stop now? 

As much as I miss you, though...I wouldn’t dream of asking you to come back here, even for a minute so I could say goodbye properly. Not only have you earned your rest, I couldn’t be that selfish to take you away from the presence of God Himself. 

And that brings me back to Christmas, and wrapping gifts. Yes, we celebrate the birth of Jesus this time of year. Knowing you’re with Him has helped--and continues to help--me deal with the fact you’re not going to be home for Christmas. It’s been hard to not find you something. I miss sending you e-mails and swapping jokes and puns. 

Mostly, though...I just miss you.

I’d better sign off now. It’s late, and I need to get some sleep. Give my love to everyone there. 

Love,

Matthew

Undergrad Memories....

This was due to be posted the 16th of May. I was busy--but a warm welcome to the newly-minted alumni of the Moody Bible Institute. If I had been a speaker at commencement, my remarks might have looked something like this:

Memory is a funny thing. When one goes through any given experience, one tends to maximize the positive, and minimize the negative. We do this with everything from past boyfriends or girlfriends, job situations (unless it was so fantastic or so miserable that is all we remember), or our schooling.

So it is with me.

I spent the better part of a week looking through drawers, boxes, tubs and more looking for my alumni pin from the Moody Bible Institute. (I got my BA in Pastoral Ministry there in 1991, and that was preceded by completing the Adult Open Bible Studies Certificate in 1990, after working on that since 1986 as a sailor.)

In and of itself, the pin has little value. It’s not much larger than a nickle, and was given to me upon graduating. (I have a second pin, with the old MBI logo, that is slightly older). It’s what the pin represents.

It represents, inasmuch as the degree I hold, three-plus years of hard work. (I took some classes over a summer, plus two correspondence courses--hence the “plus.”) Were those years perfect? Were they miserable?

No to both.

Oh, there were good times. My second and third year roommate and I got along famously. (Well, at least I thought we did.) Most of my brother floormates and I had some great times. The missus and I had our ups and downs there. I dated (?) two of my fellow students--and while those ended badly, I have long wished them both well and forgiven them (and pray that maybe someday, they’ll forgive me). There were lots of laughs, good times, and a lot of learning. Sometimes, I learned what was being taught in the classes, and sometimes...well, sometimes I learned a lot about myself.

Good times: trips all over Chicago. Eating at DB Kaplan’s Deli, Giordano’s Pizza, Mr. G’s, and yes, the late night Taco Bell and/or White Hen Pantry runs. Soda and snack runs on 2nd floor Culby. Shopping at Water Tower Place. Catching baseball games at Wrigley Field and the old Comiskey Park. Sunday church services at Covenant Presbyterian Church, followed by dinner in the Student Dining Room. Praying in Broman Chapel. Going to Founder’s Week was a treat.

There were bad times, too. All the breakups led to some unhappy, miserable, lonely days. I failed my first class--Theology 300, taught by Dr. Marvin E. Meyer--at Moody. Going to Founder’s Week was a chore. (You sit for three to four hours a day on wooden theatre seats in dress clothes and I defy you to tell me your buns aren’t sore.) I got used to being humiliated there. I almost took a swing at a fellow student there--it took several alert classmates to notice and keep me from completing what I started. I wanted to brain my first year roommate. (We have since made nice, and I hear from him on occasion.) I did take a swing at what I thought was drywall, only to discover that it was rebar reinforced concrete. I busted the knuckle on my pinky finger as a result, and learned that anger is much better managed than let loose. I had to take both PE and English again, even though I had taken them both at Los Medanos College, and passed with flying colors. I was 2100 miles from home, and in a totally different world. Planet? Heck, sometimes I felt like I was in a different galaxy! Many of my fellow students could go home on weekends or certain holidays. I was sort of stuck there on campus, along with many of our international students. In fact, sometimes I felt like an international student.

I wanted to quit at least once a semester. I was a transfer student that had successfully completed Navy “A” school and an A.A. I didn’t need to take this stuff. I certainly didn’t need an artificial curfew! (That was taken care of my final year there.) I didn’t care if Moody was the West Point of Christian Service; this was asinine and I didn’t need it.

The truth be told...was that I did. I needed it very much, more than I ever knew. Deep down, I knew if I could handle MBI and graduate with my faith and sanity intact, I could survive anything.

I needed the discipline, the education, the building of my faith and outright dedication to the Lord that was infused into me there. I have used the discipline to continue working on my third doctorate at home. The dedication to the Lord served me well when things went sour in my very first church position, and when things went south job-wise almost a year ago. My faith is what carries me in hard times, and helps me to celebrate the good times. The education has been built on...but it is the education I received there that I draw on.

As a student, then as an alum, I’ve bought many a book from Moody Press (now Moody Publishing). I listen to their radio feed; their praise and worship channel runs often on the Mac at home, often at work when I’m at my other job, and I’ll look for live feed in the car when I travel. (I enjoy Mike Kellogg and “Music Through The Night.”)

Is MBI for everyone? No. Not even close.

It’s not for the faint of heart or weak of constitution. It was sheer stubbornness--both mine and the wonderful woman who is now my wife--that got me through my time there. (Well, okay. That and the Hand of God pushing me along.) It’s not for people that want easy grades or straight “A’s”--although you can get them if you are diligent. Do I recommend people to go there? You bet. The education--both about God, Jesus, and the Bible as well as about myself--will serve me to the end of my days.

Oh, yes--I finally did locate my Alumni pin. It’s in a safe place now, where I can get to it and wear it on those occasions that warrant it.

Enough for now.

(Posted 5/18/09)