My Father's Gifts

My Father's gifts are priceless and irreplaceable.

Life. A lifetime and an instant... I don't know how to describe it... only that somehow, all of this is inside of me... somehow, the external reflects the internal; you are alive in my heart and so you are alive in my life, in my dreams, in my world. Life is the gift. Life is God. It is too much to say, too much to truly understand... and yet I know all things are by your will, that my life is merely a moment, less than a second, and yet prolonged before my eyes that we might know each other.....

Our Eyes. And seeing you... seeing the seed of you, the creation of you, the death of you and the insurmountable presence of you... It is not truly sight, no more than one can see music, and yet you are there as surely as an orchestra of sound, as clear as the colors of the world, and I watch you grow....

The Heart. It broke once, a long time ago, when there was nothing to catch it and nowhere left to fall. My heart was lost but you gave it back to me, a new one, a better one, a bigger one, greater than the ocean. Inside the heart is stored the seed of creation, all of your secrets, all of your wordless murmurs and nameless love. Where does it spring from? Is your heart inside of mine? Was it always, or did I have to welcome it in? I ask for reasons, explanations, justification... but it does not change that you are inexplicably, wonderfully, permanently alive within me....

Our Hands. With them, I can move the world. With them, I write words to glorify your Name, putting sounds to the soundless, placing syllables where only the heart exists. Hands are small and limited. They are soft and reduced by age, chipped nails, dry skin. But through them you have showed me how to nurture and grow, how to give affection, how to build and how to take apart. My hands are your hands, just as my work is your work, just as my written words are a lowly imitation of your voice....

The Voice. Or rather, the absence of voice, and the gift of total silence... the gift to sit, and sit, and sit in the center of your peace....

The Mind. It is not your knowledge that I value, which can only be known through the heart... it is the mind you gave to interpret it, the creativity and imagination to apply it, and the ability to learn swiftly and study well. The blessing of a logical mind is the ability to ignore extraneous information... to cut out what hides the truth, to not get bogged down by meaningless details. You have taught me the value of information and the trappings of minutia. This world is a logical fallacy. All truth resides only in you, only in the irrational acceptance of what is, only in relinquishing my smaller self....

And your greatest gift to me, as always, is you.... Your presence beside me, your wisdom and your endless mercy. God, if I could not have you, I would not have myself... if you were taken away from me, I would take my own life. This is the madness of faith, the passion of your nameless, consuming love. Perhaps I am your least obedient child... perhaps I am your lowliest servant, your sometimes-saint and your mute prophet... but dear God, perhaps in my weaknesses you may find a seed of strength, you may find the tools to do your will. I am nothing next to you, with nothing to offer except a devoted heart... and through my heart, dear Lord, I ask that you take all of me, that you may use my fragile talents toward your higher tasks, that you might forgive my failures, as I am in constant failure to your light....


Dear Lord, I did not come to you to be perfect, nor did I come to you with the aspiration to do great things. I came to you on bloodied knees as a child lost in the night. I came to you with no voice, with no words, no possessions but a shattered heart. Dearest Father, I came to you simply to know you, and all that you grant me is too much for my poor self, too much for my empty pockets, which are filled by your love. I throw all else to the wind, all else to the emptiness of the world.... I came before you not to be perfect, oh Lord, but to be broken, to be destroyed, and to be made into whatever you would have me be. I am, in whichever way I can be, your servant... your wayward child, your stubborn infant, your flawed reflection that finds beauty only in the sound of your voice.... Dear Lord, you have stricken me with a thirst unquenchable, with a cup made hollow, a terrible absence only made full by your love....