Old Friend

Seeing my dad is like visiting an old friend who isn't quite how you remember them to be. He seems like a flower trying to break free from the ground but can't and doesn't know how to enter full life. It has been sad to see him, the man I admired as a boy for different reasons as I do now. As a child I admired that he could drive, and throw a football far and could talk to people way better than I could. Now I admire him for putting his hands on my shoulders to gently turn me to follow Jesus and when I would occasionally get distracted by the 'dancing trees' I could feel his hands on my shoulders gently turning me in the way that makes more sense than anything I ever have known. As we sit in the living room to talk stories of old, many stories come to mind of our trips out west, catching perch in the Pacific Ocean, the dish soap in my moms casserole, to the day my sister called and said she got married. The thing about memories that I have been pondering is the fact that although we may not remember the details of a memory we somehow remember the feeling. It is as if the roots of feeling dig deeper in our soul than the facts of what happened. It makes me think about the way we communicate about Jesus to others. Do people really care about the facts of God before the feeling of one of his children showing compassion and love? I am not sure I have it all figured out, but it is something to think about. On to another living room adventure.