Be Real: Chopped Wood

I was possessed today. The urge to buy wood and make a fire in the fireplace overcame me. I went out in terrible weather to buy half a stack of wood and have been burning it all day.. It was no surprise that the jacket I wore was my dad's. It was no surprise that as soon as I pulled up to the farmers' market, the man moved his cart so I could immediately back up and pick up the wood. It all happened quickly and easily. And it was oak.

My childhood was filled with weekends of chopping and cording wood. As a lumberjack, my father kept the trees he cut and then chopped them down into firewood for sale. I remember piles as high as the back porch in our backyard. After a while, he made a deal with a junk yard down the road and kept the wood there. The piles were even higher there! If my brother is reading this, he'll remember our days in that junkyard. It is by the Grace of God, that we are here! My brother and I would have to cord the wood (stack it up) in the back of his truck as he split it and threw it up there. One time, we were not going fast enough and he started aiming the split wood at us! Ahhh, the good ol' days!

It's been 6 years that he's transitioned, but each November fills me with the same feeling. It's a memory that's been burned into my cells for a lifetime. Just like chopped wood. Part of me wonders if I'll ever get over it. Part of me wants to keep it. Like remembering the days my own kids were born. It's just as important to feel the memory of the day my dad died. It's not living in the past, it's a reminder of an experience of God's Love. On the birthdays of my children, I get a little sentimental when remembering the miracle of their birth. The same happens when remembering the miracle of my father's death.

I am the oldest daughter and first born. They tell me that when I came home from the hospital, my dad left mom in the old truck to get out by herself and he brought me straight into the house. He immediately stripped me down to my diaper, put me on the floor and looked at me. My mother always says how she had stitches and had to come into the house on her own. Boy was she upset with him!

My sister was born second, but only lived a minute or two. My father, a tough Canadian lumberjack was brought to his knees. For all the drinking and smoking he did - it all changed in that moment. When he made arrangements to bury his second child, he also made arrangements with God. He stopped drinking and smoking that day for the rest of his life.

My brother was born third. I don't know much about what was going on in my father's heart at that time, but it had to do with staying on the straight and narrow with God. Of course, my mother was a nervous wreck wanting to make sure all would be well this time around. I have a feeling this is when he decided to live his life to get into Heaven.

We always joked that everything he did was to get into Heaven. We always joked he would die on the job and it would be quick. Turns out, it was. We always knew he loved us more than his own life. We know he is always with us.

I've heard that your relationship with God is based on your relationship with your father. That's an interesting psychoanalysis you could get lost in for a while... But, if I'm going to keep it simple, this is what my father means to me. He always takea care of us and providea for all wants and needs. He loves us more than his own life. He does and knows what he wants, when he wants without fear of anyone or anything. He is compassionate, kind and generous. He can be stubborn, or strong willed might be a better word.  He iss humble and proud. .He knows how to speak graciously in the face of insanity. He also knows how to craft curse words like poetry.  He is patient. He trusted the experience of his life here. He trusts himself. He trusts God.    

Sometimes my words are gracious and sometimes not. Compassion and tough love, patience and impatience are just a few of the dualities that live within me. When I don't know what to do I think of him and what he would do. In essence, I think of what God would do.

I have an overwhelming urge to install a wood stove into our fireplace and told dad I know it's him. It would be wonderful, wouldn't it?