Over the river and through the woods

I used to hate to go and see my Great-Grandmother in the nursing home. The only reason I went was because I used to get to spend time with my Dad. My G.Grandmother. had Alzheimer’s disease and for some reason she would always mistake me for her late First Husband Ornan. Now, I hope I don't sound like big, hard-hearted jerk, but let me tell you, this was not always such a pleasant mis-association to experience for a 13 year old boy... and that’s all I'll say about that. Ah Hem...

However, even in those moments of AWKWARDNESS when I became my Great Grandma Velma's X-Lover boy, they became mildly funny because my Dad would just silently chuckle and wink at me. Finally he would come to the rescue by sending me to the Coke-Machine. By the time I had returned, Coke in hand, she would have forgot that I ever came in and by this time she was usually in a bad mood asking my dad about her money.

"Who the hell are you?!!
"Well Grandma," my dad would say, you know who I am; I'm your grandson Pat.
"Pat, oh yes Pat...DID YOU TAKE MY MONEY? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO WITH MY MONEY!!!!”
"No Grandma I didn't take your money, it's in the bank, safe and sound" my dad would grin and kindly reply.
"Well, when I die, I am gonna find out, and come back from the dead and SCRATCH THEIR EYES OUT, WHOEVER TOOK IT!"
"Now Grandma, you don't want to do that..." My grandma would just look back at him and say, as sane as anyone,
"You just watch me."

After about 15 minutes of this kind of conversation, we would leave and while I would sit in the car and see no purpose for our visit, my dad would sit back and tell good memories that he had of his Grandma, and of how she could make the best Mashed Potatoes in the south.

For me, the best things about these little road trips to and from the nursing home or other places were all the stories. My dad is a great storyteller and he could make a 2-hour trip seem like 15 minutes. However, on this particular day on the way back from seeing my dear sweet Great Grandma Velma, there was mostly silence. No real reason really, we were just kicking back in the car and listening to the oldies station. About an hour into the trip we passed by a group of prison workers picking up trash. They were all wearing orange. It was just starting to rain and the drops were hitting the wind shield just enough for my dad to flip on the windshield wipers. As we passed the men in orange, one of the men stopped, and looked up at me. For a brief moment we made eye contact. We passed by and the Man calmly went back to his work.

"Man that’s gotta suck" I said mumbling through my hand that was propping my chin up.

I expected my dad to agree, and then give me advice on how never to end up like those poor slobs, or possibly to be sure, and never pick up any hitch-hikers cause it could be one of THOSE bunch of wretched souls your picking up.

What he said instead has stuck with me every day, for the past 17 years. My dad was quiet for few seconds. As he looked at the men disappear over the hill behind us, he said very softly "There go I, but by the Grace of God." The mirror seemed to become a window into his past.

I was quiet; I didn't need him to elaborate. I had heard plenty of stories. Every time I would go home to Oklahoma someone would make sure and say, "boy, you know it is the derndest thing that your daddy's a preacher," "I never would have guessed that in a gillion years." They never would tell me the full detailed stories out of respect for my dad, but I knew. From the parts they would tell, that my dad was PRETTY reckless in his younger years.

I learned my first lesson about the Grace of God in that minute, passing those prisoners. My dad, a preacher, who loves his family, who loves God, who is kind enough to take an entire day every two weeks just to go up to see his sick and dying Grandma, was at one time his life, very, very close to the fate of those men we passed. And he was thankful. Thankful for not being where they were but also identifying with every one of those men in some way and not passing judgment.

My perfect dad became vulnerable in that moment. He let me know in one sentence that the only reason he is where he is today is because God had mercy upon him and he let that love and mercy save his life. Periodically, I will be telling some of that story here on this blog so I do not forget any of it.