Listening for You

In the whisper of the night

In the melody of the morning

I’m told that’s where I’ll find you – and from time to time

I do

When your absence doesn’t seem grander than your love

And yes,

When I glimpse a pair of white socks in sandals or black loafers, I am reminded of your stylish stubbornness

And smile to think you once only wore cowboy boots or shiny brown brogues.

Well-meaning friends tell me that you are always with me – in a way you never could be before

And while I know you are there

Guiding my ways, filling my thoughts, inspiring a little common sense, leading me down paths of uncertainty with a sureness in my step

It’s just not the same.

You were there for so much of my life – watching me grow and learn – with your strong arms, confident smile, sternly spoken but loving truths, and forgiving ever-loving heart.

The woman I became still needs – still longs for – your strong embrace, your reassuring smile, your wisdom, your understanding. Your always handy toothpicks. Your love.

I didn’t get the chance to show you the culmination of your work. I didn’t get to show you how that twinkle in your eye you always told me I was finally let her light shine.

I promise I will never stop listening for you

In the whisper of the night

In the melody of the morning

I’m told that’s where I’ll find you – and from time to time

I do

When your absence doesn’t seem grander than your love and light shines from within.

I miss you, Dad,  and love you more and more – as the days between us grow.

Happy Birthday.

Vanity of Vanities and the Value of Life

“Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hurries to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south, and goes around to the north; round and round goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns.”

I am a bit in awe that the words of King Solomon written some 2400 years ago could have such relevance in a life as inconsequential as mine. Not that I possess kingly or divine wisdom or anything close – nor am I living in the depths of despair – although I have been there quite recently – but I must hand it to the man, the sage of a bygone age – he took the words right out of my mouth. But then again, American novelist Thomas Wolfe said of Ecclesiastes, “[O]f all I have ever seen or learned, that book seems to me the noblest, the wisest, and the most powerful expression of man’s life upon this earth—and also the highest flower of poetry, eloquence, and truth.” So perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by my shared sentiments with a king.

Image result for probate in montanaWhat do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever.  Almost a year and a half after my father passed away the Morck family “estate” is finally coming to a close. A year and a half of emotion-filled frustration and emptiness that no one other than the people living it understand. Certainly, the attorneys and staff who saw my parents’ assets and the distribution thereof as anything more than a pile of papers that kept getting piled upon by more pressing and lucrative matters did not understand. Surely, the sting of death is gone by now they must have assumed. Surely, it was strictly a matter of business for my brother, the executor of the estate, to call time and again for “any news” on the process, and not something that reminds one of a life lived that is no longer with us – taken away in a manner of death that had no respect for the caliber of life lived.

This is the road we have traveled since saying goodbye to our parents beginning with our Mom 2.5 years ago and our Dad an impossible 18 months ago. A road of lessons learned we don’t intend to ever need again – other than to pass on our death wisdom to others.

“All things are wearisome; more than one can express; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, or the ear filled with hearing. What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, “See, this is new”? It has already been, in the ages before us. The people of long ago are not remembered, nor will there be any remembrance of people yet to come by those who come after them.”

I have shared a considerable amount of our journey through the end of my parents’ lives with you. It is quite the topic for contemplation – the value of things and what makes up this big thing we call life.  I shared with you as my brother and I sorted through all the things collected by our parents over a combined lifespan of 167 years (not including the things collected by their two children) and how flabbergasted we were at the  sheer number of things collected and types of things held on to during their nearly 60 years of marriage.

I shared with you my family home decluttering tales, the sentimental moments of nostalgia that flooded the basement with tears, the moments of shock that sent me careening through a lifetime of forgotten memories at seeing the invaluable contents of our life as a family displayed and bargain priced for the estate sale. So much emotion devoted to things and the memories made with them.

I shared with you the ramifications of trusting but not verifying that my father had the affairs of his estate in order—after all we had gone through all the “actions,”  family meetings,  attorney appointments, etc. That unverified trust turned into an unfortunate surprise for my brother and I after Dad had passed away and there was no one left to ask the pertinent questions of. Granted, my parent’s deaths were so close together that we still didn’t have our feet under us before we were grieving all over again, but we had plenty of time during the “good” years to have made sure we weren’t dealing with the unsavory issues of death afterward.  But those were the “good” years and death, while not unmentionable in my family, seemed a long way off. Until it wasn’t.

One would have thought that we would be done by now – left to regroup and remember not the losing of our parents’ lives but the living of them. But unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way – life has far too many complexities and complications.

But then last week – out of the blue it would seem – the beginning of the end came. The attorney was ready for us and with a mere signature at the bottom of a bunch of sterile legalese, the sum of my parents’ and more specifically my father’s life will officially come to a close.

The irony of the timing was not lost on this sentimental, deep-thinking, slightly emotional bride-to-be. As I look forward to the beginning of sharing the rest of my life with someone – just as my parents did some 63 years ago – I realize just how very much death has changed me. There is nothing like standing in a house emptied by death to make you realize how much things become a part of our lives. There is nothing like standing in a house emptied by death to make you realize how little those things matter in life.

My family lived a comfortable life. We wanted for nothing – okay that is a stretch – of course, I wanted cool games, designer jeans, my own car, and fantastic trips to places other than relative’s homes, the list goes on – but we did not get everything we wanted. We had what we needed – each other and love.

I used to be a wedding planner for an upscale floral and home shop.  I was jokingly known as “always the wedding planner never the bride.”  I helped brides dream up lavish wedding day celebrations and register for every possible thing they could ever want for feathering their nest. The more the better seemed to be the modus operandi. I, just as every girl and woman I imagine, once had dreams of my own wedding someday – big floral ensconced, orchestra – serenaded dreams.

“I said to myself, “Come now, I will make a test of pleasure; enjoy yourself.” But again, this also was vanity.  I said of laughter, “It is mad,” and of pleasure, “What use is it?”  I searched with my mind how to cheer my body with wine—my mind still guiding me with wisdom—and how to lay hold on folly, until I might see what was good for mortals to do under heaven during the few days of their life.”

I almost fell into the trap of wedding extravagance, of material expense, and emotional overwhelm. The dress, the flowers, the food, the rings, the shoes, the websites, the registries, and the self-imposed desires for the perfect day right out of a Montana Bride magazine, oh my!  But as I drove home one evening recently after a day of bridal “bliss” my thoughts turned from matching ties to ribbons and centerpiece ideas to the condition of my heart and where my mind had been the day before – at the end of lives lived.

After taking stock of my parent’s lives, the life I have lived so far, and the life I am about to begin, the idea of registering for “things” is almost repulsive. Things do not matter. The thought of a lavish affair that smacks of competing for “event of the year” leaves me cold. What we value reveals the nature of our hearts. There is nothing like seeing life reduced to words on a paper that make you realize it is the life lived and love that matter – it is the life and love therein that remain in your heart long after the living is done. Everything else is meaningless, “vanity” as Solomon wrote; remnants of the human struggle to mask over where life and love are missing.

As I begin this next chapter of my life – there will be no masks needed. There will be nothing more and nothing less than life and love for all the days my fiancé and I  have together, beginning with our first.

“I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.”

 

Let your light so shine.

Mountain Envy

“The few who do are the envy of the many who only watch.”

My father always told me that envy was not becoming to me nor would it do me any good. “Just because so and so has (you name it here) doesn’t mean that you need to have it nor deserve to have it.” My mother grew up in a family of 10 and lived in a railcar until she went away to college. Aside from her love of fashionable clothing – much of which she sewed herself – she delighted in the simpler things in life. She did not need grandiose experiences or the next best thing to make her happy and neither did our family. Growing up with this household ethos, I learned to accept and be thankful for what our family did have. I still take a great deal of pride in being satisfied by the simpler things in life and place more importance on the relationships I have enjoyed than any possession I might acquire.

These values became even more ingrained when I moved to the Flathead Valley of NW Montana 5 years ago, but I also realized that same contentment had limited the expanse of my horizons. There was a lot more to life than I had been allowing myself to experience. I discovered a zest for doing things I had never done before – like climbing mountains and letting my wanderlust go wild. The experiences inspired in me an unquenchable desire to explore and challenge myself physically and mentally. Not only was I doing something that brought me joy but I was also meeting wonderful people along the way. The best part of this new discovery was I had become a do-er rather than the contented watcher I used to be. This new zeal extended into other areas of my life too – I found myself saying yes to things I had always just thought about doing. Singing in Choirs (plural), joining Toastmasters, pursuing my Lay Pastoral Associate license, and volunteering for various organizations and events. Saying yes can become addicting and, as I found out at one point, can quickly lead to overwhelm and burnout – but for the most part – saying yes simply opened doors to opportunities that in the past would have passed me by.

And therein lays the rub – while pursuing one profound opportunity this summer, other passions and opportunities have been passing me by. I can’t do it all. This has been a difficult reality for me to accept. Normally, I would have accumulated, at the minimum, 100+ miles worth of snow and dust on my hiking boots by this time of year but alas, I surrendered my mountain adventures to a higher calling of sorts. While my hiking buddies have been climbing to mountaintop after mountaintop and posting stunning photos all over my Facebook feed every weekend, I have either been studying or writing sermon after sermon and cramming my other duties into the few hours I have outside of work all year long. Now, don’t get me wrong. I am absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity to use my recently attained Lay Pastoral Associate license to its full extent while my pastor is on sabbatical this summer. There really is nothing I enjoy more than dwelling in the Word, writing about it, and now preaching it (I still have to pinch myself!) except maybe contemplating those words on top of a mountain.

So yes, I will make a full confession here to harboring within my soul a severe case of mountain envy.  As unbecoming as it may be, after seeing the beauty of blue skies and majestic mountains only through the eyes of my fellow mountain lovers – my home – work – church existence has been getting to me. I longed to escape, to behold what I couldn’t, to experience what I didn’t have time for – a dirty mountain trail and the endless vistas I had coveted from my computer screen.

And when I finally, FINALLY, got the chance to hike my favorite hike recently… there were no beautiful blue skies and the mountains were enshrouded in smoke. I would like to say that I sucked it up and didn’t pout – but then I would be committing yet another sin on top of envy – deceit. Recalling my friend’s (who don’t work in the summer) joyful posts from the day before – ONE DAY mind you –  showing the bluest skies I have ever seen (ok, so maybe I am milking this…) and abundant wildlife (bears and moose galore) did nothing to help quell my urge to stomp down the trail with a welt in my throat and moistened eyes. Thank goodness it was a solo hike!

 

 

 

 

16 miles of a smoky Many Glacier day lay before me. The long, pre-dawn drive to the trail head is what kept me motivated to go on. And go on I did! Because I am doer now, remember?  Besides, it is hard to stay mad or miserable on a mountain trail (unless it is raining, then I am mad and miserable!) As I walked (note I wasn’t stomping anymore) I could feel my clenched jaw slacken and the tension between my shoulders ease. I have completed or attempted this hike three times before. The first time being the only time I actually made it to the Swiftcurrent Lookout. The other two attempts were thwarted by forces of nature I could not control. This time, the only force I had to contend with was my attitude and as it would turn out later – smoke. I determined I was not going to be disappointed again. But I still had this bitter taste of disappointment that lingered as I passed by lakes reflecting nothing but greyness and made my way up the switchbacks with repetitive views of a grey valley diminishing the higher I climbed.

“Why, oh why couldn’t you have made today be a good day?” I demanded of God.

By the time I made it to the pass, I was in a severe depression – not because of any emotional issue I was dealing with but from the smoke wafting in the air blighting the sun and blunting out any view while telling a story of fires burning again somewhere.

Another mile straight up now and I would answer the Lookout’s beckoning. I started on my way.

“But really, why?” I kept thinking. Is this some sort of obsession I have with making it to the top? It started to rain. I turned back for a moment and then in defiance I turned around and continued on. The wind started to howl – how could it be so windy and still be enshrouded in smoke? And then my lungs began to burn and my eyes water. It was 7.5 miles back to the trailhead and I had had enough.

I sat down on a protected ledge and had my lunch as I gazed out at a darkened valley.  It was delicious. And God finally answered me.

“What makes you think today isn’t a good day?” was all He said.

Feeling a bit convicted, I took a swig of hot coffee, gathered up my gear, and glanced up at the lookout in the grey yuck above me. “I win,” I declared, “and I am going to enjoy the rest of my hike.”

With a skip in my step I made my way down to the pass where I met a couple from Texas who were freaked out because apparently a bear had been following me.

Then I saw a cow moose and her baby, and I met longtime friends who were hoping to make it to the pass but weren’t sure they could, and I found the most beautiful patch of wildflowers blooming vibrantly under the grey skies.

A hint of sun broke through just as I made my way down the still flowing creek bed and shone on a lone stem of fireweed. It was a magnificent photo.

Chipmunks and ground squirrels stopped and posed for me, sharptails strutted for me,  and tree branches created the perfect frame for an exquisite waterfall shot.

The grand finale was a majestic bull moose bathing in grey waters and putting on quite a show for my appreciative eyes.

It was a good day! I laughed as the sun came out for the last 2 miles – making the forested walk glisten and the birch bark glow. I was reminded of my father’s words, “Envy is unbecoming” and added some new-found wisdom of my own – it will wreck your day. No matter how much “better” someone else may have had it, your present is all that you have. Make the best of it and you will find much more joy on your journey of being a doer.

 

Emboldened for Life

On a beautiful, warm, sunny morning one year ago today, I bid a final earthly farewell to my father. It was the most difficult day of my life since the other most difficult day of my life bidding my mother a final goodbye on a cold, rainy, snowy blustery day just one year before. The shining sun warmed the earth, a breeze carried the scent of trees in bloom, and the song of birds drifted gently in from afar –  a wonderful reunion was at hand!

As the day of honoring my father unfolded I was embraced with love from oh so many who had loved my dad. The rites, the acts of honor, the gatherings, the pleasantries – all served a purpose –  not only for my dad but for getting me through the day. The week of chaotic preparation – the obit writing, the slide show, the service planning, the cremation, the notifying, the receiving of others, the trying to make sure everything was done just right – had come to an end.

Every one that had surrounded my brother and I for the days preceding were getting on with their lives –  there were tee times to make and lawns to be mowed, groceries to be bought, work to get back to, weekend getaways to get on with.

It was then that the silence set in – the reality of it all came crashing down. Spending that night alone, in the house that had been a home to so much life gave powerful testimony to what I had lost. The emptiness was paralyzing. Having powered through my emotions for days the weight of grief suddenly buried me. It would do so for days, weeks, and months to come.

Looking back on this year now I have a much different perspective. The emptiness that accompanied me through life is starting to be filled with the joy of living again. The sorrow that still lingers is now appreciated for what it is – a tribute to the depth of love I have for my parents – rather than suffocating my will to live.

As a child I was terrified of the thought that one day my parents would die. I comforted myself by presuming that I would have my own family to attend to when those that had attended to me passed on; that the family life that I had known would be carried on through us.

That wasn’t to be. Rather, I was intended to make this journey on my own –  a solitary quest for life after death. By the grace of God and with the strength of the Holy Spirit I endured. I am a new person now molded by the revealing experience of death and emboldened to meet the opportunities of life.

“Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.” – Isaiah 40:28-31

The Race

18489813_1590917990932793_6319657206837000823_oI think there should be a course on how to get through life after death. I can go days doing just fine and then I am hit with a day like today – a day like any other day except I am thrown off course by my aching heart. So many thoughts and memories flood over me: the last moments with my Dad, his last breath, watching the last bit of light left in his heavy-lidded eyes disappear, hearing his defibrillator keep his heart beating ever so slowly even after he was gone as I lay on his chest one last time – not ever wanting to forget what it felt like to be Daddy’s little girl with his arms wrapped around me; not making that call to my Mom the night before she died – saving my tales of mountain adventure and my words of love until the next day when I “had more time” only to learn the heart wrenching lesson that time is not ours to bargain with.
I try to run faster, to lose myself in the snowy landscape with the cadence of my feet hitting this lonely earth. Knowing I will never outrun these memories and the pain that accompanies them all the while knowing deep down that I don’t want to…
The fastest race we will ever run is the race of life – our time is fleeting, the most important facets of life become mere flickers of memory as days become months become years. I find myself reaching to the depths of my soul to remember my mother’s voice and Dad’s bear hugs. I want time to slow down so the distance between our life and last moments together is not so far and yet I want time to speed up so I don’t have to wait to be with them again.
One can get caught up in “if only’s” but that is not how races are run and won. I don’t think we can ever win the race of life – I just wish I had run mine better this far, that I hadn’t wasted energy on trivial matters. I wish I had paced myself to run with those who were in it with me instead of being so focused on my time and my destination.
Perhaps God wants us to figure this life after death thing out on our own. Perhaps He knows how proficient a teacher death is. Perhaps He knows that the race of life cannot be completed without death. Perhaps this race of life is simply preparing us for death and the only victory that really matters.
“The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.
Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted;
but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint.”  – Isaiah 40: 28-31

Reflecting On Life through Death and Learning to Dance Again

“This is what the Lord says—  HE who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” – Isaiah 43: 16-19

We will all eventually die. Learning how to live in this mortal truth has transformed me from my soul to my song.

I have known death from a young age as I watched grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, and yes, dogs – die. And, for a long long time – even though my faith was strong –  I was so very afraid of death –  not so much the thought of me dying – for my faith was and is strong –  but the thought of the living on after that must follow when those we love leave us. That inescapable truth was made resoundingly clear in my life this year. Fear and love are forever intertwined – life teaches us this, death makes it real.

It is not an easy truth to grasp – even for those who have watched loved ones die. When my mother died last year, I was not with her. Her death seemed surreal to me – still does at times. One moment she was there –  as I knew she always would be – and the next – I was on the other end of a phone call no one wants to make. Her death journey during Holy Week made it even more, how shall I say it, awe-some? That our ever-loving God would call home his sweet sparrow on the first day of Spring – Palm Sunday, that we would memorialize her on Good Friday, and celebrate her new life with Jesus on Easter Sunday seemed so fitting -and yet her death and our journey through it is one I still have difficulty grasping. Perhaps because we didn’t have the chance to mourn.

I was with father when he died, just over one year later. His death remains very much alive in me – almost as much as his life continues on in I me. I was there for his last breath, I saw the light leave his eyes, and felt the life leave his body. It is a feeling that has accompanied me to bed at night, in the pews at church, but mostly when I am out walking. That my Dad would die after a hard-fought battle with cancer and the rages of sudden onset Alzheimer’s left me numb and yet completely aware of every whisper of his life. The greatest man I had ever known was gone. With his death, I was awakened to the reality of life.

It is in death when our full humanity comes to life. In truth, life is about learning to live through death. We experience death more often than we – at least on the surface – realize. When we graduate high school and college that season of our lives dies as we enter the next stage of adulthood. When we marry our life as individuals ceases. When a relationship ends – a part of us dies – the part we had given to that other person. When we leave a job, that part of our daily life ends. And yet, with each of these deaths we are given the opportunity for new life; they allow us to let go, they cut away the ties from our past, and lead us to discover a new direction in life.

Indeed, in this year I have experienced many deaths. It has been the most sorrow-filled time of my entire life. I have never been one who could let go of people or things –  I am loyal and committed to the end – sometimes to my detriment. Saying good-bye does not come easy for me –  and I have had to say goodbye so many times to so many people and things this year (good grief I even sobbed when I closed the door on my apartment for the last time!) but sometimes we have to say good-bye to live again.

During my journey through grief this year I stumbled upon a gem of a book: “Turn My Mourning into Dancing,” by Henri Nouwen. The title strikes me tonight, this eve of a New Year and the end of year that has left my heart ravaged and my life unfamiliar, because I have found myself dancing, yes DANCING this year away!  I am dancing once again as I reflect on a year of fear and love and the new life borne of them.

As I mourned my mother and father, I made peace with who I am now –  I can be no other than the daughter and woman God created through them 46 years ago. They raised me to shine a light in this world and shine it in honor and love for them I will!  This year, I found my voice and my place. Never have I felt so fulfilled and so right then when I am sharing God’s love and the Good News through Word and Sacrament.

Committing myself to doing more than simply following in Christ’s footsteps but going to wherever He leads me, has transformed my faith from one of rigor to one of complete awe, trust, and love.

As I said goodbye to my family home of 25 years in Billings and my little nest of 4 years in Whitefish, I embarked on a journey of independence and responsibility I hadn’t yet known – proud Columbia Falls home ownership – all in one month!

As I let go of one I was holding on to because I do not fail at love –  I discovered what self-love is all about –  the door to giving and receiving more love to others.

As I struggled with despair and loneliness, I was humbled before God and found that life is far richer when shared with others and that meant letting go of my need to control and my fear of failing and not just share my life with others but give my life to others.

And most of all, I learned yet again that sometimes with great sacrifice comes great reward –  that life is more than great running times and a good night’s sleep –  that puppies are worth lost mileage and every sleepless moment. That out of the ashes of life and death comes new light, new life, and great love. The Ember of my heart.

So yes, as another year passes, as another season of life dies away – I am carried into the new year by the melodies of new life showing me how good it is to dance once again.

Thank you, dear Lord for the lessons of death and the light of new life –  there for us each and every day.

May God bless you and keep you. May the Lord make His face to shine upon you with mercy and grace and give you peace, joy, and new life in the New Year!

Let your light so shine!

The Body of Christ

As I sat in church this morning, reflecting on the cross, tears stung my eyes and my throat ached. The hubbub of families back in the pews after adventure-filled summers reminded me how important the church has been in my life for as long as I can remember. From my days when I couldn’t see over the pew when Mom was the organist and Dad, as always, was in charge of everything but the preaching, to my days in confirmation when Mom and Dad guided unruly 7th and 8th graders through Luther’s Catechism with other committed parents, to my days serving alongside Dad on council and the building committee –  the church, the congregation, the Body of Christ has always been foremost in our family life, even after Mom drew away.

 

Today it hit me hard. I will never look down the pew and see my Dad dressed in his Sunday attire again. I will never see him standing attentively and with authority at the back of the church in his standard ushering uniform of a green blazer, khaki dress pants, and Snoopy tie making sure the service ran smoothly –  so often at the expense of his own time with God. I will never see him walk forward with conviction and humility to receive the Bread of Life. Dad even celebrated his 80th birthday at a church meeting! Church is different now. My perspective of the cross has changed forever.

 

Mom has been gone for an impossible 18 months, and Dad an achingly short 5 months. At times it seems like just yesterday since I last looked into their eyes. Today as I watched families, young and old, gathering together as one in Christ, the emptiness inside me was almost more than I could bear – almost. Just as Jesus promised –  “whenever two or three are gathered in my name, I will be there” – and He was. Bearing me up, and showing me that this hubbub of family was my hubbub too Those families, that Body of Christ, is my family. Church will never be as I remember it, in the hey days of my family. The church to me now, will be as Christ envisioned it to be –  my family.

 

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for raising me in the Body of Christ, for giving me a family greater than blood. I love you and miss you so much.

Let your light so shine.

Missing You, Dad

It’s easy to honor you this Father’s Day, Dad. Every day that I am alive, I live because you believed in me along the way… even when you had every reason not to.  Not a day has gone by the last two months that I have not thought about you, wanted to ask you a question, and hear your voice. I am afraid that one day I will not remember what you sound like, but today I can still hear your “Well heLLOOO there” whenever I called. If only I hadn’t erased that last message you left on my phone when you were still able to call me but, I didn’t know ….

I think you would be rather proud of me of late. The last two months have been quite a whirl wind and I have stayed upright – even without a toothpick anchoring me! I presided over worship and I decided to put down some roots and buy a house – all by myself and all in the same week! You would definitely approve of the yard but might think the master bathroom is a little pretentious. I know you would say it was the size of your and Mom’s first house in Dillon! Frankly, it is beyond me what I will do with all that vanity! On the bright side, I will have plenty of yardwork to keep me busy and a view that will last forever. You always said a view was more important than the house… the house could be changed; the view couldn’t be. Well, I think you will approve – granted it is an endless view of mountains not prairies, but I think I can win you over. I wish I could share my happiness of home and heart with you.

4 years ago, I would never have dreamed of calling western Montana home.  4 years ago, at this time, you were telling me that life still had much in store for me after I turned down the job offer in Whitefish because I couldn’t find a place to live in that I could afford. Just a few weeks later, you were giving me your blessing to do what I needed to do to make it happen, as long as I didn’t lose sight of my independence and my values. I never dreamed my life would become what it has, but I think you had an inkling. I felt like you really believed in me and wanted this challenge for me.

Thank you for raising me to be strong in faith, humble in mind, and trusting at heart.

Thank you for teaching me that it is okay and sometimes better to be alone, but that people really do make life richer.

Thank you for loving me through the struggles of finding my wings and learning to fly. And thank you for letting me know that you are here with me from time to time. I love you, Dad and miss you so very much.

A Man of Integrity and Faith – I love you, Dad

The godly walk with integrity; blessed are their children who follow them.

– Proverbs 20:7

As I write this remembrance, I am marking two weeks since I last held my father’s living hand. I will always be my Daddy’s little girl and he will always be the greatest man I have ever loved and known. I am who I am because of his loving and guiding influence on my life. Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself thanking him for the lessons in life he taught me or recalling a valuable piece of wisdom he gave me as I try to make sense of the world. So many of the decisions I make today are made on the foundations of faith, character, and conscience he instilled in me.

His vibrant livelihood and body had grown weary of this world and his spirit had longed to be free riding the range, dancing with my mom, and acing every hole from the tee for some time. I know my dad was ready for the ultimate glory awaiting him in heaven that he so richly deserved, but I was not. He went so fast the morning of April 29th – just like him – always efficient, never wanting to lollygag. I still had so much to tell him and so much to learn from him. I am not sure how I will go on in this world knowing I will never hear him say, “I love you Erika, wish you were home,” or feel him hug me tight again. He was the only one who would listen to me play the piano and tell me: “That was nice!” and listen with tongue-in-cheek glee to the stories of my mountain-top adventures.

I spent hours trying to capture his life in words for the eulogy I gave at his memorial service. In the end, I rewrote everything in an hour right before his service – this time letting my heart speak – awakened and renewed from a beautiful run in God’s glorious morning light. My hope in sharing this with you is that you too will come to know the most amazing gift you can give or receive is that of knowing the Lord and living a life in faith. For as each of our days come to an end, it is that relationship with God and knowing His peace that will carry you through.

***

Good Morning! Thank you for being here to help celebrate the life of a very special man, my father. The first thing I thought of when I woke up today was what a great day it is indeed – we are going to have a celebration of my Dad’s life!! And as Fred (my brother), so eloquently captured –  such a life it is to celebrate!

I was going to speak about the essence of my Dad’s life. I spent 12 hours over 2 days writing about the things that brought happiness to his life. But then I thought, you all knew Dad, you knew the essence of him – that’s why you are here! I may be studying to become a pastor but I certainly don’t want to stand here and preach to the choir! Instead, this morning I am speaking from a daughter’s faith-filled heart renewed by the promise of life in a new day.

In the last few days, so many who knew Dad, even only in passing, remarked how happy he always was. And as I poured through the photographs of his life, it was hard to find one photo where he didn’t have a robust smile on his face.

Of all the things that brought happiness to my Dad’s life – the people he shared it with, his family, his grand-dogs, his colleagues, his career, his past-times – the one constant source of happiness and strength and peace – and I firmly believe the most important source of happiness and life in his last days – was his faith!

I opened his obituary with Proverbs 20:7 – The godly walk with integrity – blessed are the children who follow them.

As I was going through his scrapbook last night, I found another verse – one that meant something to him as a 17-year-old in 1949 and one he obviously carried with him throughout his life – Proverbs 22:6, “train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

I know I am blessed to follow in my Dad’s walk of faith. Dad raised us in faith, as beloved children of God, and he entrusted his life and ours to the Lord. He was a proud Lutheran but humble in his ways. He encouraged us in our faith growing up. I know it brought him great concern and sadness when I, for a wayward time in my 20’s, quit going to church.  And I know how much it meant to him to have all of us all sitting in the pew with him again here on Sunday mornings in recent years.

Dad never missed church. He was always raring to go on Sunday morning – much to my Mom’s demise. There were more than a few horn honks and terse words said as we sped to church- but Dad knew he needed church. He needed the grace and mercy, the forgiveness and love that our Lord freely gives. As great a man as he was – as kindly and gentlemanly as he was to everyone – Dad knew he was a broken man as we are all broken people – and he knew he needed the Lord.

Of course, the people of this church made him happy. I think that is why this and every church we have been a part of for that matter meant so much to him. The people found inside were so important to him. But oh, how he LOVED THIS CHURCH!  Keeping a congregation alive meant he was bringing the Lord deeper into his heart. And that is why he devoted so much of himself to this church. He never shied away from saying yes to the Lord when He called him to a ministry – be that building a church, leading a congregation, cleaning a bathroom, raising funds, teaching Sunday school, or serving as an usher. He served our Lord with a sense of honor, respect, and love. It meant so much to him to participate in the ground-breaking for the new “Building Of Faith for Generations” here just a few short weeks ago.

Dad had a deep and ever growing faith, one he nurtured through continued study, service, and sharing and I am so glad he shared his mighty faith in the Lord with me. I can only hope to be half the leader of others to knowing the peace of Christ as he was in his quiet evangelism. His steadfast faith is the greatest gift, aside from his love, that he could have ever shared with me.

I know that my Dad’s faith was a beacon and source of strength for him. A beacon for my life, my faith has sustained me too, through all the opportunities and challenges that have come my way.  Because of the gift my Dad gave me –  I have faced those opportunities and challenges with a sense of strength that I know comes only from the Lord’s presence in my life. Unlike my Dad, I can’t be as quiet about it as he was.

I leaned on my Dad an awful lot in life – he was my source of wisdom, of political intellect, of what is fair and what is right. He was my counselor on all matters of living – and he did so with the heart of Jesus. He was my encourager and biggest (but quietest) fan. He knew he had done his job well when he saw how deeply I was growing in my own faith.  In a moment of clarity, a week or so ago he came right out and asked me how my lay pastoral studies were going. When I told him it was the best thing that could be happening to me right now, he responded with a strong GOOD!

In the last few minutes I had with my Dad, we shared the words of the Lord’s Prayer, we spoke of how Dad let his light shine so that others could see the good works of God, and how I hoped and prayed that I may do that as well and as purely as he did.  We spoke about letting God’s perfect will be done.

Dad had found a peace that surpasses our understanding – and while at the time I was not willing to let him go without a fight – I was able to – as that same peace began to wrap around me.

I will have to lean on the Lord a whole lot more in the days to come.  But that is ok – He has my Dad there to help carry the load.

Being Neil Morck’s daughter was a pretty honorable position to be in and how I most often identified myself to others!  Now I know that not only am I Neil Morck’s daughter and a child of God, but a woman who lives for God. He prepared his children well for life – to forge ahead in our own identities accompanied all the way by our Lord Jesus Christ.

My Dad saw the world through eyes that have seen just about everything this broken and beautiful world has to offer, yet he always had a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face. The Lord gave him a very good life and he was very happy.

Yes, the godly do indeed walk with integrity; blessed are their children who follow them. I happen to know that the godly walk in happiness too, and as my Dad’s favorite daughter, I am eternally blessed and happy to walk in his footsteps. Now I know why he was always so horn honking eager to get to church on Sunday mornings.

The Greatest Man I Have Ever Loved – A Toothpick Chewin’ Cowboy

There’s a toothpick chewin’ cowboy picking up his beautiful bride for a drive around heaven tonight. Oh Dad, I will always be Daddy’s little girl and you will always be the greatest man I have ever loved and known. I am who I am because of you. Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself thanking you for the lessons in life you taught me or recalling a valuable piece of wisdom you gave me as I try to make sense of the world. So many of the decisions I make today are made on the foundations of faith, character, and conscience you instilled in me.

Dad you saw the world through eyes that had seen just about everything this broken and beautiful world has to offer. You never walked away from a challenge but would rather do your part to make every situation better even if it meant more work or hardship. I will do my best to carry on your example.

This year, unlike any other, tested you. And yet you persevered. Not that there weren’t days you wanted to give up, to be with my Mom again, to rest. But you didn’t. You lived fully and had so much to live for. For that, I am eternally grateful, and ever so proud. I will forever cherish the time I was given with my you, even just the quiet moments spent in each other’s company. I could never have enough hugs from you. I could listen to your stories of your childhood and your life before I knew you forever. Goodness knows you had plenty of tales to tell.

I will treasure beyond measure our last real father-daughter conversation at Thanksgiving. It was just you and me sitting in the quiet of the living room. I remember hearing the ticking of the 100+ year old clock that hung in grandpa’s barn and survived fire and marveling at how it had chimed through so many days of our lives every hour on the hour because you took the time to wind and set it every Sunday morning just like your father had. I listened as you told me about your childhood in Plentywood; what it was like that first year after your father passed away (you were only 6) and the years that followed before your mother met and married your stepfather. The warmth you felt as neighbors welcomed your mother, your brother and you into their home for a Thanksgiving dinner unlike any you had ever had before. Your recollection was vivid, your memories as sharp as the biting cold that gripped Plentywood in the dead of winter.

You told me of how much you and Mom loved Fred Morck and I, and of how much you missed her. That you sometimes found yourself waiting for her to come downstairs in the morning. You told me you wished I was home, that I wasn’t so far away, and that surely, I could find a good job in Billings. You assured me then I could even get a puppy! You told me how proud you were of me and Fred. That we had done better than you had expected us to (you have such a way with words.)

Sure, you had your “moments” when parenting me was far from pleasurable, and I remember plenty of spankings delivered to set me straight, but in my eyes, you will always be the handsome toothpick-chewing cowboy turned executive trying to get me to ride a wild burro, the “brass-banger”/ badger-caller in the wilds of Wyoming, the connoisseur of buttered Rye Krisps as we watched Hee Haw and the Lawrence Welk Show every Saturday night, the church council president extraordinaire ( I take after the best!), and the greatest Dad this girl could ask for.

I know your body was weary of this world and your spirit has longed to be free riding the range and dancing with Mom and acing every hole from the tee for some time. I know you were ready for the ultimate glory awaiting you in heaven that you so richly deserve, but I was not. You went so fast (just like you – always efficient, never wanting to lollygag) I still have so much to tell you and so much to learn from you. I am not sure how I will go on in this world knowing I will never hear you say, “I love you Erika, wish you were home,” or feel you hug me tight again. You are the only one who would listen to me play the piano and tell me “That was nice!” Who will listen with glee to the stories of my mountain-top adventures?

This afternoon as I walked out to Tucker’s rock and sat awhile looking over the horizon I wondered just how I will go on…. And then perhaps you let me know, because the sun came out from behind the clouds and warmed my soul, and of all things on the way back home, a van pulled up and parked on my path. The owner had decorated it with these five words, the title of my Blog: Let your light so shine! Coincidence? Serendipity? I think not!

Dad, I promise to let my light so shine, so that God is glorified, and your fine example of an honorable life well- lived is carried on.

I love you, Dad. More than words can ever say, and even more than that- forever and ever.