My father has always had a voice that could travel right through the thickest of walls. That low tone could slip through the cracks in those old wood floors no matter how gently he was speaking. Even a groan or sigh as he woke up in the morning would carry right up the stairs and through the door to where I slept. It was one of those timeless things in my memory that no matter how old I get I will never forget. That feeling of waking up and knowing that my dad was still there.
See, the father I grew up wasn't the one I was born with. My biological father, as we learned to refer to him as, discarded me like he did with most everything and anyone. That was a wound that took years to heal. See, the father I grew up with was the one that I heard when I woke up in the morning, the man I heard when I fell asleep at night.
I remember rolling over in bed in the morning and hearing the most beautiful thing in the world. It wasn't the birds outside or the sounds of the world beginning to wake up alongside me. The most beautiful thing I could ever hear was the sound of my father as he woke up the world, my world. Because every morning I would roll over and hear him as he got up and did the most wonderful thing a father could do...
My mornings began with listening in on my father's prayers. I would listen to him pray for everyone in the world it seemed. Yet I was only awake for one reason. It wasn't the fact that his voice was so strong that I could imagine it rattling the windows and shaking the floor itself. No, I was waiting. I was waiting to hear my father's voice as he prayed over me.
There was such a passion in his voice. I could hear his soul in those words as he prayed over me with the start of every morning. I could feel his love through the sound of his voice. And for a boy who had experienced the rejection of a person who was supposed to love me no matter what; that was heaven on earth. It was in those moments I knew I had a father. I knew that my father was praying for me to my Abba... my G-d.
Now that I'm grown and on my own I still roll over in the morning and dream of hearing my father lifting me up in his prayers. The sound of my father's voice still wakes me up. No matter how far away, no matter where I have gone or where I'm going, my father's prayers still echo in my ears. That love, the love that healed my childhood wounds, it still lives in my heart to this very day.
"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."
Proverbs 22:6
My father may not have known that I was listening to those words in the early morning hours. He may have not known that in his devotion he was showing me how I should live. His compassion, his empathy, his love for others; all of these things he was sowing in my heart and soul. His faith was being passed along. And though both of us have had our battles to hold onto our faith, the resolve that he was showing in those moments of dedication was passed down along with his words.
In the smallest of moments, in the times when we think we are alone, we are often affecting the lives of others in ways we will never know. My father's morning prayers were those small moments that turned into most momentous of times in my life. And though they were done in the hours just before the light of day, those prayers ushered out the darkness of night in my young life. Those words set me on the path that has carried me to this day.
In Proverbs G-d shows us that we are to train up our children in H-s way. This means that even in those times when we don't think we are being watched, listened to, or looked up at... we are meant to take these small and fleeting moments to continue that training. It is in these moments that we can either be a hindrance or a blessing. And no matter which one we choose the results will be without measure. The affect we have on the future is after all recorded by the lives our children and their children carry forth long after we ourselves are long gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment