We were cut from the same stubborn cloth, chiseled from the same hardened stone, and hadn’t spoken with the other for over a decade—an unfortunate byproduct of the anguish he had wrought upon our family, especially Mom. Such resentment grew to levels a young mind should not have to endure. But despite that anger, he was still my father, no matter the distance I placed between us. Mom, always with love, remained our only link through the seemingly endless years. A few days before he died, she said, “Call your dad.” And I did. Then she died first.
It was a short conversation, but most sincere. A bond between father and son reestablished while he lay weak in hospice, his mind barely clinging to reality. I told him I would speak to him again. He died, and I never did.
Like dad, I’ve known many people who had been angry with God for one reason or another. Something happened in their life and He got the blame. A fundamental misunderstanding of who God is—and of His eternal plan—led them further down the path of bitterness and rejection of the Truth. I, for one, realized too late that anger is acceptable, but what you do with it may not be. Bitterness only grows with age. It festers like an infected wound. How many times could such indignation have been resolved before it was too late, I wonder? If only love had overruled grief—if we had only talked instead of retreating into silence. There is always a misunderstanding to be fixed, or at the very least, forgiveness to be laid. With such weight finally lifted, I would have been free to grow again.
If only I had realized it while there was still time.
The rejection of God our Father carries consequences just as dire, if not more so. Some of my best friends of the past fell away and distanced themselves from Jesus because they believed in an eternal burning hell, and thus, a tyrannical God. Others rejected Him because the losses they faced were caused by the enemy of souls, yet they blamed their Father, instead. Had they only gone to their knees and spoken with Him, answers and healing would have come in time. Instead, they now carry separation, animosity, and anger as their constant companions. Perhaps true love is the answer most fail to find.
I wish I’d had one last moment with dad.
“And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2).
Like Father, Like Son
