The other day I was out to eat, enjoying a beautiful night with my new teammate Kel. We were relishing in the yummy freshness of good Vietnamese food in Kathmandu, Nepal, talking about all sorts of life and laughing.
Kel is this lovely little blonde who can make just about anyone feel loved and laugh all over themselves at the exact same time. She’s equally nurturing and hilarious, an attribute I adore and admire in her. So, in alignment with all that is completely Kel, she asked me, “Chris if you could have brunch with any three people, dead or alive, who would they be?”
I thought for awhile and analyzed all the avenues and came up with an answer.
“Jimmy Fallon, Justin Timberlake, and my dad.”
She laughed.
I explained, “If I get to have brunch with anyone dead or alive, I’m not going to want to miss an opportunity to see my dad, but, also, come on, Jimmy and Justin are hilarious. And I’m fairly certain my dad and I could hang in their ridiculousness, which would be awesome. And really, mainly, when my dad would leave me again, I’d have a fantastic new memory of him to hang on to.”
I started thinking more about my Dad that night. I tend to when I’m in new situations. When change happens. And really, when I’m grappling with grief.
Let me tell you about that grief.
Last month was tough.
And I wanted to brush over it, so I didn’t write about it. But gosh it was hard. The president of the organization we were working with, Partnership Mission Society, passed away. A man who was almost solely responsible for an entire state of India becoming Christian, died.
This man left legacy.
Huge, unbelievable legacy.
We were blessed as a squad to attend his beautifully Indian 3 day funeral together. As I stood outside, amidst hundreds of weeping Indian Hmar tribal friends, I was in awe of how a man affected a community.
And then I thought of my dad.
And how many people that know me now, never knew him.
Man, that grieves my soul.
But let me tell you. He changed a community. His presence, his joy, his love. It changed a room.
It changed people and hearts.
Remembering how he affected people never ceases to bring tears to my eyes.
He left legacy.
Soon after the funeral, my friend became super sick and we had to go to the hospital. As I sat with her as she wept in pain. As I pushed down my fear for her. As I advocated for her with doctors. I pushed away grief and sadness and lingering memories of hospital life and being whatever someone you love needs.
As I did all of that and tried not to think, I thought of my dad.
So, really, when Kel lovingly, laughingly asked me that question a week ago, my heart immediately knew at least 1/3 of that answer. Like a little grey fog cloud, my dad has been hanging around in my World Race heart. Because amidst all of the adventuring and romping around, I’m daily reminded of all the things I would tell him if he were here.
Our phone call would start with laughter.
He would probably even answer the phone laughing.
“Chatman summer home. Sum-mer here. Sum-mer not.”
I’d laugh with some combination of love and sadness. Loving my family so intensely and missing them even more.
He’d ask me about how things are going. Probably throw a couple of ridiculous questions in there. Maybe about life with jungle cats in India or something of the like.
I’d start off by telling him about almost going on an accidental date with a Nepali man today. He’d laugh at me and tell me to be careful. I’d tell him about the Nepali man’s hair and him needing to know Jesus and we’d both agree I would have been more than careful.
I’d go on to tell him about how I’ve been getting up early to play basketball with some Nepali boys at a nearby court. He’d make noises of pride and be in awe of me hanging like that. I’d go on about how annoyed I am that I stink at basketball at 31 years old. But he’d ignore my self-deprecating thoughts and go on in pride, acting like I was Michael Jordan circa 1992 and asking if I made any 3’s. I would relish in it.
I’d go on to tell him about my team and what it’s like to be a team leader now. The immense love that I immediately am feeling for them. But the weight and burden of that love. The inadequacy that can come up but how big Jesus love is. How really, none of me matters in it. Just Him in me.
He’d agree and listen so well. Quietly encouraging me.
He’d ask a lot of questions about the girls. He would absolutely want to know about them and probably reach through the phone to talk to each of them. I’d tell him about Kel’s hilarity, about Rica’s boldness, Anna’s wisdom, Mel’s vulnerability and courage, and Chantai’s poetic soul that creates everywhere she steps. He would love them already. He’d absolutely manage to get one of them on the phone. And he’d absolutely make fun of them, creating relationship already.
Loving them easily.
In that instant.
In one moment.
I would have told him about the other two teams living with us in our little 3 floor walk up. I probably would have gone on longer than is necessary, gushing about them all. And I would’ve gotten teary eyed as I told them how in awe I am of getting to be a part of this 52 person family. He would have asked me why I’m amazed; aren’t I amazing too? I would have told him that I can’t even believe that I get to be loved like this. That in spite of everything he tells me, that Jesus tells me, I feel surprised and blessed to be pursued.
He would get quiet in that moment. Taking on the burden of my heart, wishing I could understand the depth of his love and questioning if he himself had failed.
Sometimes the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I’d move forward, not wanting to either of us to cry, and tell him about Jesus speaking to my heart last month. About the hopes and dreams for the future He whispered to my soul. About the possibility of being single a very long time. He’d dive in with me here, dreaming with me and bringing excitement and energy to all that I’m hoping for. He’d celebrate all that Jesus was telling me. Not because he knew Jesus’ voice like I did, but because he knew my heart.
How much my heart loves dreaming and hoping.
How much my heart loves to live.
I’d be reminded here of how similar we are in that. I’d feel a deep well of love and gratitude for him and the way that he grasps at all life has to give.
I’d probably be blathering on now about a wealth of exciting things and he’d be listening well in spite of the 72 other things he was doing. Inevitably feeding the dog or folding laundry, I’m sure.
I’d probably stop talking at some point, thinking he had better things to do and start to say goodbye.
But he’d stop me.
He’d tell me he loved me and how proud he was of me. He’d tell me he misses me so much but that he’s amazed by me. He’d remind me that he always knew I could do anything.
And that I am.
Doing EXACTLY anything.
Gosh I’d cry here. All those tears I was holding back and trying not to have. They’d come.
Because my Dad loved me well. And heard me and accepted me.
And even now.
Now that he’s long gone.
Now that I’m sitting in cafe in Nepal trying to figure out how to be a better version of myself each day.
Even now, that sort of love turns me back to Jesus.
Turns me back to His face and the truth of what it means to meet people exactly where they are.
To find people authentically broken and whole at the same time, because you find yourself there.
Brene Brown says “In this world, choosing authenticity and worthiness is an absolute act of resistance. Choosing to live and love with our whole hearts is an act of defiance. You’re going to confuse, piss off, and terrify lots of people — including yourself.”
Thanks Dad, for living like that.
