Dear Papa,
I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye, so I thought I’d write you a letter. I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you the past eight months. Every time I think about it my heart seems to do a back flip it wasn’t ready for, but you and I both know this is where I’m supposed to be. And thankfully we have Jesus in whom I’m confident will relay this message to you. So here we go…
First of all, I have so many questions! What was it like? Seeing Jesus, face to face? Are you still staring into His deep eyes, full of all the love that’s ever existed? What color are they? I imagine they’re all the colors, plus some we haven’t even seen yet. Has He finished wiping your tears, one by one? Have you sung with the angels? Have you used those new legs of yours to dance and celebrate your homecoming? Did you get to sit on the Father’s lap and ask him your questions? I know you had a lot. I think we all do.
One of the first things I hope to do in heaven is hear all the stories they couldn’t fit in the Bible. At the end of John it says, “Jesus also did many other things. If they were all written down, I suppose the whole world could not contain the books that would be written.” I can’t lie, I’m a little jealous you get to start hearing those now. Plus, what about all the extra commentary He has on the stories we’ve already read? There’s so much we don’t know down here. So much left to discover about our beautiful Jesus.
I’m sure all that will take a while. Good thing God holds all of time in His hands, and unlike the sand in an hourglass, it won’t slip through His fingers. Nothing ever does.
It’s been five days since I got off the phone with my mom and collapsed into a ball on my bed. In that moment I felt something I’d never felt before. A feeling I still don’t have words for. The thought of not returning home to your warm embrace made me dive my head into a pillow and clench my fist around its covering. I became undone – and I had no idea how I would ever be put back together. It was as if a piece of my heart broke off with every memory of you I replayed in my head. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. Besides the love you’ve given me, they’re all I have left of you now.
But you know what else I felt, Papa? Peace. Even in the midst of my pain, I was at peace. I think I have a better idea of what Paul meant when He said the peace of God transcends all understanding. And I was reminded of why I am here, in Africa, telling people about Jesus.
Remember when you were laying in that hospital bed and my mom and I tried talking to you about Jesus? The conversation hadn’t gone so well. You told me you didn’t believe in fairy tales. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. Then the Holy Spirit told me to do something uncomfortable. I fought Him on it for a few minutes before it came time to go. But once everyone left the room I walked to your bedside and grabbed your hand. With tears in my eyes and newfound courage in my heart, I asked if you thought I was giving up a year of my life for a fairytale. Immediately my eyes weren’t the only ones glistening. You said, “No, of course not honey.” I left that hospital with a hint of hope, praying God would use my obedience to somehow soften your heart to Him.
Then there was the time the Holy Spirit told me to go pray for healing over your bedridden body in our house. I thought, “can’t I just pray for him in my room, you know, where my Papa won’t look at me like I’m a complete fool?” The answer was clear. I remember the pounding of my heart as I sat at the dining room table staring at your bedroom door, scared to death. Not only was I going to look crazy to you, but Pat, your new caretaker, was there also. I walked to your door and stood there a while – heart still racing. Somehow I bumped the door and Pat opened it to me standing there awkwardly. There was no turning back now. I walked in, made small talk, and when there was nothing left to say, I did it. I said, “Papa, Jesus told me to pray for you.” And instead of the “no” I was expecting, you gladly accepted. I don’t know who was more shocked, you or me, but we had both just said yes to Jesus. So I prayed for your legs, your back, your lungs, but most importantly, your heart. With tears streaming down my face I prayed you would know how much Jesus loved you and wanted a relationship with you. I could hear Pat’s amens and yes Lords throughout my prayer, which means there were two believers in the room. And you know what Matthew 18:19 says: “Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven.” Pretty soon you began to cry like I’ve never seen before. I left that room knowing Jesus had moved in your heart – whether you knew it or not.
A few days later I left the country not knowing if I’d ever see you again. I knew the chances were slim to none when it came to this life. But what about the next life? What about eternity? I didn’t know. Giving you that final hug was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I got in the car and lost it. As my mom drove me to the airport, I felt like pieces of my heart were being flung out that passenger seat window.
About a month later I received a message from my mom saying you weren’t doing well. She said to call so I could tell you goodbye. When she handed you the phone I tried to memorize every line on your face, but could barely see through the salt water flooding my eyes. After the final “I love you” was exchanged and we hung up, I could hardly breathe. For the rest of the day I prayed. I prayed Matthew 18:19. I pleaded, Jesus, save my Papa. Knock down the walls of his heart. Open the eyes of the blind. Let him see you. No one can truly see you and not love you. Please, Jesus.
That evening I gave my mom another call. Her tone had changed; there was excitement in her voice. She said she had read you my blogs about Training Camp and you guys talked about them. Later Wayne and Cheryl came over and sang hymns and asked you what was holding you back from asking Jesus into your heart. You said you believed in God, and that you loved Him, but that you weren’t good enough. Oh Papa, looks like the enemy had been whispering the same lie to you and me both. Thankfully God gave you people to tell you the truth. God’s love isn’t dependent on us; none of us are “good enough.” That’s why we need Jesus. He’s enough – and when we’re in communion with Him – we too are enough. My prayers were answered that day. You decided to follow Jesus for the rest of your what we thought would be hours, unsure of how many you had left. But now that I think of it, none of us know how many we have left. Ann Voscamp was on to something when she wrote, “Live every day like you’re terminal, because you are. Live every day like your soul’s eternal, because it is.”
I celebrated with two of my dear squad mates that evening at an Italian restaurant in Quito, Ecuador. I could barely believe it. I don’t know why I was so surprised; Jesus had never failed me before. Besides, He wanted you more than I wanted you to want Him. He was the one pursuing you the whole time. But here’s the cool thing, Papa. He used all my “little yeses” (going on The Race, vulnerably writing about Training Camp, confronting you in the hospital, praying for you to be healed) to help you say the biggest and most important yes of your life. A yes that changed everything.
Over the past eight months I’ve continued saying yes to Jesus and have seen all He can do through one small act of bravery. There is power in my yes when the One asking for it holds all the power. He knows where the yes leads, and since I know Him, I know that it is good. So Papa, in honor of you, I promise to keep saying yes to Jesus. I hope you have fun watching where each one takes me.
I know I also promised that I would tell you everything about my travels when I returned home. That promise still stands. It’s just a different home than what we had in mind. It’s our real home, not the one on Ian Court. Jesus told me that once He’s done embracing me, you’ll be the next one in line. Then I’ll tell you all about the wonderful journey this crazy thing has been. I’m grateful we have eternity…we’re going to need it!
But for now I’ll tell you this: I’m doing really well. Does my heart hurt? Yes. Do I miss you? Double yes. I’ve cried myself to sleep every night this month. But I’ll tell you what – Psalms 34 is true. Jesus is close to the broken hearted. I have seen Him in every moment. And every moment He’s in is beautiful. Even when I’m broken. In fact, it’s when I’m broken I see Him best. How could I not see Him when He’s carrying me? The joy of the Lord truly has been my strength. Proverbs 27:7 says, “The full soul loathes a honeycomb, but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.” I’m learning to live hungry. Hungry for Jesus. I ask for more of Him each day, and you know what, He always comes through. He gives me Himself. Because that’s what He does, He gives. He became broken so He could give healing to my brokenness. He is the Greatest Gift, but He has blown me away with all the sweetness I have found woven into the past five days.
Just to name a few of the gifts He’s given…
– My team. More like sisters, actually. Some of the best women I know, who love me so well, have held me more times than I can count.
– My Squad Leaders. Friends with an extra dose of wisdom. They care for me so deeply and have checked on me everyday. I’m in good hands.
– Shannon and Cheyenne. God knows that nothing in this world awakens my heart like being with children I have the privilege of loving. I get to live with these two nuggets. They bring me nothing but joy. On the day I learned you had gone home, they performed dance numbers for me with the backdrop of the African sunset. It was one of my favorite moments of this whole race.
– He let me dance with you in my secret place with Him. You had a new body and twirled me around on the pond Jesus lets me be a ballerina on.
– My friend, Alex, made our team French toast the next morning. I sweetly remembered you teaching my little six-year old self how to make this delicious breakfast staple. Fifteen years later and I still make it exactly how you taught me.
I promise to teach my children and their children too. I promise to make Æbleskivers at every family celebration possible. I promise to learn your toast that’s never failed to make me laugh at even the most tense of family dinners. I promise to play the country classics in my home and tell my children about “the good ol’ days.” They will love The Sound of Music, Snow White, Marry Poppins and every movie we watched together, hand in hand. My kids will know how to bait a hook and fry a catfish. They will know their great-grandfather was Cherokee, Choctaw and Muscogee Creek because we’re proud of where we come from. We will celebrate your life with ice cream often, because who gets to say their grandpa owned an ice cream shop in San Francisco? I will adoringly retell the love story of you and Mema and explain that love looks like devotion after over 60 years of marriage. I hope my husband looks at me the same way you’ve looked at Mema for all these years. I promise to always tell my kids how proud I am of them because you never let me doubt that for a second. You and Mema have always been my biggest fans – cheering me on in whatever I’m doing. Giving me unwavering support, the best encouragement and tremendous love.
I will miss your sense of humor that lit up a room. I will miss your bear hugs that made me feel safe. I will miss walking into your room and hearing, “There’s my girl! Come over here and sit next to your Papa. How are you?”
As I type this, I imagine you singing Amazing Grace with George Jones by your side and Josie Jones at your feet. Oh how I wish to hear your voice again. But until I do, I promise to keep living each day saying yes.
I love you.
See you soon,
Dylly
