When I first noticed the lights of a lone car in the distance, fear washed over me. Headlights pierced the darkness of the moonless night as the car topped a small hill nearly a quarter of mile away. I watched across the open field as the car bounced down the bumpy dirt road­ until it was out of view behind a grove of trees. I both hoped and feared that the car would turn down our driveway when it reappeared. I hoped for good news, but feared worst. Minutes dragged on as hope mingled with dread.

The day was Friday, March 16, 1984 and it was already past 10 p.m. It had been the longest day of my life. Dad should have been home hours earlier. We started to wonder what was taking him so long around 6:30. Something had to be wrong. We called his boss to see if he knew anything. He remembered that my Dad’s truck was still in the parking lot when he left and he promised to go back and check on him. We called our pastor and he quickly drove out to our house (17 miles from town). Meanwhile the hours ticked by and we prayed the most earnest and helpless prayers I have ever heard -- my Mom, Lanette (my sister, 16 at the time), me (14) and Bro. Buck.

A few minutes after the car disappeared behind the trees, I caught another glimpse of the lights as the car made the curve in the road. I could tell it was slowing to turn. I had never experienced such palpable fear. For a moment a silly thought popped into my head, “Maybe it’s Dad!” But deep down, I knew I wouldn’t see my Dad’s truck. Soon enough I could tell that it was a big car, a Lincoln or something like that. Two men stepped out – the top two men at my Dad’s plant. No words were needed at that point. I knew that my life had just changed.

At 39 years of age, one week shy of his 40th birthday, my Dad was gone. He had died in an accident at his plant. I ached to the core of my being. Tears flowed easily that night and for many, many more nights to come.

For the first few months, while the pain was the most intense, a theme kept reoccurring in my dreams . In the dreams, Dad always came home. It had all been a mistake. The dreams took on different forms, different ways of explaining why he didn’t come home, but the bottom line was that he was still alive in the dreams. But when I woke up, Dad was still gone. I continued to have those kind of dreams from time to time for at least seven years, maybe longer.

Our church family from First Baptist Church in Calvin gathered around us and help us immensely during this tough time. The love they showed was such a great testimony in our town. I will be forever grateful to this fine group of people, who are like family to me. As I tried to process and make sense of the senseless, God was more real to me that He had ever been before. The comfort and peace He gave pulled me through the worst of the pain and put me on a path the healing. And healing did come.

The sense of loss eased over time, but it never went away completely. I still feel the loss every time I talk to Kimberly and Jonathan about Dad. They never had the chance to know him. I like to tell  Jonathan, “My Dad was better than your dad.” He was a good man, a great husband and father and a friend to all he met.

A Song About Loss
The first time I heard “From Where You Are” by Lifehouse, I was swept back to the night Dad died. The song brought me to tears. The lyrics speak of a life cut short and the things you miss when someone you love is gone.

So far away from where you are
I'm standing underneath the stars
And I wish you were here

I miss the years that were erased
I miss the way the sunshine would light up your face
I miss all the little things
I never thought that they'd mean everything to me
Yeah I miss you
And I wish you were here

When it comes to Dad, “I miss all the little things.” Here’s a link to the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZV-bw_Cljtk

His Laughter Faded Away
Something terrible happens when you lose someone you love, no matter how close you were, no matter how much you loved them, over time some memories of them fade. For years I could close my eyes and remember my Dad’s voice and his laugh. He loved to joke around and have fun. Dad had a great laugh to accompany his easy smile. Slowly memories of the sound of his voice and laughter slipped away. Today we have audio and video recordings to remember people, unfortunately, I don't have any recordings to help me remember.

Losing my Dad 30 years ago was a defining moment in my life – it played a key role in who I am today, shaping me in good ways and bad ways. I leaned on my relationship with Jesus Christ for strength and He taught me much. The most important thing I learned is that He wants the best for me and that is enough. I don’t have to “make sense” of the senseless. I don’t have to understand how God can redeem such a loss, I just need to trust Him. Now I hold on to the memories of happy times and close relationship I shared with Dad. Every time I think of Dad, I’m grateful. He truly was a great person. I thank God that I had him in my life for 14 years.

Editorial Note: Thanks for reading my most personal blog post to date. The nagging sense of loss has kept me from writing about this event until. But, I am a writer and I needed to write about it someday. That someday finally came.

I once was lost, but now I’m found.

Getting lost in the woods caused me to stop and think. Since I maneuvered my way out of the canyon I’ve been pondering the meaning of the word “lost” as Jesus used it in the New Testament. I have also been pondering the words “light” and “dark” as well – two common themes in Jesus’ teaching. Here are a few random thoughts on being “lost.” I’ll save the “light” and “dark” discussion for another day.

Christians often use the word “lost” to describe people outside the faith. We freely admit that we were once in the same condition before we met Jesus.  “Amazing Grace” says it best. “I once was lost, but now I’m found.” We freely admit that our being found had nothing to do with our own goodness, it has everything to do with Jesus actively searching us out while we were still sinners. Though we have been found and forgiven, we aren’t perfect. Not even close. And most of us don’t claim to be perfect. We tell others what Jesus did for us not from a sense of superiority, but out of love.

Sometimes, people outside the faith are offended by the use of this word. And while the Church has sometimes been insensitive in reference to those who do not believe, I only seek to use the term as Jesus used it.

Jesus used the lost imagery multiple times in scripture – being lost and found is a common theme in Luke. The Parable of the Lost Sheep, the Parable of the Lost Coin and the Parable of the Lost Son are all found in Luke 15.

I affirm that every person who ever lived was created in God’s image and is of infinite worth to God. The lost are of no less worth than the found. I think these parables affirm this – the worth of the coin never changed throughout the parable. The coin’s value is the same when it was lost as it was when it was found. In Luke 15, we learn that there is great rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents – that is, there is rejoicing when the lost are found.

Again in Luke 19, Jesus uses the word “lost” to describe Zacchaeus’ repentance. “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost.”

As I said in Part One and Part Two of this series, it pained me to admit that I was lost in the canyon. But I was lost, whether I wanted to admit it or not. The same is true in spiritual lostness -- admitting you need Jesus is in key to being found. The whole canyon experience reminded me about my life before Christ and reminded me what it was like to be found. This was a great exercise for my faith. Remembering compels me to share my story – “I once was lost, but now I’m found.”