A Father’s Day to Remember
ComfortI can’t cry, I said to myself, because I’m too happy with what is happening here. Sean has sinned, but he is truly repentant. He’s not crying because he got caught, he’s crying because he knows he hurt his Dad and he’s grieving. Sean has no defensiveness. None whatsoever! And Carl has humbly, meekly, chosen to share Sean’s shame with him, carrying part of the blame, instead of angrily rebuking him. Carl had been given wisdom and self-control.
Not knowing what else to say, Carl put his hand on Sean’s heaving shoulder, squeezed it and went off to bed. Sean couldn’t stop crying, so he went to his room and closed the door. Shannon and I went to the kitchen table.
I don’t remember if I told Shannon about my feeling of floating above the room, but I’m sure I told her about feeling peaceful about what was happening, sure that God was in control.
We could hear Sean in his room, still sobbing as though his heart were broken. Shannon, full of compassion, asked if she could try to comfort him.
“Of course,” I told her, “go ahead.” He was mourning over his sin, so we felt free, even eager, to comfort him. Shannon tried, but soon came back saying he would not be comforted.
Then we heard the front door. Sean was outside, walking up the street. I ran after him, put my arms around him (smelled the beer) and said, “It’s alright Sean. It’s O.K. We love you.”
Stiff, unable to receive my affection, he looked me in the eye, pathetically and said, “I’ve got to walk, Mom. I’ve just got to walk.”
“O.K., but come home soon. Know we love you.”
Just as I was going into the house, Carl was coming out, dressed again.
“Honey,’ I said, “he says he needs to walk. He’ll be O.K. Let him go.”
“I will, but I want to be sure he’s safe.” So, as Sean strode around the block, walking off the tension and grief and shame, his father followed in the shadows, lovingly keeping watch.
Finally, we were each in bed, behind our closed doors. Carl whispered, “What should I do about morning, now?”
“I don’t know. Everything’s O.K., isn’t it?” We sighed, unsure if we had heard or seen the final stroke, but eventually fell asleep.
In the morning, there was a note for us from Sean, slid under our door. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me. . .
We went to church, had dinner, opened gifts, spoke gently to each other all day, feeling like we had inherited the earth.
I think the Heavenly Father celebrated that Father’s Day.