The first Maundy Thursday foot washing service I remember was in my teens. It was just my daddy and I that night, though I don't remember why. We sat in the 2nd row at St. Peter's having made the journey across the bridge for this event; back when making the journey across the bridge was a bigger deal. Daddy washed my feet with tear filled eyes reminding me that, like Christ, we are not here to be served, but to serve. After regaining his composure, he hugged me and told me that it was a great privilege to serve me. It was a "real" moment for me. The ones that stick tight to your memories and deep within your heart. I can close my eyes and go back to that moment so clearly in my mind. Another tender time we shared. Who knew that within the next decade, he'd walk his own path to death on an Easter weekend.
These days prepping for Easter are always tough for me. As busy as it is with all the church services and other busy things going on, it doesn't matter what dates they fall on, they will always remind me of Daddy's final days. This year they are especially raw. I'm not sure if it's because the dates are close (he died the 21st), or if it's the number of years that have passed (19), or if it's something with my youngest now being a teen, or if it's because I've been struggling so much with life lately. I've missed him more in the last year than ever. I long for his perfect hugs - the smell of his Old Spice that let me know he was near - the deep sigh before he prepared to impart some wisdom, that although I groaned at MANY times, I always tucked away - his goofy humor and many laughs - his ability to put the past in the past and treat each day/experience/mistake as a new one - his love for all things of nature (and his many pictures that never had people) - his never-ending encouragement, especially when he was always in so much pain himself - his ability to always make me believe that everything was going to be okay, no matter what. I miss him terribly.
This year's Maundy Thursday service started with a parishioner clasping his hand on my should to say hello. Something about this man has always reminded me of Daddy, eerily so. But last night I wasn't looking; I was focused on my thoughts and prayers and it was as if Daddy had walked into the room as he had a million times in my childhood. It made me jump the familiarity was so strong.
Throughout the service I was edgy about something. I could feel my irritation setting on the surface. I even seriously considered not getting my feet washed with a ton of reasons/excuses to back it up. But I gave in because it's what Daddy would have wanted me to do... "Let go and let God" So with intentionality and a mind of stuff, I allowed my feet to be washed. When done, it was my turn to serve. I looked up to see whose feet I would be washing. There, my reluctant teen son was next in line. Suddenly I, like my daddy so many years before, was overcome. As I washed his feet with my tear filled eyes, I think I may have known a little of what my daddy felt that night. So overwhelmed with the privilege of serving this child, yet a little fearful of the enormity of the task.
Raising children is hard. Don't get me wrong, it's a privilege and there are wonderful moments. And it's an honor to believe that God thinks I'm worthy and able to do this most important job. But, MAN!!! IT IS HARD!!! And the older they get, the harder I find it...I've learned I have some control issues. And most days I look at them and see more ways I've personally failed than succeeded. As a single mom, I come so short of being all they need. Then add that there are some medical issues that have made some challenges greater. And their faith struggles make me feel like I should have done more; it breaks my heart to not be able to fix it. And even though 2 are adults, there is still so much I want to make sure they've learned. But most importantly, I hope that I taught them what my daddy taught me:
1) To love God with all their heart, soul and mind....it's where hope grows from. Life has never been easy for me, mostly because I get in my own head and way and that is not a good thing. But even on the days that I feel like giving up, I can't because I know I have a purpose and plan here, even though I don't know what it is. God promised in Jeremiah 29:11 that He knows the plans He has for me; they are plans to prosper me, not to harm me; plans to give me hope and a future. PLANS. He never said it would be easy. He never said there wouldn't be pain. In fact, He promised there would be challenges and disappointments and hurt. But He also promised that He could use all things for good and that He would never leave me. He told me not to fear, but to trust in Him. And on the days I feel the most hopeless, He reminds me....sometimes it's by overwhelming me with the guilt of leaving this mess I've made behind for someone else to clean up, but those are on the really bad days. Most days, I'm encouraged to keep trying by His love and His promises. A love my daddy used to talk to me about all the time. A love I believe in with everything I am.
2) To love others. It never ceased to amaze me (and annoy me during certain points of my life), how my daddy always loved others. Even when I found a person detestable, Daddy could point out something good. And he never met a stranger. It didn't matter what you looked like, smelled like, acted like or what you were going through. He talked to everyone and about everything. He could point out everything that you were doing wrong and make you feel like a million bucks about it and you'd walk away encouraged and with hope. Everywhere we went he knew someone. But it wasn't because of some power or prestige. It was because he loved. He was always willing to help others, no matter what it took of him. It didn't matter how he felt. My daddy's medical issues kept him in constant pain, at least for my entire life with him. Pain they never found a source of, an answer to, nor relief of. He had more surgeries and device trials than anyone I know. A pacemaker, a tenz unit - I sometimes thought he was a human science project. And because of his struggles with addiction, he usually refused to take anything. He joked to me once that his drugs were Jesus, laughter, Mom and others. He truly served others with his heart. He lived his life to the fullest and to the fullest extent he could love.
So as I sit here and reflect on Holy Week, I pray about this legacy of love. Eternal life given to me through the cross so that I may live, forgiven and free to give eternal love. I pray that I can make both Daddy and Jesus proud. I pray that I can look past the outside to just love like they did. I pray that my fear never gets in the way. Most of all, I pray that I pass that same legacy on to my children and grandchildren. And I pray that one day they know the privilege of serving.
