Faith, Hope and Love

“Now faith, hope and love remain and the greatest of these three is love.”

In the past few years, I’ve embedded lines from a contemporary Christian song in my mind. ‘Give me faith to move this mountain. Give me hope when times are hard. Give me love to conquer all. Give me You to fill my heart.’ Quoting these lines in a time of need has set my mind on a rectifying path often.

I’ve stated several times to many audiences that I was the spoiled child of an incredible father. My father was a stabilizing effect in an otherwise chaotic, and sometimes irrational childhood. Had my father been aware of the irrational parts of my life, I’m not sure what he would have done.
Dad was strong on discipline, but not the abusive kind. He disciplined mostly by example, direction and training. He also talked a lot. That may be where I got some of mine. It’s not to say he never spanked me, I just don’t really remember him spanking me, though I know I got some from him. And kind as he was, there was a line nobody crossed with my dad.
I don’t think daddy ever administered corporal punishment to me in anger. Sometimes words were thrown in anger but not hands, fists, or belts or such. Yet once he did punish me in fear. I shall never forget it.
My mother worked as a professional seamstress at that time in a mens’ clothing department. She usually worked until 9 PM. Daddy got home in the afternoon about an hour and a half after I got home from school. There was an unspoken rule. I came home with a family from the private school I attended or I waited on dad. On rare occasions, I would walk the two miles home, but only if I knew I could be there when dad got home. I didn’t like walking by myself and seldom would unless I’d just missed the last train out, so to speak.
Daddy and I would have supper together and on occasion make a late supper and set an ‘elegant’ table for my mom as well. When she had a day off during the week, she’d bake something yummy and spend the rest of the time gardening or visiting friends or talking on the phone.

A rabbit needs chasing here for clarification. My dad had a reputation for being a man of integrity and wisdom. He wasn’t a pastor, as such, or a preacher, as such, but he mentored many people through finances and marriages and substance abuse recovery. He spoke in jails and nursing homes and filling stations and restaurants about his own transformation, gratitude and resolve. In this capacity, he met a couple and mentored them for several years in all of the above categories. They came to our home frequently and their three boys and I played when younger and visited and played board games as we got older. Dad kept a kind but watchful eye on this process. He despised the oldest son “JP”– a couple of years older than myself – and made it known that I was to develop nothing but a very distant relationship with him. This was not a problem to me. There were too many fish to be caught and daddy had taught me much about fishing! That rabbit caught and fried, I continue with the story at hand.

One afternoon, I, being the editor of the school yearbook, missed my ride home. As I hurried out, “JP’s” mom said “The Ogles said they had to hurry and I said I’d take you home.” That was fine with me. I had a lot to carry and didn’t relish lugging it 2 miles. As I got in the car, she said: “I have just a couple of errands to run.” Something inside said “OH,oh,” but I settled in between twin brothers in the back and we started out. Those errands included bill paying, a visit to the attorney, and a “short” stop for groceries. A couple of times I offered to just walk on home. She insisted it would be just a little. It got dark. I knew dad was home and would be furious. After buying groceries, she needed to take them home so nothing would go bad. When we got to her house she asked “JP” to take me home. At my wide eyed alarm. She told “JP” to drive carefully and take me straight home. She told me she would call daddy and let him know what happened.
Her call was as timely as the trip home.
When I arrived, my dad was looking out the window. Before he got to the front door, “JP” pealed off leaving rubber, smoke and noise behind. I walked up the sidewalk feeling abandoned and defensive. No explanation was tolerated. My father exploded into a whirlwind of F5 characteristic. He threatened, berated, used language I never heard before or after. He struck me.
I sat wounded, angry and bitter in my room when I heard the phone ring. Then it rang again. One call was from “JP’s” mom, the other was from the previously non-present spouse in the Ogle home who had heard her say she’d bring me home. When dad barged into my room a few minutes later, I wouldn’t even look at him. I knew he knew, just from the conversations I’d overheard. I was ashamed for him, but still angry and hurt. He told me to get my sweater, wash my face and come with him. It wasn’t an optional request.
He took me to our favorite restaurant and ordered for me. We sat in silence for awhile. Eventually he began to talk of his dreams and hopes and fears. He was very explicit in his admissions of fear. This was as close to an apology as I would get. It may have been the only way he knew how to apologize to me. His dreams were his confidence in my character and abilities. His hopes were his expression of love and devotion. I was still angry but no longer hurt or bitter as we walked back up the sidewalk and into our house. Mom was home. Dad just said “We got a late start and so I took her out to eat.” My mom didn’t ask. Later that night I contemplated the fear that could slay my father’s integrity. Eventually I accepted it.
It wasn’t until many years later that I understood the secret here. What temptation and anger cannot touch, fear can destroy in a second. Fear has only one battleground: the mind. Fear is no respecter of physical or emotional strength. The only way to beat it is to arm the mind in advance.

Now faith, hope and love remain.
The picture is a scan of dad and my 4th daughter 30 years ago