Me and my Dad

This may be one of the most personal blogs I have ever written.

I was stunned by Pat Robertson’s recent proclamation that  a man is free to divorce his wife if she has Alzheimer’s disease, on the pretense that “She is not there.”  I am compelled to respond because if I remain silent, I do a disservice to my family and my father.

My dad admires my watch.

You see, my dad went to heaven after suffering from Alzheimer’s for over five years.  In the end he recognized no one, and could carry on no meaningful conversation.  His every need had to be taken care of by others.   He spent much time staring blankly into space.

One of the last times I visited dad, he simply held my hand and ran his rough, work hardened fingers over the face of my watch.  “That’s a nice watch,” he said, over and over again.  This was the man who survived the Bataan Death March and spent three years as a prisoner of war defending my freedom. This was the man that taught me how to hunt and ride a horse.  This was the man loved to take us fishing.  The fingers that gently traced the outline of my watch were the  same fingers that showed me how to put a worm on a hook.

What would Pat Robertson have done with my dad?  Would he have denounced him as a father?  Would he have concluded that the Biblical admonition to “Honor your father and mother” only applied to those in excellent mental health. I can only assume from Robertson’s latest proclamation that because my dad’s spirit had been dimmed by this horrible disease I was free to disclaim him as my father, walk away and leave him to fend for himself.  After all he “wasn’t there anymore.”

This blog is written with deep empathy for those who have cared for a  loved one with Alzheimer’s.  I understand the toll this disease takes on caregivers.  I saw my mom suffer profoundly as she watched my dad become a shell of the man he had once been.  I watched her suffer trying to care for his daily needs and grieve when other caregivers had to be found.  Eventually loving professionals were enlisted to take care of dad, but to the end, he was mom’s husband and our father.

I think the following story by an unknown author captures a more compassionate and Biblical scenario than that suggested by Robertson.

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It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman, in his 80′s, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed suppclies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease.

As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him. “And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?”

He smiled as he patted my hand and said. “She doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.”    Author Unknown

I am so thankful that no matter what our condition, God still knows who we are.  No matter how decrepit or deranged he remembers the price that was paid for our redemption.  Because of who He is he will never leave us or forsake us.

Dear friends,  If at some future date you find me staring into the distance because this disease has wracked my mind and body.  I ask you not to cast me off. 

Please visit me. 

Hold my hand.

Let me touch your watch and sense from some deep place in my soul that you love me.

I ask you to believe that until I go to heaven and look into the face of Christ………….

I am here!!

Dads grip and his faint smile tells it all. He knows he is loved.

Tyler, The prayer warrior!

Yesterday my daughter Traci dropped a heavy block of wood on her foot and broke a toe.  The pain was agonizing but there a was a deeper disappointment that drove her to tears.  She had trained and raised support to run a half-marathon to benefit “Coopers Troopers” an organization dedicated to helping the families and siblings of children who have faced life threatening disease.   As she sat on the couch sobbing with her face in her hands, she heard tiny voice of her three year old son, Tyler.  “You want me to pray for you?” It is hard to hear and sob at the same time so she asked him to repeat himself.  This time he said each word loudly and distinctly so his mother would understand.  “DO  YOU WANT ME TO PRAY FOR YOUR TOE???”   Traci responded, “I would like that very much.”  Tyler bowed his head, and with the sincerity only a three year old can express prayed, “Jesus loves me this I know, please help my mommies toe……  AMEN!”  Then he went back to playing.

What did I learn from Tyler’s prayer?

• Little hearts are very sensitive to the needs of people around them.  He was genuinely concerned.
• Little people go straight to the heart of the matter.  No religious gobbly-gook…..  Just help my mommies toe!
• Little hearts believe that their prayers are heard and will be answered.  No need to hang around. God is going to take care of it.  Might as well get back to Thomas the Train. 

No wonder Jesus loved little children. They are really have the biggest hearts of all.

Have you ever been touched or tickled by a child’s prayer?  Leave a comment, I would love to hear the story.

My Dad

Today as I drank my morning coffee, I was reminded that it is Fathers Day. The tears came suddenly as sweet memories of my dad flooded my soul.   I decided to re-post a blog I did six months ago.  I would be very honored if you would read it.  Then, if your dad is still living, say the words, “I love you.” If he is nearby, hug him. If he doesn’t like to be hugged, do it anyway.  Someday you will long to do so.  And if you are a Dad, say the words a hundred times to family and friends today,  magical words, words we were created to hear.  I love you!  I love you!  I love you!

This one is for you Dad! Can’t wait to see you again.

As we pulled into the driveway to visit my parents I was angry. Still fuming over how it all started several months before.

I had just returned from a ceremony where I had received the gold medallion award for my book Jumper Fables. The plane had leveled off at 35,000 feet and I tipped my seat back to catch up on some sleep.  My eyes settled on the baggage compartment where the engraved placard commemorating my accomplishment was safely stored.  Then suddenly, I was sobbing.  Not the quiet respectable  sobs of an adult but the choking, uncontrollable, snot yielding sobs of a child. Tears streamed down my cheeks.  The man sitting next to me handed me the cloth that lay on his seat back tray. I used all of it. Evidently, before the emotion that triggered this reaction had entered my conscious mind it lived for a long time at some subterranean level of my inner soul.  When it was finally exposed to the light it was not a wispy apparition. It was full grown, HD quality, focused and clear as crystal.  In that moment I recognized what it was that had wandered below the surface, silent and unresolved for so many years.  I wanted my dad to see this plaque. I wanted to hear him say, “I am so proud of you.”  I wanted to hear my dad say.  “I love you.”

I grew up during the changing of the guard that controlled a man’s expression of emotions and feeling.  My dad’s generation expressed love by putting food on the table and a roof over the families head.  Real men didn’t outwardly express love or sorrow with spoken words.  Those were signs of vulnerability and my dad survived three and a half years as a prisoner of war where vulnerability meant death.

I don’t think I ever doubted dad’s love.  I just needed to hear the words.

I pulled a piece of paper from my briefcase and quickly wrote the first and only letter I ever wrote specifically to my dad.  I poured out my heart. I  told him what I had just experienced.  I confessed that much of my driven personality came from my desire to please him and make him proud.  I expressed my deep love for him and with trembling hand confessed my desire to hear him say the words, “I love you” in return.

I can still see the mailbox and smell the aroma of that morning. For days after I mailed the letter I would jump for the phone each time it rang. It might be dad.  He had read my letter and now I would hear the words I was born to hear.  Days became weeks and weeks stretched into months.  Anticipation was replaced by disappointment and disappointment degenerated into anger. And with anger an ominous ghost of doubt sulked nearby, begging to be embraced.  What if he doesn’t love me? Maybe I have to do more, be more, achieve more in order to gain his respect and love.

Now as we pulled into the driveway after 12 hours of butt numbing travel, anger once again summoned the ghost of doubt. I could feel him probing to find access to my heart. Why didn’t Dad at least acknowledge getting the letter?  Did he even get the letter?  What will I say when I see him?

We entered my parents home without knocking and were immediately greeted by my startled and surprised mom.  Mom startles easily.  She would have been startled even if we had called from the front porch to tell her we were about to open the door.  Dad came and gave us each of us his trademark wrestler hug.  I am sure I was stiff and unresponsive but he didn’t seem to notice. After the initial greetings he disappeared into the garage where old lawnmowers, oily chainsaws and beat up snowmobiles stood in testimony to his master skill of fixing the unfix-able.

Immediately my mom pulled me aside. “I want to show you something,” she said, motioning for me to follow.  She led me into their bedroom and with a flair of pretend annoyance she said, “Stop sending your father, stuff.  He is turning our bedroom into a shrine.”  The room was dimly lit by a small candle sitting on a table against the wall.  Next to the candle was my college graduation picture.  The wall above the table was covered with dozens of newspaper clippings. There were interviews and reviews of my shows sent to dad by friends and relatives.  Nestled among the clippings was an article with a picture of me receiving the gold medallion award for “Jumper Fables.”

Then a small homemade frame caught my eye. I moved closer to see the picture in the flickering light. It wasn’t a picture at all.  Dad had framed the letter I had written at 35,000 feet. My knees buckled as I reach for a place to sit on the end of the bed. Tears, snot and sobs made their dramatic and unexpected entrance again.

That dimly lit wall screamed to me, “I LOVE YOU, SON!”  YOU ARE MY PRIDE AND JOY!

With an audible groan, the ghost of doubt disappeared never to be seen again.

I have scavenged my brain to remember if there was a time my dad ever verbally said, the words “I love you” unfettered by qualifiers like “I love you but with a Godly love.”  I just wanted to hear I love you from my dad. If he said it, that memory is  lost somewhere. I couldn’t find it.

Life had not taught my dad the verbal language of love.  I believe he wanted to say “I love you” but didn’t know how.  He knows how to express it now, because he is with the ONE who expressed it best of all.  At my fathers memorial, I made two resolutions I hope might be helpful to you.

1. I resolved to confirm my love to the people I care for with WORDS. Your family, friends and Savior long to hear “I LOVE YOU”…… Say it!  Say it often!

2. I resolved to strive to understand the unspoken language proclaiming “I love you.” Scour the candle lit walls.  Read the note from your child.  Feel someone squeeze your hand. Even if you don’t hear the words, read between the lines and believe that you are loved.

Am I alone here? I would be honored to know how the words “I love you” or the lack of them has affected your life.  Has someone built a shrine that screamed “I love you,” into your life.  Did you read between the lines?  Your comments are valued and anticipated.

Me and Dad

My inspiring friend Kallai

Sometimes I ask myself why I leave my family every week to endure the hassle of travel. Occasionally I get weary and wonder why would I eat junk food and sleep in lonely hotel rooms in order to stand on a stage and deliver the one gift God has given me.  Then I meet a girl like Kallai, and I vow that I will do this until God takes my breath away.

Dear Ken Davis,

Hi, I am Kallai Hokanson.  I am 13 years old.  I am from Wisconsin.  I enjoy reading, playing violin and flute, learning and laughing.  I am also proud to be a Christian.  in March of 2007 I was diagnosed with Leukemia and after it relapsed I received a bone marrow transplant in August of 2010.  I am now doing stupendously!  God is great!

Kallai

I have enjoyed watching your DVDs in the hospital and when I was getting radiation treatment.  I got zapped in one room, while radiation physicists watched me on monitors in another.  Just so you know the group of radiation physicists at Mayo really enjoyed you too!  My parents heard them laughing.

You have mad me laugh even when I had multiple tubes coming out of me.  Hey, if you ever want to give anyone the willies, stick a feeding tube down your nose and then throw it back up.  One end of the tube coming out the nose and the other end out the mouth.  You should have seen the look on my mom’s face!

You manage to incorporate a meaningful Christian message into your comedy.  Not many comedians do that.  You have helped me see the humor of life at the worst time and gave me hope.

Thanks.

Nothing else needs to be said.  Kallai’s beautiful smile says is all!

Kallai is recovering from a bone marrow transplant. You can keep up with her progress at caringbridge.

Kallai's family in solidarity - Dog refused to shave

Taciana - age 7

I am on a bus headed for a Compassion project in Fortaleza, Brazil. Marco, a handsome, tanned man with wispy white hair has just boarded the bus.  Marco has labored on the behalf of poor children in Brazil for 27 years. He talks so fast the interpreter can barely keep up.

In broken English and with a face creased with lines from a thousand smiles he asks, “What could be better than excellence?” Before anyone can answer he answers his own question.  “Better than excellence,” he proclaims, “is relationship.”  He explains how the first Compassion project in Fortaleza started with a handful of children sitting on a dirt floor in run down shack, not exactly what we would call excellent surroundings.  But these children were being instructed, fed and loved by adults who used with excellence the few resources they had to build relationships with those children.  Excellence was important, but especially because it was a means to relationship.  Those men and women were the face of God to children without hope.

Proof of the fact that Marcos was telling the truth is the presence of Taciana, a radiant 30 year old Brazilian woman who was sponsored at age seven. Taciana is holding hands with Julie Patterson the woman who sponsored her. They are riding this bus and talk excitedly as an interpreter tries to keep up.

Taciana today, with Julie Patterson and me

13 years of love and sponsorship have transformed both of these people. Taciana is no longer the sad, frightened  little girl she was at seven years old.  Today she works in a hospital and is studying to do medical research.  Julie Patterson and her family consider Taciana as one of there own.  As a result of this relationship and the relationships built while in the compassion program, Taciana has experience the greatest relationship of all.  Her love for Christ is rock solid and is evidenced in the love she still has for the children of Brazil.

The sweet sound of children laughing

As we entered the first Compassion project and the sound of singing filled the air, Taciana wept openly. All the memories of these supportive and life sustaining relationships came flooding back.  The hope and joy that illuminates her face today is a direct result of people committed to excellence but not as an end in itself…..  Rather as a means to a better end…..  relationship.

I watched all this though my own tears and my own thoughts went to my friends in Franklin who have cared enough to build relationship with me and Diane.  My thoughts went to Bob Thompson, a professor at Oak Hills Bible College, who became a friend as well as a teacher and changed my life for ever.  I was reminded of Christ who paid a supreme price to enable me to have relationship with Him…….  As the day ends I am humbled by the work of Compassion and by the smiles of hope that have brightened this day.  The songs of joy that ring in my ears and I thank God for the relationships in my life.

Who has taken you beyond excellence and changed your life because of relationship?

If you would consider building a life changing relationship with a child like Taciana check out Compassion