Yesterday's marathon visitation (3-8 p.m.) was worth it even though I arrived home completely exhausted, as in, I don't think I could have done one more thing, could hardly speak a civil word, don't know if I've ever felt that tired exhausted.
Dad's graveside service is this morning.
The words themselves stop my fingers on the keyboard and cause my breath to catch in my throat.
My dad is being buried today. My dad. My wonderful father who was all a dad could be. Sure, he had his issues. Sure, we had our disagreements. But he was my dad, and that's all that counts in my heart.
Well, that's not quite true. I take an indescribable amount of pride in how my father lived, what he gave his life to. My dad influenced thousands of people, brought to them the story of Christ, the story of hope and peace that has changed their lives. He mentored and taught people how to better love one another. He lived a well-invested life.
And today we bury him, my brother, sisters, and Dad's wife. Along with our wonderful friends, accompanied by words from the Bible, read by the voices of some of our dearest friends.
The breeze will blow across the hill where he will be laid, and at some point I will lift my eyes to the mountain and in the same breath thank God for Dad's life and ask him for the strength to carry on well.
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