Today I listened to a recording of my father's voice. It is a good thing that I was not scheduled to operate heavy machinery, or make a decision about real estate. My emotions came surging up, simply from the cadence of his speech. He had chosen his words mindfully for the talk he gave three decades ago. 

 

Clearing his throat a clatter of times, he even reached for a sip of water near the end. It was just a few years before the emphysema reached a tipping point, and he could no longer breathe. I like picturing him now with the strength of full lungs and plenty to sing about. 

 

Entering the ministry as a second career,  he graduated from theological school in his thirties. Dad was ever humble, and especially so at the end.

 

He opened the presentation by saying he respected the people in the seats and would probably not be telling them anything new, but could perhaps share his perspective on God's wisdom. While setting a timer he dared himself to finish before it buzzed. If he didn't the audience was invited to clap him off the  stage. Who does that? 

 

There was an old school power point, meaning a flip chart with hand drawn quotes. Being unable to see the words too, my mind stayed focused on picturing him. 

 

I was not present when he gave the talk originally. It was a month before I gave birth to my fifth child across the continent, and things like Divine Order were too lofty for me. All I wanted was to finish being pregnant. 

 

But magically here I am, given the chance to ponder what a good man who knew he was in the queue for heaven had to say about freedom. Not to his daughter, although his daughter in law was in the room. 

 

He talked about his excitement in seeing fresh relationships from bringing ideas together. This, a man for whom trudging across the floor lugging an oxygen tank was an ordeal. What grabs my heart is imagining his exuberance now that his body doesn't hold him back like a sack of Idaho potatoes.