#god bless my newly bought white pen

[fried-manto]

Even so, it meant everything. To me.

[lovestructionworld]

“Ashes to Beauty...Literally LFM #33 June 14, 2017

“ASHES TO BEAUTY...LITERALLY”

When I was four years old my father left my mother and our home. From that time on, until he died, he lived four hundred plus miles away in South Bend, Indiana.

I absolutely adored my father. He would visit every three months. When he would come, it would be all I could think about for the week prior to his arrival. And as soon as he walked through the door, I struggled having fun with him, because I so dreaded Sunday evening, which was his regular departure time. As he was leaving, I would beg him to stay and then be racked with depression once he was gone. The pain of it was torture.

When in town visiting, my Dad would stay with my mom and me. I would sleep with him just to be as close as possible. In the mornings, I would sit on the edge of the tub to watch him shave and comb his hair. He would tickle me all the time and was very affectionate, always hugging and kissing my cheeks. I always felt safe when He visited. I was a true Daddy's Boy.

By the time I was a teenager, my father's issues became more and more apparent and my tears dammed up as I learned to block the pain of his leaving. I can remember starting to enjoy my friends and really not wanting to be around him.

Passively sowing judgment in my heart toward my Dad and his flaws became the norm. I reaped a harvest of trouble from this judgment of him, even though he "seemingly" had the more apparent issues.

When I became an adult, he wanted me to visit him to go fishing, but I always found a reason for not making the four hundred mile drive. Even though I was a Christian, I figured he wasn't good to me, so why should I be good to him, completely immaturely bypassing "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Little about me was golden with so much pain.

When my Dad passed away over 15 years ago in South Bend, Indiana, I barely shed a tear. Matter of fact, I know it sounds terrible, but I was relieved. Ouch! It’s true! I took the trip up to attend to his body. He had wanted to be cremated, and the Funeral Director said it was illegal for me to transport his ashes across state lines. They had to send them to me via U.S. Mail. And when his ashes arrived at the Franklin, Tennessee Post Office, it was like I was picking up a used car part off of a wreck at a junk yard. I had zero emotion. I even saw a friend at the Post Office and made a joke about my Dad's ashes to his horror.

My Dad's ashes stayed in my utility vehicle for over 30 days. I forgot that they were in the back until a friend asked me where I had scattered his ashes. He rebuked me strongly, when he found out the ashes were still in my vehicle. I laughed at Bob that day.

So, I made a quick plan to spread his ashes over some body of water on my way to Murfreesboro, Tennessee for a business meeting. I didn't care which one...lake, pond, puddle, whatever. It was what he wanted, but a pain to me. And I knew I was wearing a suit to a business meeting that day, making it convenient for me to gitter done, funeral style.

I found a small public lake and removed the box from my car. It was an extremely windy day, which was a little scary with me scattering ashes. The wind was straight-line wind blowing out of the north (a sign) in one direction making an easier aim of it, which was good.

As I walked out to the edge of the water, a thought (Holy Spirit's Voice) occurred to me to ask God for my Dad's anointings. I wasn't real sure what anointings were at the time. I had heard of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob each giving their sons their blessings. But what I heard was "anointings". So, I held the box of ashes, maybe with a little tear in my eye, and said a prayer to God on behalf of my Dad. Arrogantly, I thanked God for the "little" bit my Dad had and I might get...anointing wise.

I had angled myself in such a way that his ashes would easily fly out across the water away from me. I drew the box back as one would draw back a Frisbee to fling and then I fffllluung his ashes up into the air.

Now two days prior, I had bought a brand new pair of $175, black, Johnson and Murphy, cap-toed shoes. I was so proud of those shoes and the first scuffs on the bottom of the soles happened that day. As soon as I sent my Dad's ashes flying, the wind made a strong and abrupt change of direction sending the ashes directly down and backwards. You guessed it. My new pair of Johnson and Murphy’s were covered in the grayish white ash of my Dad. My suit was relatively free of ash, but my shoes looked as though I had been walking in snow. So much ash had fallen on my shoes, that small bone fragments were even inside and along the crevices making my walking prickly.

My immediate reaction was panic and to throw out multiple expletives, because I was so grossed out! Sadly, I was crying more about my brand new shoe condition and the hideously disgusting moment I was in, than the loss of my Dad. I bounced around kangaroo-like and in panic for several minutes as I attempted to bang the ash off of my shoes not wanting to risk his ashes getting on my hands. I finally gave up. My shoes were so dusty and there was no way to clean them except with a faucet and paper towels. The moment was absolutely surreal!

I dejectedly started walking back to my Ford Explorer and suddenly the Holy Spirit strongly spoke to me within my spirit and said, "I've given you your father's anointings". There was a pause, only for a few seconds, and then the dam of my pain broke. I stopped and began crying harder than I had ever cried up until that point in my life. The deep wailing went on and on for several minutes. But little by little, I was realizing the magnitude of what the Holy Spirit had just done for me. My tears that had been from pain were now flowing from joy. The Holy Spirit began speaking to me, that what I had experienced was an event generated out of heaven for me and from Him. My shoes weren’t the real target. God had blown his breath into the ashiest part of me, my wounded soul, and began a process of beautification (healing and deliverance) in me toward my that day.

As I reached the car, the Holy Spirit also began impressing up me that no man's life is a complete waste and that even though my Dad had extreme issues, he was still valuable to God and had been gifted by Him. While sitting in my car, I remembered that my Dad's passions were as a writer and speaker. He constantly wrote about everything for which he cared, and his monster, home made desk was covered with yellow legal pads inked with his ideas. He loved to speak and prepared for his great moment by attending Toastmasters speaking club meetings for years. He always dreamed of changing society with pen to paper and great speeches. Presidents Nixon, Carter, Reagan and Bush Sr. all had an opportunity at reading my Dad's mail because he would boldly send his thoughts directly to the White House. I'm surprised the Secret Service didn't pick him up for questioning. Ha!

I got tired of hearing my Dad talk about all "that stuff" when he was alive. On this windy day, all I knew was, I had my Dad's anointing and it felt good to me. I could feel my faith for this "anointing" welling up inside of my heart.

The Holy Spirit had miraculously filled in the huge fatherly quality and quantity time gaps with His power. What should have passed down to me day by day from my Dad, but didn't, had made the leap across my anger and time disconnects associated with my Dad.

What solidified the miracle were my past feelings about "creative writing", "grammar" and "public speaking', given that my high school and collegiate experience was filled with literal dread of them. But, I had been given a surety of this newly given anointing.

Takeaways

There are some takeaways of this story that will be beneficial to you, if you find yourself in the same condition as I used to be. You see, I use to dread Father's Day too. But now, I look forward to them, because my soul is healed from my precious father's wounds.

Know this about my Dad. Physical abuse by my Grandfather became too much for him. And at 16 years old my Dad ran away from home having put my abusive Grandfather in the hospital for several days. This event stunted my poor Dad for 57 more years until his death. My Dad was a son meant to do great things, but his wounds, generational sins and judgement toward his Dad locked him down into habitual, barely bridled anger that was explosive. His father's sin passed down to him. Scripture says, God "visits the iniquity of fathers on the children to the third and fourth generation". This means sin isn't just haphazard. The enemy meticulously plans it and if the non-repentance door stays open, the devil and his dark forces can attack you and your children until someone repents and says, "the buck stops right here".

You will find revival in the following words. When I originally wrote them, I felt as though I was flying through the clouds with Jesus holding my hand on one side and The Father holding my hand on the other.

No matter what kind of Dad you've had, honor him for whatever good attribute you can find. Instead of being bitter at your father and his issues, repent by finding something positive. Embrace it, even if it is just one thing.

Never stop taking care of you father, no matter how poor of a Dad he's been. Give to your Dad even when he hasn't given to you. This will help stop the sowing and reaping cycle of judgment ("visiting sin") that might be keeping the spirit of misery empowered within your family. To do this you must allow the Holy Spirit to restore your heart to your Dad as written in Malachi 4:6.

Also, be, for your children, who you would have wanted as a child. If you have recurring issues affecting your children negatively, do something about it. Get some inner healing. Rejoin a church. Make solid men friends at church who know how to raise children and ask to be mentored by them. Humble yourself. Start pursuing God more deeply and your kids will start drafting off of your pursuit.

Repent to your wife and children for your past failings as a husband and father...all of them! If you are so blinded that you can't see your issues, ask the Holy Spirit to show them to you and trust me, He will be faithful to make them clear. Just know that if the blindness moves into "denial", the destruction of your family is imminent unless you make the right move.

Change!...for the good. "Set your face like flint" to reach your spiritual destiny here on this earth for you and your children's sake. Be a true patriarch, unshakable, strong, a wing of protection and shade under which your children can be at rest and peace no matter how hard marriage or life gets, like our God is to us. True fathers never, ever, never, ever give up, disconnect or run from the pain that can be associated with "family". And when you fail…forgive yourself and let Jesus wash you in His blood.

All of what I've just said is achievable only by the breaking of one's self-will and the bending of both knees to the Trinity...God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit...the perfect relationship. Just because you are a Christian doesn't mean this has happened.

Today, I still have the shoes (See Below). They've been resoled at least six or seven times and I'll NEVER throw them away. They'll always be covered with the memories and anointings of my Fathers.

I really do miss my Dad. The loving feelings I had for him as a child have fully been given back to me, through healing and deliverance. I wish Dad was still here. I would show him off to all my friends if he were still in his earth-suit, and I'd drive the 400 miles to take him to some fishin' hole on the water he loved so much.