For Dad, In Loving Memory.

For Dad
Spring and late fall have always been my favorite seasons. Early in the year the late winter thaw swells the streams with crystal clear water. Other signs of life come out of the warming earth. Skunk cabbage and daffodils join the blossoms on the dogwoods and redbuds. Robins return from their hiding. As the spring-time days get longer my thoughts turn to fishing and early mornings spent wading in icy cold water, as I take in all that God has to offer in His gift of nature. Half a year later, the cooling of the air as rains change to snow flurries bring about a similar, although conflicting comfort as the world around me changes into a hibernating community of rest. The outdoors is just as significant at this time of year. But the shift is away from the frigid streams returning to their icy form. We look upward from the valleys into the higher fields and hills as other wildlife attract our interest and attention.
My dad and I shared many moments filled with both excitement and disappointment while being outdoors. From the proud grin on his face when I tagged my first buck, to the equally wide grin on my face as I returned the favor and offered him the first shot on another; from the fear and concern in my heart from losing his favorite rod and reel to a large fish at Ocean City, to the surprise on his face of getting his Christmas present that year; we found many bonding moments. These moments, regardless of the varying emotions involved, were always grounded in one aspect of life that each of us acknowledged: the awe and wonder of God’s creation. Our hearts connected through this intimacy, this undeniable thread of unspoken conversation, even during times we disagreed. That was his nature. He spoke his mind and offered his opinions, but loved us and cherished the times we had together no matter how brief.
Yes, he loved and still loves. Dad loved his family, it was obvious. He loved his country; evident in all the work he did years after serving in Korea, helping the American Legion and their push for educating students in the schools about citizenship. Above all he loved God and his church and he was not afraid to show it, not by any “in your face” nature, but through his daily actions and his faith. His faith in the rhythm of the church seasons became the rhythm of this life. Connect this with his love for nature and creation, and there is sense for God choosing this time of year to bring him home. Just as Advent takes us into the darkness in preparation for the birth of the Light of Christ, so too, Dad seemed to be preparing for this day. Not that he spent his life in darkness, but he understood that darkness is as much a part of this life as light, and you need one to understand the other. He embraced Advent and Christmas and their association with the first day of winter, always happily declaring the fact that the days would now be getting longer. He knew we were approaching a new light. He knew that light would be brighter than any darkness could overcome: The light that John refers to in his gospel that “… shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
And so now, during Advent, we say goodbye to Dad in this life while the nights are the longest and the grey sky makes the daytime dim. It may take time, but eventually we will get through any darkness that seems to surround us. That is okay, because all things happen in God’s time and not ours. And we know that in time, we will soon celebrate the birth of Jesus the true light, the light of Christ. At some point, possibly when it seems he’s been gone forever, we will recognize that Dad has been with us all along. We will look up into the clear, icy, night-time sky of winter thinking, "soon the days will be getting longer once again.” And a new shining light will catch our eye, we will be reminded of Dad, and we will know he is shining his light for God now. God bless you, Dad. You are and will be missed! I love you!
In loving memory of Peter E. Gdula, 3/3/31 – 12/10/10