thesoulpurposedotorg

I cannot recall a time or a memory in which God was not present. This doesn’t mean I was never angry with God or that there were not times in which I felt utterly abandoned. This is a paradox, I know and I am sure anyone who reads this may wonder at my meaning.
My earliest memories include a sense of God as Father. Perhaps I am reading God’s presence into the past. My own parents were a mass of grief-based pain, anguish and anger. They had been chastised by fellow church members at the their Bible Church for the death of their first born son. They were advised by these Job’s comforters that it had been a sin in their lives that caused his death.
Unbelievably, my parents continued to attend this church. The church was an amalgamation of the Gospel Tabernacle which my mother’s family attended and the German Evangelical Church which my father’s family worshipped. They actually met each other at a going away party that the Young Peoples group threw for my Dad and other young men who had joined the Navy towards the end of World War Two. Shy Dick Gathman soon became one of many men in service that my Mom entertained with chatty letters and silly photos. I think the photo of her in a swim suit sitting on a snow bank must have clinched the deal.
So it was the only church they really knew. Regardless of the Job’s comforters, the church was also home to brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and a loving pastor by the name of Dale Harris. In 1955 my second brother was named for him. Pastor Dale had wept with my parents and became a source of God’s comfort and substance. There was no grief counseling available nor would such a service be deemed as Biblically sanctioned. Instead my parents felt pressured to be an example of faithfulness and joy. No wonder they argued all the way to church every Sunday!
My father would only be comforted by me. I had been schlepped from one neighbor lady to another and perhaps an aunt or two for the last nine months of David‘s life. Is it any wonder that God as both comforting parent and needy demanding Father became my template for understanding the Holy?
I can still remember the green and gold flecked sofa of the lady I knew as the Graham Cracker and milk lady. She was sweet and loving and to this day some 60 plus years later I can recall her freckled face and loving eyes and beautiful smile. Daddy picked me up every day when his shift as a milk delivery man ended. Because of this unique time together and probably because my Mom was pregnant with Dale, I became a total Daddy’s girl. Within 18 months of Dale’s birth, son Number 3 (Thomas Arthur) was born. I thought of him as my own baby. I actually remember praying to God to give me my own baby after Dale was born.
This seems very strange to me now. I still have the wooden cradle that my Daddy made for me before Tom was born. It was featured on a Christmas photo card with two month old Tommy laying in it and Dale and I next to him. Baby Tommy my answer to prayer? Actually, I now know that we were all, Dale, Tom and I answers to prayer.  Christmas is now celebrated miles apart with little bits of family here and there.  Now we are all senior citizens, my Dad has gone on before us, reunited with David.  Our Mom refers to herself as ancient and we are, each of us, grateful to be a part of a family that loves each other in thick and thin.  Merry Christmas!