A follow on story, about 2 years ago(ish… I’m really, really bad with personal dates and times), my father had a heart attack. He was roughly 85 at the time. He had a triple bypass. I went to visit him in Louisville Kentucky, and, based upon what the doctors were saying, I thought that would be my last time visiting my father. At the time my step mother also just went into the hospital, but it sounded like it wasn’t that big of a deal. She always seemed to be the stronger of the two.
Not long after I returned home, I found out that my stepmother died in the hospital (looking back, my step sister mentioned she had recently been vaccinated). My dad was about to be released from the hospital, but now he had nowhere to be released to. It had always been obvious that he would return home to my step-mom, Marie, until it wasn’t.
At the time there was nothing any of my siblings either could, or were, willing to do. I was asking God what I should do. I happened to be reading Exodus that day and I read the 5th commandment, and it became clear to me, without question, what I would be doing.
“Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”
Now, this was generally unheard of, but, at least for a period of time, I was given reprieve to take care of my father in his home in Kentucky. At the time his doctors put him on palliative care at his home, with their expectation that he would be passing in the near future. I was working my regular hours from a laptop, and, in some cases, from a SCIF, just a few miles from my father’s home.
It was during this time that, while listening to Charles Stanley, in my car, while driving to Louisville, for whatever reason, that I was overwhelmed by conviction and I prayed for Jesus Christ to come into my heart so I could dedicate my life to him.
It was also at this time that I sold my home in Arlington, because, it was just sitting there and with the proceeds I purchased a second home in the same small town in Florida for cash. That home is on St. John’s Street. Battle Hill and St. John’s. The town is called Lake City. You can’t make this up.
Now, a strange part to this story, is that my father, who everyone wrote off for dead, actually got better. Significantly better. He retired from the infantry, spent years in the 82d Airborne (All Americans) and has more jumps than almost anyone currently serving. I often joke with him, and with others, that you can’t kill bad grass. When he was early in his military career he weighed under 90 lbs. Nothing like me. I haven’t weighed 90 lbs since I was, what? 12? In addition to his equipment, they used to make him jump with a sand bag to keep him from blowing away and off the drop zone.
So, after becoming the caregiver for my father for some time, and finding out that he wouldn’t, in fact, die, I received a call from my Division Chief, who told me, basically, return in 30 days, or you’re fired. I don’t blame him, it was just an unusual situation. Of course, at the time, I had no idea how that was even going to be possible. I assumed, once again, that it was the end of my career, because leaving my father wasn’t an option and taking my father out of Kentucky also wasn’t an option, for familial reasons. I had no choice but to stand still and see what God would do.
… and then my sister Karyn called, the following day. Her husband Paul was given an offer for a new job that allowed him to work remotely, so she offered to take over my father’s care.
God made a way before I ever even knew there was an issue. Less than 30 days later I was back in the DMV to everyone’s surprise, including me.
It is now a year(ish) since that time with my father. Here I am God, paying way too much for this crappy rental home, neck deep in the swamp that is the DMV, with a year to go. Not where I want to be, but where I’m supposed to be. What’s next?
