I visited a church not too long ago that gave me a gift. The gift wasn’t the ability to see the beauty of the stained-glass windows or hear the pastor’s sermon, although both were impressive.
The gift sat beside me, although we came in separate cars, each driven by someone else.
My dad stood in the crowd waiting for my arrival, looking for me, even though we both knew neither of us could see well enough to recognize the other in the dimly lit sanctuary full of faces and perfume.
I have a close relationship with my dad. We share similar personality traits; however, one thing I know he wishes we did not share is a hereditary, degenerative eye disease, Retinitis Pigmentosa. Throughout the years, we have spoken of our challenges and fears about going blind, and as our vision decreases, these conversations increase, as we are both severely visually impaired.
Partial vision loss is hard to understand and even harder to live into day-by-changing-day.
Dad and I are good at masking the mask upon our eyes. Many would not know we were visually impaired. Yet, despite our best efforts, the disease has a way of making itself known.
I had not been to church with my dad in over a decade.
We live in different towns, and our meetings often revolve around family celebrations and lunches. On this particular Sunday, my father and I shared in worship together.
As we stood to sing, I remembered once being small enough for him to scoop me up and stand me on the pew beside him, side by side, so that we could sing together. I remember wanting to sing as confidently as my dad, but I was too young to read the words in the hymnal.
My voice was as small as my stature.
Unlike the church we attended when I was young, this church’s music was more modern. Words were projected on a large screen rather than in hymn books, and many people tapped their feet and raised their hands in adoration.
Seeing the hands of strangers raised high, I couldn’t help but think of Time’s hands as both a familiar friend and a stranger.
Sometimes, we become so accustomed to a challenge that we forget how far we have come… and how far there is to go.
I sang, rejoicing in the Lord’s faithfulness. As I stood next to my dad, I soon realized his lips were closed. His eyes were open and set upon the big screen, but his voice was silent.
Before the pastor began his message, a prayer appeared on the big screen. This time, Dad’s voice boomed as he gave voice to the Lord’s Prayer:
“Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever.
Amen.”
I felt like the small child who once stood on the pew wearing white ruffled ankle socks and patent Mary Jane shoes. I heard my small voice attempt to blend with my dad’s powerful voice, and at that moment, my voice became louder. I didn’t need to look at him to know he believed every word of the prayer.
I heard his faith — a faith born from a time of hymns, hardship, and hard work.
After the service, we were about to exit the row when my dad asked, “Could you see the words on the screen for the songs?”
“Yes, mostly,” I replied.
“I couldn’t see them at all. Not one word,” Dad said. He looked frustrated.
On the way home, I thought of my dad reciting the Lord’s Prayer. He didn’t need the words on a screen; he learned them long ago and continues to keep its message alive in his heart.
Like all Believers, Dad is guided by greater hands than Time.
The Lord continues to faithfully open our eyes beyond what is seen. And as we lean into God’s truths stored in our hearts, eternal life is actively breathed into our souls.
Dad will never know what a gift it was to hear his heart speak: to hear my father worshipping the Father.
May we store God’s truths in our hearts. May we never forget the hand that moves us beyond Time, showing us how far God has carried us and how far He has gone to take us with Him through His son, Christ Jesus.
“For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever.
Amen.”
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.
