An Apology and Confession to My Father

Love for the world and love of you is having a deep conversation in my heart today

(A picture of my father and me at the top of Pikes Peak in 2005. The picture was taken on a “Father/Son retreat I put together. My own four sons joined my Dad and I for this time together. The picture sits on my desk)

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I’ve been thinking and re-thinking my life.  Aren’t we all?

September mornings are those times of in-between space—the space of leaving summer and the space of a fall-a new season, not yet arrived. It’s often in these in-between times, in this liminal spaces of “betwixt and between” that we often think more—or begin to think on new thresholds of understanding. Sometimes, it is in the clouds that we begin to see what we can’t see when the sun is shining.

As I got up this morning, I guess it was the September steam and mist hovering over the mountains that caused me to think more deeply—or to see more clearly. Maybe, I was invited into a mystery. You can decide.

If we are fortunate enough to live long enough, we get to reconsider our steps and ways. Perhaps, this is what time allows us, if we are fortunate to grow in wisdom and in age—to live and to make amends in some of the ways we tried to live and tried to love and tried to be loved. Time offers us the invitation to make things right.

Sometimes, I think my father and I got sideways in what he wanted; what I wanted and the great space between us. Thankfully, we got some of our side-ways of thinking, believing and acting worked out before he passed from the planet. But his deep memory and his deep influence of loving the world have not passed from me. I hope they never will.

I’ve been tracing my love for the world—for creation— and how this came to be. It was my father who gave me such a love of the world. It was in showing me the world, that I now know I was shown love. Love of the world was what I shared with my father and it is in this deep sharing, that I know now is love.

I have been tracing back—who was it that gave me such a thirst for nature? Who impressed upon me, that the beauty of the world and seeing the beauty is what makes us come alive and stay alive—and fight to remain alive.

This person was my father.

He took me outside into the world.

He ushered me forth into this world.

He gave me multiple opportunities to be “in” the world: streams, mountains, lakes, rivers, cities and landscapes.

And, in this taking, ushering and giving, there was love—but a silent love that I almost didn’t hear.

As a father myself, I tried to give my own sons some of what my father gave me. I put words to what I was offering them. Words helped me define to my own sons what I might have missed in the silence with my Dad.

Words spoken. Words of meaning. Words of description. Words of nuance. Words of love. I was different from my father. But what is shared between us is a love for the world—a thirst to be “in” creation.

When my sons turned thirteen, I took each of them on a “Meaning of Life Trip.”  I took one to the Grand Canyon; one to Colorado; one to Yosemite and one to Mexico. It was my own way of helping them learn about the world as my own father tried to show me. We talked at night about becoming a man. We spoke words. Words were how I chose to show love, I suppose and one more thing, I took what my father showed me and I tried to show this to my own sons—a love of the world.

For me, Mary Oliver says it best:

“Love for the earth
and love for you are having such a long
conversation in my heart.”

I was and I still am convinced that to be “in” nature is one of the greatest blessings of life. To be in nature is to be near God. Here, in the world, we find our home and our belonging. We find the ground of our being. To be in nature with my father was this “long conversation” and it just feels so good to trace this back and to say this out loud now.

I came to the white page of my journal today, inviting me to now write some of this out—and again to put into words what I found in my inner landscape. In my writing, a poem was birthed uniting my love for the world and my love for my own father.  It was my father who ushered me into this world—to see it, notice it and gently walk through it.

Who first taught you about the world—about the beauty in the world? Who was it that told you to be quiet and to listen to the many voices speaking in this world, if only we would listen?

For me, it was my father. Who was it for you? Write them and thank them. They gave us a great gift!

Like every son, I wanted many things from my father. Love was always at the top of my list. I, so, wanted this love in words. I did not get the words until my father turned 80. Then, he said them to me: “I love you.” But, he, then also asked me a question: “Do you love me?” I, too, was silent about love for too long.

In re-thinking my sonship and birthright, it is becoming more clear with age, that I was indeed loved. It was a quiet love—a love, I almost missed in the silence.

My poem is an acknowledgment and a confession to my father. It is something I needed to say and to say to him. He’s long been dead now, so he can’t hear my words or read my poem. But, in saying this poem, I speak it— heart to heart and man to man.

Maybe, just maybe, I speak it for others, too!

Why not just post the name of the person who had the “long conversation” with you about love of the Earth? I’d love to see how long this list gets….

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