"Doctor, I am afraid to die.
Tell me what lies on the other side."
Very quietly, the doctor said,
"I don't know."
"You don't know? You, a Christian man,
do not know what is on the other side?"
The doctor was holding the handle of the door;
on the other side came a sound of scratching and whining,
and as he opened the door, a dog sprang into the room
and leaped on him with an eager show of gladness.
Turning to the patient, the doctor said,
"Did you notice my dog?
He's never been in this room before.
He didn't know what was inside.
He knew nothing except that his master was here,
and when the door opened, he sprang in without fear.
I know little of what is on the other side of death,
but I do know one thing...
I know my Master is there and that is enough."
My father always told me that faith was a gift he would give me. He told me that it was the ability to believe something in my heart which could not be proven. He gave me that gift by always saying what he knew to be true, never saying "I believe...." just explaining life and it's occurrences as if he wanted me to just understand what was true.
Since he was a Catholic man, who once considered the priesthood, it wasn't hard for him at all. He had faith. He shared it. With confidence, he seemed to understand everything in life. What made him magic was the fact that he spent every minute of his life just explaining it all to me.
Everything was a lesson. I rarely knew that I was learning anything. I was just being with my Dad. He taught us everything. He did no task by himself. As we moaned and groaned, he taught us to paint a room, bake a pie, fix a car, solve a problem, make a decision, speak in public, sell Girl Scout Cookies or Boy Scout Fertilizer. First we were his Assistants, but we graduated eventually to running the projects. He also taught us constantly how God expected us to work at being good and kind to others above all else. As he taught, he explained so many things in terms of faith.
When my baby brother died, as I sang Rock a Bye Baby to him, my grieving father told me that a wonderful thing had happened. Even though we would miss little A.J we now had our own Guardian Angel in heaven. He would forever watch over me. He bought me a book about Guardian Angels and taught me a special prayer that I said every night.
From that day forward we just talked about our Guardian Angel. Every time I had a "near miss" like the time I rode my bike in front a car and survived, he would gave toward heaven and saying, "Thanks AJ for watching out for Monie." "Thank you Lord, for the Guardian Angel."
Last night Catie told me she couldn't say her prayers because every time she said the word "Mom" it made her cry. I dug out that old prayer and taught it to her. I told her about her own special Guardian Angel. It is my turn to teach the Faith to my children and grandchildren.
When he had to punish me, he told me that it "broke his heart to punish me, but God gave me a job to do as a parent" and then he explained he must teach me the "right way to live". When he missed church and I asked if God was mad, he just said, "God loves me no matter what. He knows I make mistakes."
We spent many hours, he and I, just talking about anything and everything, but he lived his faith. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized how he gave me the gift.
That faith has sustained me through my entire life. In the joy of shouting out thanks to the Lord and in sorrow when I could barely pray. I've made many mistakes, but God loved me anyway. I have had the ability to believe in love, mercy and goodness and to believe in the joy of the future. To believe that Karen is in heaven.
I have the beautiful gift of faith. Thanks, Dad.
