In Which Your Faithful Narrator Muses About Things

The NCAA Basketball Tourney is full swing. Brackets have been filled (not by me, mind you, but others) and Bob Knight has been given a bully pulpit on ESPN. I guess everything is right with the world. Unless of course, you've been talking to the uber-Lutherans who are in an uproar over the cancellation of a radio program called Issues, that I've one, never heard of and two, never heard.

My mother and I are adjusting to life without my father. It is still a weird feeling. Not only did my father die, but also my pastor. My father was my pastor. He was a pastor, yes, and I was a pastor's kid, that's true, too. But there is something more to it than that. He was my pastor for the first 24 years of my life. I got my gospel meal from him every Sunday, I could ask him about theological questions I might have. He never really stopped being my pastor, but when we moved to Texas he became a chaplain for Bethesda so he didn't preach every Sunday.

I've been thinking a lot about what he might be experiencing and granted, I can't even begin to imagine what he is a part of, The Glory. I wonder, if everything gets "ramped up" in Heaven during Holy Week. The celebration must be intense. I'm talking weirdly because I can't put into words what I think. Actually, that's part of the problem. What my father is experiencing now is something I can't experience with him, at least not now and I have a certain amount of jealousy over that. Is that weird? Probably.

I had a rough time this past weekend. It was the first month anniversary of my father's death and it really worked me over. I went to the mall for the first time on the 16th and it was a tough experience. My dad would take a walk around the mall a couple times a week for exercise and I go with him from time to time. We'd figure out what time we were going to meet and then I'd mosey off and do some window shopping, etc, but then I'd double back and make sure he was doing okay. When I was in the mall on Sunday I kept "seeing"him and his stoop-shouldered walk. It really got to me. I made it a point not to by the bench we would meet at, I just didn't think I could do that. Again, probably a bit weird, but the grief and mourning thing certainly has no rules.

We haven't really started going through stuff, yet. His books are pretty much the way they were left on Jan. 18th. I'll get to that, soon. I can't keep all of them. As much as I'd like to, I can't. We are going to take his clothes and vestments to Ft. Wayne and donate them. I'm sure there is some seminarian who could use his vestments. So long as said seminarian is roughly 5 foot 8 and about 180 lbs. We need to get his vestments and stoles dry cleaned first, that will be happening soon. Once Spring really kicks in for good.

Speaking of Spring, I believe it has finally arrived and for that, I am excited.