This is a post in a series titled “30 days for dad.”
In the fall of 2003, during football season of my senior year of high school, my dad began to notice a pain in his back. After going in for a scan that revealed a tumor, we discovered that the tumor was cancerous. This news came the day before Thanksgiving, 2003.
Three months later, on february 21, 2004, my eighteenth birthday, dad sat our family down to share the results of the chemotherapy treatment: ineffective–the cancer had gotten worse. Then he told us that apart from God healing him he would die in a few years. Death was imminent.
Those few years ended up being months. Three months later, on May 19, 2004, he died and went to be with Jesus. Two weeks later, I graduated from high school in tears.
There are many stories that can be told–which I intend to tell in time–covering the numerous experiences and lessons learned during and after this time. These 13 lessons (I ran to my computer and wrote them after talking) are everything I remember from my last conversations with my dad.
I went to him hating God, confused and distraught, franticly looking for answers. He was leaving too fast; I wasn’t ready. “What about my little brother and sister”, I thought. “What about money, what about college, what about mom?” When we talked, I asked him one overarching question, with a heart ready to fulfill whatever answer came back. It was a blank check for my life: “Dad, what do you want me to do with my life? Tell me what to do.”
He did not waver: “Please God, and you will please me.” There was, literally, not even a second of thinking before he responded. It was not what I was looking for, nor what I had expected. Nothing about making money, or playing collegiate sports, or fulfilling some ministry dream he had. Just follow God wherever he calls you, period.
I left that conversation wanting and angry; today I rejoice for this gift of freedom and the courage to lose my life in obedience to Christ. He alone, Jesus, is my deepest lasting possession.
My dad’s words are my treasure. It has taken me six years to understand what he said to me in those last days. I trust that I will learn more deeply what he meant as I continue to walk with Jesus, the same Lord and God my father followed. May you be as blessed by these words as I have, and may you know God in such a way–to live and die as a fragrant offering to Jesus.
13 posts to follow expanding on each lesson
1 A godly man lives to give his life away
2 When Kaori or John (younger siblings) is angry or argues or anything (about what happened), they just want to know that they are special. Don’t argue. Hug them. Love them.
3 It is better to give than to receive. Far better. Learn this, live by it.
4 Deep questions, ask Uncle Harry and Pastor Gary. They know dad’s heart.
5 Love family. More important than all other questions. Just love.
6 I have given dad deep joy.
7 I am a man of God, dad told me so. I have his deepest blessing. My heart is his heart.
8 Please God, I will please dad.
9 Obedience is learned through suffering, don’t know why, but somehow it is.
10 Remember heaven.
11 Trust God, he will work things out. It is all about trust.
12 Dad found his peace in Romans. Things working out better. Study hard in Romans. It’s there.
13 I told dad I would make him proud; I will keep my promise.
This is a post in a series titled “30 days for dad.”
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704875604575280400596257236.html
This article was a painful and refreshing read. Well done.
For me, reading this brought me to the brink of tears. I read it surrounded by people working on their computers, so I controlled my emotions best I could. I just miss my dad, still…there isn’t much more to it than that at the end of the day.
God has been growing my heart for adoption recently, especially with things like this. I know a small piece of being half an orphan (fatherless), and have younger siblings who were truly children when they lost my dad (12 & 14). I want to be redemption to children who have lost everything. “Why did you give me up?” has got to be one of the hardest questions a child can live with.
This is a post in a series titled “30 days for dad.”
6 Years Later
Ever since my dad died I have fought to believe in the Christian promise of hope–that God does what is best for his children, for me. It is a belief that not one moment of suffering is wasted or purposeless. It is a belief clearly taught in the Bible. And it is a belief that is hard to functionally believe when painful things keep happening to you.
In the midst of this battle to believe, God gives tangible blessings to help us trust him. Blessings like last Wednesday, my dad’s six year anniversary, when I got to see a man dying of ALS come to Christ.
God, Let It Be Today
After starting the morning by remembering my dad with some friends, Pastor Matt Jensen and I drove out to Bellevue to meet Mel. He had requested to talk with a pastor about God and that request had come to us through his cousin, one of the girls in our church.
On the drive over Matt and I both expressed a strong desire to see Mel and his wife Chantal come to Christ–that day. I had never personally led someone to Christ, but with the way God had lined everything up, I was praying fervently that God would let it happen: “Today, God, let it be today!”
I Had Seen It Before
Walking into Mel’s home was like deja vu. I had seen it before, six years before, except the whittled down man in the adjustable bed was my dad, and the woman caring for him was my mom. Pictures around the house chronicling the terrifying journey from normal life to near death, hand made cards from a son to his dad, and the unbearable weight of grief and fear–all too familiar. I had seen it before.
My heart broke as Chantal explained Mel’s fears regarding his past sins and what would happen to him when he died–where he would go. His face was tearfully contorted by the terror of the unknown. This was the man we met at 1:00 pm, Wednesday, May 19, 2010.
I Am Not Afraid
We walked Mel through the good news that Jesus had come to live perfectly and die on his behalf. Matt walked him through Romans 10, asking if he believed Jesus had died for his sins, been raised from the dead, and become the Lord of his life. Mel could barely talk, but he nodded best he could to each question: “Yes.”
Mel still seemed afraid after this. I remembered how my dad, who was ready to meet Jesus, had been strangled by the fear of leaving the family behind. So I asked him if he was afraid to die and stand before God, the reality he had been terrified by when we first walked in. He began to mumble something we struggled to make out. As he continued to repeat this phrase, we realized what he was saying: “I am not afraid! I am not afraid!”
He Can Take Care of Your Son Too
Once I realized Mel was afraid to leave his family behind, especially his 11-year-old son, I shared my brokenness with him. I showed him a picture of my dad and little brother, eleven months before he died. I looked him in the eye and said, through tears, “This is my dad and brother. My brother is eleven in this picture, just like your son. He is eighteen today and a strong man of God. The pain is terrible, but God took care of my brother, and he can take care of your son too.”
Then I told him the church would take care of his family after he was gone. His wife followed this by exclaiming, “Mel, I’m ready to give my life to Jesus too!” My heart overflowed with joy. Salvation had come to their house.
Chantal expressed a desire to read the Bible, pray together, and begin taking the kids to church. After helping them get some initial direction in this we hugged Chantal and said goodbye to Mel, who was smiling peacefully in his bed. There was no more terror in his face, no more fear of death. This is the man we left at 2:30 pm, Wednesday, May 19, 2010.
For the record, my dad died at 1:30 pm, Wednesday, May 19, 2004.
Six years of pain–He has not wasted it.
This is a post in a series titled “30 days for dad.”
My friend told me the other day that these posts were really encouraging. He lost his dad in 2003. I asked him for feedback to make them better and he said, “They are great. They are REAL. and thats why I like them. Its great for me because I was not a christian at the time. Dont change, just keep them real.” So I’m going to keep being real, hoping that it continues to help the few or many who read this.
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dad died wednesday. the 19th. somewhere around 1:30 pm. i know he’s happy and having a blast.
but we are still here. without him. God, tell me this is a joke. i wouldn’t even be mad, i’d cry tears of joy. and what can i say to my mom that will ease her heartache? she and i both know where my dad is and all that he did here and so on-but that is not why she, i, or my siblings and relatives cry. yes i have my peace spiritually. in terms of, i am not bitter or hateful towards God for this. I wish there was some other way. but this is my life i guess. i know i’ll never have the answer, but i can’t help but continue thinking, “why…?” how could i ever stop. these were the cruelest six months of my life. i know good things happened during this, lots…but please don’t bring that up and try to convince me that these months weren’t that bad. because no matter how much good was able to come, i lost my father in the same extent. i am short on tears right now. i’m not sure why exactly, but i do not have tears, not like my mom. i hate this. why can’t i feel this?!??! i will never not miss my dad. because i will never see him again in this life. and even though in relation to eternity, this life is nothing…as long as i’m here, life is still a good length. maybe it just comes to me at nights when i feel like i’m 5 again, and i’m scared and i want to hug my dad and rest my head in his stomach. and then he’s not there. again. and again. and again. |
This is a post in a series titled “30 days for dad.”
You can’t change the fact that losing someone you love, or dealing with a really bad situation that can’t be flipped around, just really really really sucks. So don’t try to come with a tool box to “fix it.” We live in a broken world marred by sin, a world of pain. What you can do, in the midst of pain, is be comforted.
The best balm to a hurting person is someone who enters into the brokenness with them, and brings hope. It feels awkward to have your heart spilling out everywhere around someone who has it all together. I’m not saying you should become an emotional basket-case in general, but I’m saying sometimes, in moments, you do need to become an emotional basket-case and “go there.”
This is one of the reasons I love Jesus, the Man of Sorrows. It is one of the most comforting things to me, knowing that he very likely lost his earthly dad (Joseph isn’t mentioned in the account after Jesus is 12), and definitely lost his eternal Father for an infinite moment. He understands my pain. And, he brings with him the hope of Himself and the Resurrection, the renewal of all things and the ending of pain. I don’t just want to say, “F my life.” I want to hear that my F’d up life can be redeemed.
Here is a comment I made on the last post I shared from 2003. I made it 5 years later, a day before I turned 23. I think it is insight into how you can help the hurting.
1 Comments:
This is a post in a series titled “30 days for dad.”
This may be uncomfortable for some, but I am going to keep writing about the fear, confusion, and pain of loss and suffering before I talk about the more “feel good” stuff. My reason behind this is, quite simply, because though joy is mingled with sorrow (sorrowful yet always rejoicing), deep pain lingers. Those great blessings and truths that you learn through suffering–which are very real–come in the the midst of messy uncomfortable situations, and often don’t come at all until far after the wounds have scarred over.
So here is another post from six years ago. Yes, it’s still scary and uncomfortable, and it will be for a little longer on this blog. I just want to be faithful to real life. It would be a real disservice to hurting people to give the impression that you just become really strong and come to peace with the way things happen after a brief spell of being a crazy lunatic saying things you really don’t mean and will want to take back later. You say some really wrong stuff, in retrospect (that part is true), but it is far more enduring than “brief.” These posts are my best attempt to show people how terrible loss and suffering are, knowing that mine are so small in comparison to others.
i am a wreck.
i just talked to my mom and she explained a lot more about my dad’s thing.
i’ve been blowing it off for the past few weeks as if it’s just minor cancer, if there is such a thing, and that they are gonna start treating it and it’ll all be fine. i just didn’t know.
it’s worse than i thought. just a lot worse.
i guess we can be optimistic cause the doctor says he’s confident it’s worth fighting and going through the pain of treatment vs. just enjoying the last six months or something. but it tripped me up to know that six months kinda thing was even a possibility. and then my mom telling me how my dad asked if it’s worth it. if he’d still be around and alive in six months-to the response of yes it’s worth it…i just thought he is gonna be sick and get better. but cancer is just sounding like a monster right now. i cried for the first time today. for the first time over this. as my mom was telling me about it. i don’t know what it was. i guess it just became real now. and i just let the tears stream, and i would not let out a sound cause my mom was there w/ me on my bed and i didn’t want her to hear my crying so i just let the tears go and control my breathing best i could. and then i tried to stop the tears and wipe my eyes so that my mom wouldn’t be able to tell i was crying. i know it’s ok to cry, but i just didn’t want to make my mom cry more from seeing me really crying. but i just couldn’t help it. i kept having to pucker my lips tight as the tears came and try my best to keep silent.
and i’m not doing a good job at being the good son
i should just keep doing what i’m doing and from that kinda make my parents feel secure in knowing that i’m doing ok and stuff…
play basketball, hang out w/ friends, keep up w/ school…all that.
and i do that. but i’m just wretched at home. i guess that’s when i let it all out. i’m nasty to my little brother and sister, just straight out mean sometimes. a lot of times. and i know i’m supposed to be better than that. that i’m supposed to just love them now and be a big brother and give them hugs to help them feel safe and stuff. i’m just not too good at that right now.
and when people ask me how i am. my patented response is “i’m ok” or “i’m alright” or “not bad”…cause that’s not bs’ing anything but it’s not giving them the whole truth. cause i don’t think it’d be nice to let them know the truth. i wouldn’t wish that on anyone. and honestly, i appreciate people being nice and being there for me. but i also expect people to understand that unless you’re one of my close friends i don’t really want to talk about it with you. nothing personal and i know that makes me sound like a bastard but i’d really rather not. i appreciate the thought and prayers, i’m dead serious. we need it so much. but me, i just can’t open up to everyone.
and i want to cherish this time w/ my dad. but i don’t know how. it just feels too weird. but i know i can’t let that keep me from being w/ my dad cause lately i’ve just kept myself pretty distant from my family.
and where does God fit into all this. Right smack dab in the middle. i just can’t really bring myself to him right now.
i feel trapped and sick now.
i really hate this
and i understand why it is such a common question now…”why do bad things happen to good people?”
cause my dad is a good man. he’s a hero.
but i guess none of us can say anything to God because we all deserve hell. well, that doesn’t really help
pray for my family please.
The next 30 days (“30 days for dad”) will be spent making public the private blessings I have enjoyed as a son, remembering the life and death of my father, Mark Sakanashi, who died six years ago on May 19, 2004. My hope is that his life, imperfect as it was, and he was, will be an encouragement to the church–especially fathers–as an example of what God can do with one man’s life. And, I hope to provide an empathetic presence to those who have also lost parents or loved ones prematurely. This is my attempt not to waste the suffering God has given me–for my good, the good of others, and His ultimate glory.
Before I start talking about lessons I have learned, I want to lay a foundation to the suffering people I hope to comfort and encourage. As a word to those who have not suffered deeply–it’s subjective, but there is a fraternity among those who have endured losses of abnormal magnitude–suffering people never really want to be alone, at least the majority of the time (of course there are moments to just process, but even those times it is nice to be in the silent presence of a trustworthy friend, family member, or lover). But they’d rather be alone than with people who don’t understand suffering. It comes out in the aroma of your interactions; those intent on fighting and correcting, too afraid to let God defend himself, are not helpful. Those who can sit in the pain and weep with the weeping over the brokenness of the world, with the hope of Christ and the renewal of all things in their heart, are the sweetest balm in the midst of irreplaceable loss. There is a time to teach and correct, and a time to let angry words fly off with the wind. Tread softly and handle with care.
So this is me six years ago, broken and afraid, not able to reconcile my theology with reality–yet–uncensored at seventeen, right after my dad was diagnosed with cancer. I will show you my scars, just like Jesus, the Man of Sorrows, who is more acquainted with your unique grief than you could imagine. Don’t wait for answers to why–they’re pointless and a cruel endless chase–He loves you, that is the only why you need for now, and ever, and He is extending His scarred arms to you at this very moment. Go to Him.
i guess it’s been a while.
a lot has happened in between now and the last time i wrote.
Dad has cancer
What am i supposed to do with that?
i don’t cry. not yet. i’m not sure how i’m supposed to act
some people cry and are scared, i’m not sure if i am supposed to be that way too.
i’m not sure how i am allowed to act.
i know i have to step it up and be strong as a man.
my family needs me
i’m not sure if i’m allowed to show fear
if i can cry in front of them.
this came out of nowhere.
i’m just kind of stunned ya kno…
there’s nothing i can do to change my dad’s situation w/ cancer. that’s up to God now.
i don’t understand this, but i guess i’m not supposed to. not yet.
i’m not even sure how to tell some of my friends.
i don’t want to be an object of pity by letting people know
but sometimes i do wish people knew so they could be there for me more than usual.
i’m not sure about all this.
I just gotta give it to God.
if worst comes to worst my Dad will be in a better place.
i’ll just miss him.
i hope it’s not that though, there’s unfinished business in my eyes
my dad has to see me get married and cry in the ceremony like he did for my brother’s
i have to see the look on his face the first time he holds my child. glowing…
i hope, i hope.
It has taken me four or five years to learn that God as the gift of Himself, saving me from my wage of death and Hell, is far greater than any earthly treasure or possession I have ever had or will have, including dad and my future family, Lord willing. Yes, it makes the small sufferings and losses I have had pale in comparison to who I have gained, and the hope of what will one day fully be realized: beholding God face to face.
It hurts. I know. Thanks for teaching me pain, and letting me come to You for comfort. Now I can touch the hurting and bring them the same comfort. Truly You are so wise. Thank you for all the scars.
SOLI DEO GLORIA
-Stephen Sakanashi, five years later