Open the bottle—honor the Father

As the third of four kids, time alone with just Daddy and me didn’t happen very often.

So this particular morning was unusual in many ways.

As we waited for his name to be called by the receptionist behind the counter, he grew thirsty. Could he drink before this scan?
Yes, the receptionist told me, and handed me a water bottle.

I passed it to Daddy. He tried to twist it open.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t unscrew the top on a water bottle.
He was too weak.

I watched. I waited.

I didn’t want him to have to ask me. He didn’t want to have to ask me.

But he had to. I opened the bottle, and handed it back to him.

The moment wasn’t lost on either of us. 

I know this stuff happens. I know the natural order of events is that parents grow weak and die, while their children step up and be strong.

But that doesn’t mean I like it. 
I don’t want to be the stronger one.
It’s always been him.

God doesn’t say I have to like it.
He just says do it.
Honor your father and mother.
Open the water bottle.

The doctor gave him bad news.

The next doctor gave the same.
And added a prayer.

The third doctor, ditto.
And added advice to us kids: No lecturing your dad about what to do next. Provide support. Hug him. Love him.

To my ears, I heard: Honor your father and mother.
In life. Through death. On the other side.

So, along with my precious siblings, I fill a prescription when he’s ready to take medicine. I chauffeur him to a doctor when he decides to go. I fix a meal when he’s hungry enough to eat.

And I make arrangements for what to do when he’s gone.
When I can’t honor him in person. Only in spirit.

Because that’s what God wants me to do. 
Honor the Father by honoring my father.
And because that’s what I want to do.  

So it will be.

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My Walks with Him