My father's eyes

Lately I’ve been troubled, really heart sick about the recent losses in my life. And last night I was reading a book my daughter-in-law sent me—“Heaven” by Randy Alcorn—a Christian perspective on the nature of heaven. I always have thought that people in heaven don’t know what’s happening on Earth and are blissfully unaware of the trials and tribulations of their loved ones. But the author contends that Revelation 6 gives us reason to believe that those in heaven know what’s happening and they are praying for the others still on Earth.

Glory alleluia! I got promises from two people just before they died (my Uncle Billy and my dear Mike) that they would pray for me. And even better, I’ve got my dad, my trump card, sitting at the Lord’s side. If anyone is in heaven, my dad is there. So last night I talked to my dad and asked him please to talk to the Lord for me, “Please, Daddy, it hurts. Help me.”

And today I was cleaning up the clutter in my office. I took down some superfluous junk from my bulletin board and uncovered a photo of my dad from under something I tore from the local newspaper about a new cheese store. I looked at my father’s smiling face, looked into his eyes in the photo, and told him what a good father he was and that I’ll always love him.

I had iTunes playing on shuffle. Out of 7,791 songs on iTunes, just as I was looking at my father’s photo, up came Eric Clapton singing “My Father’s Eyes.” I figure if ever there was a sign from heaven that my father could hear me and that he was praying for me, that was it. What are the chances? I could be creeped out but I’m not—I’m reassured. Thanks, Daddy! I’m glad I’ve got you there for me.