Some might say I have an unfair advantage in the spirituality department. Some might say that as a child in the church was unfortunate. I simply express both ideas with the statement that I am a PK. For those who may not know, a PK is an acronym for preacher's kid. My father is a minister, and there are indeed many blessings that can come from having a pastor for a father, and quite a few pressures and frustrations as well. But I consider myself blessed to have had a father who preached grace and not law, whose focus of ministry has always been on relationship with God rather than religion, and, most importantly, who lived at home what he preached from the pulpit.
Unfortunately for me, my way of reacting to pain, loneliness and confusion had a lot more to do with isolating and trying to figure things out and or make things better myself than it did with talking (or more importantly listening) to my father or running to God when I was scared. Once resentment against the church grew to resentment against God and the seeds of true rebellion were sown, I was lost. I cut God out of my life as much as possible because of pain and resentment and created a God-shaped hole that I then needed to fill or die. Since I could not, or would surrender to God so that He could and would fill the hole, I tried to fill it with momentary distractions and chemicals. It worked for a while, and then it stopped working. Then it created moments of mass destruction in my life and the lives of others. I lived a life fueled by anger and fear. I most certainly was not a peacemaker.
Of course, since I never saw anything in my father's life that didn't line up with what he preached, I couldn't call him a hypocrite or write of his relationship with God as positive thinking, fairy tale bullshit. I wanted to, because I couldn't seem to find and keep what he had, relationship with God. But I couldn't. I never doubted that God was real and that my father's relationship with Him was also very real. Instead of doubting that, I came to believe that the was a power higher than myself who hated me. Since I saw my father as working for God, and I couldn't go to God (He hated me after all), I lost, no, threw away the help and support that I could have had from my father. My father loved me dearly and wanted to help me. He tried many times in fact. One of the first revelations that I got in the rooms of recovery was that the truth and wisdom I heard there were the same things my father had been saying to me all my life, but I couldn't hear it. It didn't take long before the confussion and addictions and isolation led me to take the natural leap that is God hated me my father must as well.
It was foolishness. Neither my father not God ever waivered in their love for me. I share the above to show that my father had and has a relationship with God and that I know it was my reactions and rebellion that prevented me from benefiting from his teaching. It was never his fault. And there were times that I did benefit.
One early morning my father and I went deer hunting together. We got up about the time I normally went to bed, bundled up and drove to the woods. Upon our arrival I realized that I had forgotten my rifle. How amazingly stupid. I immediately began beating myself up. I felt dumb. I felt angry and frustrated. I felt like I failed my father and let him down once again. I felt....let's face it, I felt sorry for myself. I felt like that a lot.
We got back in the truck and drove home to pick up my rifle. On the way, I was ranting and venting my frustrations with myself and the situation. I knew this would cause us to be walking to our stands too late in the day for success. My father didn't say anything. He put on some praise and worship music and started singing along. I could tell that he was truly trying to praise and worship God with the music while I ranted on. The fire began to die down within me. I couldn't interfere with his communion with God by throwing a temper tantrum while he was essentially praying. I stopped talking. The music played, he sang, and I somehow found myself calming down. Something changed that had nothing to do with the situation. I began to feel peace. It was ok. I can't describe the overwhelming sensation I felt when I realized I hadn't ruined everything by forgetting my rifle, because my father didn't want to go hunting as much as he had just wanted to spend some time with his oldest son. My reaction to forgetting the rifle came closer to ruining the experience than forgetting it did, because my anger cut me off from my father and anything else. I was lost inside me again. When I allowed my father's reaction of praise to interfere with my self pity, I was drawn into his reaction and drawn out of myself. There I found peace instead of frustration. I realized what the trip was about.
We got the gun and returned to the woods. Neither of us saw any deer that day, but it turned out to be one of the best deer hunting days with my father that I ever had because it was about that time with him rather than trying to impress him or measure up to my ideas of his expectations for me.
That is one memory of my father being a true peacemaker. But there are many. Talk to anyone who knows my father, and they will talk about how calming he is when they describe him. Part of the reason that he is such a good counselor is because he is a peacemaker. And as I stated at the beginning because I saw this daily, I could never doubt that my father had a relationship with God, and because of that I could never doubt that God was real.
When I came to the rooms of recovery and heard the message that it was all about relationship with God, in many ways it was like coming home. I learned to listen to my father. I learned over the years of my adulthood, in little stages, that God loves me. If I follow my father's footsteps and example in anything I would have it be this: I want to have such a real and deep relationship with my creator that I live each day in such serenity that I become a calming influence in the hearts, minds and souls of others just by being around. That just as much as my walking into a room used to mean that party was really about to kick off, my entrance would become a sign that there would be peace. I hope that someday I live a life of such serenity that it overflows my personal banks and washes over those around me, so that when they see me they see my Creator, not because I look this way or that or do some things and not others but like with my father they see and and since the peace of God that passes all understanding so strongly that they have no doubt he is a child of the Creator.
I have seen in so often in the life of my father and a few others. I have seen it from time to time in my life. I have seen it in the rooms. Blessed are the serenity spreaders for their life shall bear witness to those they encounter of God's power, God's love and God's way of life so much that when people spend time with them they know they are spending time with a child of God and that they too can be that. The peacemakers are the ones in the rooms whose presence and words made me want what they had and do what they had done. That is who I want to be.
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