TOTAL READ TIME: 5 Minutes

My dad, keeping his nose to the grindstone. © Kathy J. Sotak

My father passed away this past year, marking a new chapter:  both parents are now ancestors, whispering their wisdoms through the ethers instead of the phone line. I still feel them though, guiding me along my own yellow brick road with their hands gently on my shoulder.

If you are in this category too you know that the first holiday season is like no other. It is emptier. There is a deep wanting filling your space. It is just not the same as it was.

Amidst my sadness, I’m thankful that I received full peace on my father’s life while he was still alive. There are no lingering regrets or mysteries to solve.

It wasn’t always like that though. It took me most of my life to figure out my dad. He was a farmer and rancher, therefore worked from sun-up to sun-down.  Because of his hard work ethic our primary conversations were at supper time. And those conversations were pretty lame, like “How was school?” “What gas mileage are you getting?” or “Let’s play a game of cards.”

I wanted to have rich conversations with him like I did with my mother.  We could talk for hours and we were a lot alike. She was a writer, and I am now a writer. She was a photographer, and I am now a photographer. She found joy and curiosity all around her. For example, my mother brought me into her world of noticing wild baby’s breath growing in the prairie ditches, or watching the tiniest of spiders weaving their home in the corner window. Most impressive, she could notice a hurting heart from friends and strangers alike, then did her best to share compassion and peace to brighten their spirit.

Naturally, when my mother died 21 years ago, I wanted to communicate with my dad just like I did with mom. I just could not figure out how to communicate with him though.

A few years ago, it dawned on me. He had been communicating this whole time – but I wasn’t listening. You see, he did not communicate like my mother. He spoke in his own way:  not through his words – he communicated through his actions.

I started watching his actions instead of his words, and a whole new relationship opened up. I listened as he loved unconditionally. I watched as he forgave those who hurt him. I saw how he let the little things go – all of them. Yes, he shook his head at some of us sometimes, but he never said a word in judgment. He knew it was our life’s choices, and instead likely said a quiet little prayer.  Above all of this, I watched as he gave thanks to God and Jesus throughout his life.

I rewound time even further to look back on his life with these new ears of mine. Despite working farmer and rancher hours, he ended early some days when it came to service work.  He was an elder of his church, serving a vital role in the spiritual health of the community.  He volunteered in many non-profit organizations and local services, such as being a volunteer fire fighter.  My dad would always help others when it was the right thing to do and he had the means to do it.

Finally able to hear my dad, who communicated clearly throughout his whole life. © Kathy J. Sotak

Now that he is gone, I heard his wisdom loud and clear:  every day God is expressing itself through our hands and heart.

We have no choice but to reflect on our own lives:  how are our actions imprinting our legacy?

Let’s not add to our new year’s resolution list. How about we simply give gratitude for what we’re already expressing through our hands and heart. Also, who do we have a hard time hearing today in our life?  Let’s take these expanded ears to them and I bet we will hear clear as a bell.