LIBERTY!

A delicate “little lady,” she is not. From her heel to the top of her head she measures 111 feet, 6 inches, weighs 225 tons and her waistline is a whopping 35 feet around. A face-to-face meeting with her in New York Harbor would be startling, as she sports a 17’3” visage from chin to cranium! Her index finger is 8 feet long, tipped by a 13 inch fingernail. At her feet lie the broken shackles of oppression and tyranny.

Lady Liberty, as she is often called (formal name: “Liberty Enlightening the World”), cuts quite an imposing figure. A gift from the people of France to celebrate the centennial of the American Declaration of Independence, the copper and steel statue was designed by French sculptor Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi and dedicated by President Grover Cleveland in October 1886 (the French were just a little late, as they intended to have it ready by July, ten years earlier). 

When the idea for the statue was proposed the deal was that France would cover the cost of the statue itself ($250,000) and the U.S. would take care of the base and pedestal ($280,000). Newspapers around the country called it a “local, New York project” and scoffed at the idea until publisher Joseph Pulitzer got behind the effort and encouraged benefit balls, theatrical productions and donations from schoolchildren around the country. Emma Lazarus’ poetic words inscribed on the statue’s pedestal were part of a fundraiser: "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door." 

Sadly, this symbol of freedom was closed to the public after the 9/11/01 terror attacks. But fortunately the pedestal and lower observation decks reopened in 2004 and visitors were finally re-admitted to the rest of it in 2009. This “enduring icon of freedom” was once again open for business. 

The cross of Jesus Christ is the ultimate “enduring icon of freedom” and will never be closed. It is always open to all. While it, too, is the object of scoffers, it stands tall as the symbol by which all may be granted true freedom in this life and that to come. Luke 4:18 records Jesus reciting words from Isaiah as He proclaimed, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” True, lasting liberty!

Happy Father's Day

As we approach Father’s Day 2013, I am distinctly, most poignantly aware that this holiday will most likely be the last I mark while my Dad is on this earth. At 89, feeble, and in hospice care, he will surprise us all if he’s still with us on August 6, his 90^th birthday. As he has often told my sister, he is ready to not be. Weariness has overtaken him.

Because I am who I am, and maybe because of him who raised me, I have made some preparations for this leave-taking. I tend to not like leaving things to the last minute if I can help it. Arrangements are set with the funeral home and even pre-paid. I am grateful that Dad was willing to do this when my mother passed. It makes things much easier for those of us who remain. I have constructed a preliminary service bulletin, pending, of course, the input of my siblings. I have made a first-time attempt at a video retrospective of my father’s life. And this is sadly interesting to me: Dad was born in August 1923 and I have never seen a baby photo or a young child photo of him. Not ever.

I don’t know if his remaining siblings are in possession of such a photo, but I do know neither my siblings or I have one. Perhaps they are lost or never existed. My Dad had a somewhat difficult childhood, growing up on a poor northern Minnesota farm with a cold, reluctant farmer for a dad and an overworked mother of 8, pretty much charged with raising her brood on her own. There are two photos of the home Dad lived in as a boy, with his father and mother and a couple aunts & uncles out front, but Dad wasn’t around yet when these were taken.

I first see Dad as a smiling almost high school graduate. Hard to look at that boy I never knew and see the elderly guy I’m acquainted with now!  He’s then pictured with his siblings, minus the brother who died in a plane crash (one that severely injured my dad as well).  There’s a proud Army-Air Force military man and then another grinning guy, this time with his beautiful bride.  I see him tenderly holding his first-born, a precious look on his face that tells me I was very much wanted.  As were my two brothers and one sister who followed. The little house on Johnson Street – 3 bedrooms, 1 bath – 4 kids! Nobody on HGTV’s “House Hunters” would consider such a thing today, but he was proud to be able to provide it! The new house on Garfield Ave, with the Chevy (in which I took my driver’s test) parked out front (no power steering!- I was sure I’d never manage to parallel park that “boat” in my driver’s test, but I did!). Dad gets progressively older in the photos that follow, as do we all. His kids grow up, they marry, have kids of their own. And their kids have kids! I adore the photos of “The Bobs” – my father, my husband and my oldest grandson. My Dad liked that, too.

My father loved my mother. He loved his children. He loved his grands and his great-grands. I don’t think he ever quite saw himself as an old man, his wife gone on to her reward, and him living out his last days in assisted living. None of us ever do. We are all babes, running around the playground. And then we blink and all the cares of school and jobs and child-raising and life-living are over. For my father, in between his youth and old age was a life made up of honor and perseverance and hard work and wisdom and teaching (with a little bit of humor and dog-loving thrown in!). I am grateful for and have benefitted from every last bit of it.

Thank you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day! I love you, Barb

“Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.” Exodus 20:12

Father Knows

 

“Notice that the stiffest tree is most easily cracked, while the bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind.”                 -- Bruce Lee

Don’t they look beautiful, those weeping willows swaying in the wind? In a soft breeze they nod calmly back and forth in a sort of hypnotic lullaby of swishhh, swishhh, swishhh...while a storm causes them to whip around in a defiant “you can’t knock me down” mode.

Well, maybe the willow itself stands tall in a heavy gale, but its branches are another story. They are everywhere, all over the ground! As a child I often begged my father to plant a willow, for, as I pleaded my case, “they are so pretty, Dad!” Without fail, Dad always replied with a shake of his head, “No. They are way too messy.” And, also without fail, I would grumble (under my breath of course), “You just don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.”

But Dad did know, as dads often do. He knew I’d be the one weeping if we planted a willow! In Wisconsin we are neighbors to a gorgeous such specimen. It’s tall and full and quite spectacular as it stands majestically just on the other side of the lot line. Oh, and it’s really, really messy as it lets loose of its twigs and branches—all over our yard. When it’s time to cut the grass you either do a pre-mow pickup of  the bigger stuff or plow right over all the little stuff. It’s like what T. Jackson Anderson wrote of his willow issues, “Willow trees are messy. In fact, only my daughters and pecan trees rival willow trees in messiness. Of course, my daughters are beautiful, so they can be excused. Pecan trees, at least, are useful; they produce pecans in exchange for those hard to rake leaves. Now, I know what you are saying: willow trees are useful. Aspirin comes from willow trees. I know aspirin comes from willow trees, but trust me on this – willow trees are evil.”

Well, whether or not a willow tree is capable of evil remains to be seen, but every time I mow over its detritus I am reminded of my father’s wisdom—and my Father’s wisdom. We honor our human fathers for their care and their wise counsel, while also realizing their frailties and human foibles. Our heavenly Father has no such issues. He is right, He is knowledgeable, He is wise—about everything, all the time.  And as Romans 11:33 reminds us, we would do well to remember that. “Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and His paths beyond tracing out!”

 

The Father knows!