Saturday, July 2, 2016

A Father's Love






Hi everyone! I apologize for not writing for the past few months, but I'm sure you can understand that it's been a difficult time for me... We've had two memorial services for my dad, one here in Florida, one in New York, I had the privilege of attending my brilliant niece's high school graduation in Wichita, and was able to road trip up there with my mom, and of course it's just been a time of reflection and mourning for me to be honest. But now, it's time for me to move forward, and continue on this journey to Belfast, and I'm ready for it! I just want to dedicate this post to my dad, one of my biggest supporters, and the one who helped get me to where I am.

My dad and I had a rocky relationship to say the least, if I'm being totally honest. There were many elements that contributed to it's rockiness, but one of the ones I want to focus on is the fact that we were both extremely stubborn, like father like daughter. He was a lawyer, so at a young age, I had to learn how to argue my point. One of the things I remember from when I was little is he would tell me "I know everything." so I would counter, "Okay, when is Jesus coming back?" and he would say "I don't know that" so I would smile sweetly and say "Then you don't know everything." That was us. Arguing pretty consistently. Only when I got older the arguments got louder, and sometimes nastier.

But once I became an adult, things changed. He treated me as an adult. Sure, we argued, and sometimes, mostly because of his hearing to be honest, we'd yell at each other, but he began to treat me differently. It was almost like once I turned eighteen I was an adult, not just legally, but in his eyes. I was at an age where I could make decisions for myself, and for the most part, he respected them, even when he didn't agree. Now, as some of you may know, when I was eighteen I did not make the best decisions. Spiritually, physically, mentally and emotionally I was a complete and total wreck. I was not prepared to be an adult. It wasn't until I was older, and willing to be healed, and to change that I began to get it together. But through all of that, my dad was understanding. Sure, I drove him crazy at times, and he'd let me know, but while he was helping me get back on my feet, he tried to be as supportive as he could.

Then, one day, I told him that I wanted to be a missionary. He couldn't have been happier. As long as I got my degree, because education was extremely important to him, then he wanted to help me do this. I agreed, because he had taught me the importance of education, so I found Bethany. I am so thankful that he was supportive of my decision to go there, it was the best four years of my life, going through the program, and it helped really heal my relationship with him in deep, and fundamental ways. There were things that I needed to work out (like I said earlier, we had a rocky relationship) in my own heart and life, and I was able to have a stronger relationship with him as my father.

Before I left for my internship in France one of the things he told me was this "Don't come back for anything. If anything happens to me, don't come back, finish what you started." I smiled and told him that I would come back anyway, but I would go back and finish my internship after. See, before I left for France, his health had deteriorated even further. The idea of him dying was not a farfetched one by any means. This was something I had learned to live with, something that had become a part of my life, and I would morbidly joke about with my closest friends, and silently cry about at night in my bed. This was my reality: that my dad would not make it much longer.

But I went to France, and I came back. He was still alive. I graduated from college, and even though he couldn't make it, he watched it live streaming at home. I came home, and prepared to leave for Belfast, and again, he told me "If you are over there, and anything happens to me, don't come back. Keep moving forward." I smiled and nodded, knowing I would still come home anyway. His health had gotten much worse than when I left for France, and now I knew it was a definite possibility that he would pass away soon.

All during my time of support raising for Belfast he was an encouragement. When I felt discouraged, and felt like I couldn't see how all this would work out, he would remind me that God was bigger than this. That He had called me to this, and He would see it through. He would remind me how proud of me he was, that I had chosen to dedicate my life to God, and his plans. He was very encouraging through it all, when I needed it most.

Then, in April, he was gone. His health deteriorated rapidly, and he was gone. I'm thankful I was here, that I was able to be here with my family, especially with my mom. But with my dad went all that encouragement. With him went so much that I didn't realize I had, that I had taken for granted. The first month of him being gone I was strong. I hardly cried. I thought I had mourned already, in the years before, when he had been ill. I thought that this was it, I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't feel anything deeper.

Then, on the way home from Kansas, I was listening to my music while my mom had her headphones in. The song Waka Waka by Shakira came on. I tried my best not to burst into tears. During the past month of not mourning, I'd also been questioning all of my life decisions. I'd been questioning if going to Belfast was the right choice, if God was really sending me there, if being a missionary was the right decision. I mean shouldn't I have a profession where I actually made money instead of asking for money from people? I had been questioning everything. Normally, in these times, I'd go talk to my dad, and he'd remind me, that God had called me to this, that He would provide, and I had to keep going and see it through. But I didn't have that anymore, and instead of going to my heavenly Father, I'd been letting the lies of satan poison my mind. Then this song came on, and all I kept hearing was "The pressure's on you feel it, but you got it all, believe it, When you fall get up, If you fall get up..." And it was almost as if I could hear my dad saying those words to me. Get up, stop letting those lies control your life, stop believing that God can't do this.

It took another month of mourning, and working things out, and going to God about it, but here I am now. Firmly believing that God can, and will do this. I know this is the path He has marked out for me, and I know that this is what my dad wanted for me. He was so proud of the fact that I had chosen to follow God, to choose a path that is in no way easy or simple. The life of a missionary is not easy, on the field or off during support raising or furlough. But it is an honor and a privilege.

I don't know how God is going to do all this. I don't know His plan in all this. I honestly have no clue how all the finances I need will come together for me to go to Belfast, but I know this: I serve a God who can make mountains move. Who can use a song about FIFA to remind me what my dead father would say to me during a time of weakness and doubt. I serve a God that has never failed to provide for every missions endeavor that I've ever made. A God who has never gone back on promises He's made. So yes, it might seem hopeless, I may go through times of doubt and questioning, but God never gives up on me, and He is always working in ways that I cannot see.

These are the things my father taught me, things that my dad made sure I understood. He taught me so much about justice, fairness, honesty, being observant, movies, tv shows, investigating, pain, sadness, hope, but the most important thing that he taught me is this: Christ is my Savior, and through Him all things can be done according to His good and perfect will. No one and nothing can stand in the way of the will of God, and as long as I submit myself to His will, He will work for my good. Whatever that good looks like, even if I don't see it in that moment, He works all things together for my good. So I trust in Him. This is the most important thing my dad taught me, despite differences, yelling matches, anything that either one of us ever did that was hurtful, he taught me the most important lesson that I could ever learn, and I will forever be grateful for that, and I will carry that legacy in my life, and if the Lord blesses me with children, then I will tell them about their grandfather, and what he taught me.

So this post is dedicated to my dad. A man who fought for equality for the hispanic community in New York, who served for twenty-five years on the NYPD, who had a brilliant mind, a curious mind, but most importantly who went on to give his life to Jesus, who dedicated his time to learning about Him, and committing his life to God, who had two beautiful great-grandchildren, ten wonderful, bright grandchildren, three incredible, brilliant children, two incredibly talented step-children, and one daughter that will forever be grateful for his love and dedication to God. He was not perfect, but he was my dad, and I love him, and will always miss him.


Joseph Charleman
January 28, 1937-April 8, 2016