Episode 10: A Father's Love
Music - Canon in D by Johan Pachelbel, Piano by Jessica Roemischer
Subscribe on Apple Podcasts & Stitcher
Subscribe on Apple Podcasts & Stitcher
This podcast episode follows from the previous one--in which I recount the experience of the passing of my dear father. Since hearing of the news a bit over a week ago, each day, I go to my special place overlooking the ocean. There, I find myself closest to God and to my dearest dad. This past week, since my dad’s passing, has been full of poignant reflection and revelation, and that place is where I go, to open my mind and heart to all that’s there lying beneath the surface, that’s asking to be revealed and understood.
It’s October, and here in the southern hemisphere, that’s the beginning of spring. And spring is when the whales give birth, and so many other creatures on land and in the sea, too. With their little ones, whales are migrating south into cooler waters. So, it’s especially wonderful to see them--the whale families!
As I watched from my favorite bench high up on a bluff--I was there this morning for more than three hours--at a certain point, I glimpsed many little puffs--the puffs of moist sea breath that tell me that whales are present. Little puffs and big puffs, all together in a group. I felt excited to see so many, and they were actually quite close to shore. Then one or two adult whales breached. Breaching is when a whale propels itself up and out of the water, sometimes at an angle, and sometimes, quite dramatically, straight up, vertical, as if its standing on the edge of its tail. For a split-second, it will hover there, and then flop over--like a massive ‘belly-flop’ but on its back--crashing into the water with a huge splash that can be seen at great distance.
After one or two adults breached, I glimpsed a baby humpback whale ejecting itself from the sea, like it was following its parents’ example! There it was, its little body propelled vertically--and with just its tail touching the water, it stood still, for a second--its little body, vertical! This little baby humpback whale, breaching, with such youthful determination! And playfulness! And as I watched it more, I sensed that it was feeling free to play, and experiment and explore and discover, because its parents were near. I could sense them in the baby’s exuberance and freedom--the reassuring presence of the parents there, nearby, under the surface.. And the baby, projecting itself up and out of the water, was honing its skill as if to say, “Look, mommy! Look, daddy! Watch this! I’m going to breach! Did you see me? This is so much fun!” I laughed in delight. The baby humpback was adorable!
And, as I watched the baby whale, I contemplated what a parent makes possible--what my dad is making possible, now in the mysterious and beautiful experience of his presence, close and near.
Over the course of my life, there was a memory I held from long ago. And last May, I wrote to him, I think sensing that there might not be much more time left, and my being here, so far away. Because, even though he’d left when I was just six, he came occasionally to visit me back then. And so I wanted to write to my dad. I wanted to thank him for this memory, that stood out and that I held dear. It was a story of my little goldfish. A goldfish that, just like these whales before me, had breached, projecting itself out of its little bowl late one night.
So, this was the message that I wrote to my daddy…
“Dear Dad, I’ve always held this memory, and I want to share it with you, with utmost gratitude for being there...
After you left, I remember that sometimes you’d come to visit and stay overnight. You’d sleep in the living room on the couch. It had a thin mattress with an orange wool covering that was scratchy to touch. The couch wasn’t quite long enough to be a bed, especially for a grown-up. From my room at night, I’d hear you snoring downstairs!
Late one evening, I woke suddenly. Perhaps I was eight years old at the time. Something had landed on the oak floor with a thump. I lifted my head and realized that my little goldfish had ejected itself from the bowl. I listened, helpless, as it flapped around, afraid to get up and touch it. I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared! By chance, you were visiting. Asleep downstairs, you were awakened by the noise. I heard you climb the creaky steps. You entered my bedroom and turned on the light. I squinted in the brightness as the goldfish writhed, unable to breathe, its tiny gills struggling, open and close. ‘Daddy,’ I pleaded, ‘my fish is going to die!’ At that moment, you bent low, gently scooped the goldfish from the floor, and in one gesture, placed its squirming body back in the bowl. The little fish began to swim contentedly here and there. I was so relieved! You were with me and my goldfish was safe, and then I went happily to sleep.”
Dearest Dad, I don’t know if you remember this. But, I do. I've always remembered the feeling of your love and your help. And over all the years, it remained a singular moment of your love for me. Thank you for that memory, my dear dad, and for being there, which I shall always hold in my heart.
With love, Jess”
So, as I watched the whales breaching, that memory came to mind again, and of my sending this message to my dear dad. And I’m so happy that I did, because I can recall that night with my goldfish like it was yesterday. My daddy’s presence saved my beloved little goldfish, and released me from fear.
And then, sitting on my bench, my mind went to another recollection…but this, a recent one. You see, I live in a place where there are lots of children, and I delight in watching them play--near the water, or in one of the many playgrounds. And one afternoon, not long ago, I was sitting at the playground watching the children. I feel joy to observe their games, and the wonderful ways they interact with each other, and explore and discover, and create, and venture forth. I noticed a little girl, perhaps she was 5, and she was climbing on one of the playground structures. It was a sort of metal spiral that a child could climb up, to get to a high platform. When they reached the top, which took determination and effort, they could return to the ground on a slide--gliding down easily!
Well, this little girl was ascending the spiral structure, placing one hand above the next, as she effort-fully moved her feet on the spiral-shaped metal bar. At a certain point--she’d gotten about three-quarters of the way to the top--she stopped. She looked down and realized how far up she’d climbed. She was above the ground at a distance that was more than twice her height! At that moment, the little girl became afraid. She suddenly lost her confidence and didn’t know what to do. “Daddy!” she cried out, “Please, help me!”
Then, from one side of the playground, her father appeared. That’s when I realized that her dad had been aware of her (just like the mama and papa whales under the surface of the ocean). As she held tight to the metal structure, too afraid to move, he came over. Gently, he reached high, and placed his hand up to support her, to help her keep going. And with his support, she slowly began to move her legs, one and then the other, her little sneakers gripping the metal bar, her hands reaching and holding tight as she pulled herself up. With a few more strides, she reached the top, and stepped lightly onto the platform. She looked down at her daddy. She was so happy. “I did it, daddy!” she exclaimed. “I did it!” Indeed, she had. And her daddy smiled and replied, “Yes, my darling, you did!”
And as I watched all of this, I reflected on how significant is a father’s love and support. It made possible that little girl’s achievement, and I thought--that achievement and the confidence it gave her, she’ll carry forward into her life. She's absorbed from her father a strength that she’ll hold and take forward now in herself, and bring to the world. That confidence will become her own.
For the past few years in my own life, I’ve grappled with some of the most difficult experiences I've ever had to face, and I’ve turned to God--quite literally--to guide me. Praying to him daily, I’ve relied on the messages that have come. This has become a part of my life, this duet with God--this source of support. I’ll sit and ask him questions, and take to heart the answers I receive. With his guidance, I've navigated a path forward.
Now, since the passing of my father--and the reassurance I’ve felt with his presence, so close and near--I’m praying and talking to my dear dad, too. I’m becoming aware of how much fear and anxiety I’ve held, much of it unconscious, but some of it not--some of it, at times, very great. And I'm sensing how much it's colored my life and shaped my choices, and driven me, often without my even realizing it. So, I decided to ask God--as I so often do--and now, to ask my daddy, too, how do I release these fears. How do I move beyond them,into a new kind of life, a new world? There, sitting on my bench this morning, as I was watching the baby whale, and the big whales, too, that question is what came to me and I began to pray…
“Dearest God, whom I love and adore, and my dearest Daddy, I’m beginning to see how much a deep, underlying anxiety has run my life for so long…please advise me, how do I release and overcome the fear that’s there?"
And this was the response that I received...
"Dearest one whom we love and cherish, it’s all there in the very calm and simple fact of our kindness, to and for you, and that kindness shall heal you and make you whole. It’s so, so, so easeful and that’s all you need to know. Now you’re home, whole, healthy, and you’ll see just how easy it is now to let go, because of this very real kindness--this kindling feeling in you, and for you. So whenever you feel deeply afraid, or even just a little bit, you can call on our love, kindling within you, and that’s all that’s ever necessary! So, it’s all very real, and so beautiful, so truly beautiful! So go now and enjoy whatever you do! Because here in this land of the living, there’s all the space in the world to hold on anywhere, everywhere and you see shall see, that’s how you’ll come out and into the open! Out and there for all to see!”
And that's what came to me as I prayed to God and to my dear dad....
And then I asked myself, have I ever felt this kind of ease before. And I thought...maybe, perhaps, I’d felt it a long, long time ago, in the earliest years, when I was too young to later be able to recall it. Perhaps, I did feel it then, and my experiencing of it now is a kind of grand return. Perhaps. You see, I was always told that when I was born, my daddy carried me around all through the night. I’d had colic--baby indigestion--and I’d cry and cry. And my daddy would carry me late into the night, through the house, the easy motion of his stride soothing me until, finally, I fell asleep in his arms. Yes, perhaps I’d had this feeling then. And as I sat there on the bench, overlooking the ocean, sensing his presence, and that of God’s, I was overwhelmed with tears of happiness, of gratitude and of joy.
And I have to add this one thing because it happened, not because I want to cause any alarm. Not at all. But, as I as sitting on my bench yesterday, experiencing all that I've shared with you here, overlooking the ocean, the rocks cascading down a huge cliff to the water below, the whales breaching, and that little baby whale--three tourists entered to look out at the sea and marvel at the whales, too. They stayed a few minutes. And as they left, one glimpsed a snake a short distance away--curled asleep, warming itself in the sun. It was about 10 or 15 feet from my bench, so I hadn't noticed it. It was there on the rocks that jut out to sea, nestled amidst some spiky plants at the edge of the cliff.
Now, in this great land, snakes are to be avoided--most of them, actually, are deadly. And if this one had been one of the deadly poisonous snakes, I surely wouldn’t have stayed there on my bench! But, as I looked closer, I could see that it was a snake that I've learned is called a Diamond Python. And while I’ve also learned that you definitely want to avoid any snake, this particular kind isn’t poisonous. So, for that reason--and still, I kept myself very aware of it--I didn’t leave my bench, but stayed, even though I knew it was there.
And as I sat on my bench, heeding the reassurances I’d received from God and from my dearest Dad, I began to relax--feeling their presence close and near. And with that, I gradually grew easeful with the snake there, as it was sleeping nearby. I began to sense a kind of calmness, this beautiful snake curled silently on the rock. And it was like God was giving me a chance to stretch myself beyond my fears, it was like I was being given an opportunity to let go in a way that was new--to begin to relax and move out of the old anxieties. And as I did, something amazing happened--I began to feel the snake’s presence. And it was a beautiful feeling--a deeply meditative feeling. I sensed the snake, and it was so trusting and so still and quiet and peaceful--deeply at ease, there, overlooking the vast seas, absorbing the warmth of sun, as was I. And as I felt its presence, I became happy--the snake and I, two beings inhabiting this earth, easeful and still.
Since the passing of my dad, and the coming to me of his presence, close and near--together with God's abiding love--the feeling of being reassured is growing--God and my father are both here now--to support me and help me move into a new way of being--like that little girl at the playground, like that baby whale propelling itself up and out of the water.
And in that light, a song has kept coming to me over these days since my dad's passing. It’s from a Disney movie, "Aladdin." It’s called, “A Whole New World.” A little piano student of mine is learning it. And I keep hearing the words and melody in my mind. Perhaps you know it. It goes, “A whole new world…a new fantastic point of view...a dazzling place I never knew…now I’m in a whole new world with you.”
So to end this podcast, once again I'll play my daddy’s favorite piece--Pachelbel’s Canon in D. This version is a little different from the one I in my previous podcast episode. It’s from my CD, called 'In Duet with God.' Indeed, now, I'm in duet with God. And, much to my delight and joy and amazement, I'm in duet with my beloved dad, too.
It’s October, and here in the southern hemisphere, that’s the beginning of spring. And spring is when the whales give birth, and so many other creatures on land and in the sea, too. With their little ones, whales are migrating south into cooler waters. So, it’s especially wonderful to see them--the whale families!
As I watched from my favorite bench high up on a bluff--I was there this morning for more than three hours--at a certain point, I glimpsed many little puffs--the puffs of moist sea breath that tell me that whales are present. Little puffs and big puffs, all together in a group. I felt excited to see so many, and they were actually quite close to shore. Then one or two adult whales breached. Breaching is when a whale propels itself up and out of the water, sometimes at an angle, and sometimes, quite dramatically, straight up, vertical, as if its standing on the edge of its tail. For a split-second, it will hover there, and then flop over--like a massive ‘belly-flop’ but on its back--crashing into the water with a huge splash that can be seen at great distance.
After one or two adults breached, I glimpsed a baby humpback whale ejecting itself from the sea, like it was following its parents’ example! There it was, its little body propelled vertically--and with just its tail touching the water, it stood still, for a second--its little body, vertical! This little baby humpback whale, breaching, with such youthful determination! And playfulness! And as I watched it more, I sensed that it was feeling free to play, and experiment and explore and discover, because its parents were near. I could sense them in the baby’s exuberance and freedom--the reassuring presence of the parents there, nearby, under the surface.. And the baby, projecting itself up and out of the water, was honing its skill as if to say, “Look, mommy! Look, daddy! Watch this! I’m going to breach! Did you see me? This is so much fun!” I laughed in delight. The baby humpback was adorable!
And, as I watched the baby whale, I contemplated what a parent makes possible--what my dad is making possible, now in the mysterious and beautiful experience of his presence, close and near.
Over the course of my life, there was a memory I held from long ago. And last May, I wrote to him, I think sensing that there might not be much more time left, and my being here, so far away. Because, even though he’d left when I was just six, he came occasionally to visit me back then. And so I wanted to write to my dad. I wanted to thank him for this memory, that stood out and that I held dear. It was a story of my little goldfish. A goldfish that, just like these whales before me, had breached, projecting itself out of its little bowl late one night.
So, this was the message that I wrote to my daddy…
“Dear Dad, I’ve always held this memory, and I want to share it with you, with utmost gratitude for being there...
After you left, I remember that sometimes you’d come to visit and stay overnight. You’d sleep in the living room on the couch. It had a thin mattress with an orange wool covering that was scratchy to touch. The couch wasn’t quite long enough to be a bed, especially for a grown-up. From my room at night, I’d hear you snoring downstairs!
Late one evening, I woke suddenly. Perhaps I was eight years old at the time. Something had landed on the oak floor with a thump. I lifted my head and realized that my little goldfish had ejected itself from the bowl. I listened, helpless, as it flapped around, afraid to get up and touch it. I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared! By chance, you were visiting. Asleep downstairs, you were awakened by the noise. I heard you climb the creaky steps. You entered my bedroom and turned on the light. I squinted in the brightness as the goldfish writhed, unable to breathe, its tiny gills struggling, open and close. ‘Daddy,’ I pleaded, ‘my fish is going to die!’ At that moment, you bent low, gently scooped the goldfish from the floor, and in one gesture, placed its squirming body back in the bowl. The little fish began to swim contentedly here and there. I was so relieved! You were with me and my goldfish was safe, and then I went happily to sleep.”
Dearest Dad, I don’t know if you remember this. But, I do. I've always remembered the feeling of your love and your help. And over all the years, it remained a singular moment of your love for me. Thank you for that memory, my dear dad, and for being there, which I shall always hold in my heart.
With love, Jess”
So, as I watched the whales breaching, that memory came to mind again, and of my sending this message to my dear dad. And I’m so happy that I did, because I can recall that night with my goldfish like it was yesterday. My daddy’s presence saved my beloved little goldfish, and released me from fear.
And then, sitting on my bench, my mind went to another recollection…but this, a recent one. You see, I live in a place where there are lots of children, and I delight in watching them play--near the water, or in one of the many playgrounds. And one afternoon, not long ago, I was sitting at the playground watching the children. I feel joy to observe their games, and the wonderful ways they interact with each other, and explore and discover, and create, and venture forth. I noticed a little girl, perhaps she was 5, and she was climbing on one of the playground structures. It was a sort of metal spiral that a child could climb up, to get to a high platform. When they reached the top, which took determination and effort, they could return to the ground on a slide--gliding down easily!
Well, this little girl was ascending the spiral structure, placing one hand above the next, as she effort-fully moved her feet on the spiral-shaped metal bar. At a certain point--she’d gotten about three-quarters of the way to the top--she stopped. She looked down and realized how far up she’d climbed. She was above the ground at a distance that was more than twice her height! At that moment, the little girl became afraid. She suddenly lost her confidence and didn’t know what to do. “Daddy!” she cried out, “Please, help me!”
Then, from one side of the playground, her father appeared. That’s when I realized that her dad had been aware of her (just like the mama and papa whales under the surface of the ocean). As she held tight to the metal structure, too afraid to move, he came over. Gently, he reached high, and placed his hand up to support her, to help her keep going. And with his support, she slowly began to move her legs, one and then the other, her little sneakers gripping the metal bar, her hands reaching and holding tight as she pulled herself up. With a few more strides, she reached the top, and stepped lightly onto the platform. She looked down at her daddy. She was so happy. “I did it, daddy!” she exclaimed. “I did it!” Indeed, she had. And her daddy smiled and replied, “Yes, my darling, you did!”
And as I watched all of this, I reflected on how significant is a father’s love and support. It made possible that little girl’s achievement, and I thought--that achievement and the confidence it gave her, she’ll carry forward into her life. She's absorbed from her father a strength that she’ll hold and take forward now in herself, and bring to the world. That confidence will become her own.
For the past few years in my own life, I’ve grappled with some of the most difficult experiences I've ever had to face, and I’ve turned to God--quite literally--to guide me. Praying to him daily, I’ve relied on the messages that have come. This has become a part of my life, this duet with God--this source of support. I’ll sit and ask him questions, and take to heart the answers I receive. With his guidance, I've navigated a path forward.
Now, since the passing of my father--and the reassurance I’ve felt with his presence, so close and near--I’m praying and talking to my dear dad, too. I’m becoming aware of how much fear and anxiety I’ve held, much of it unconscious, but some of it not--some of it, at times, very great. And I'm sensing how much it's colored my life and shaped my choices, and driven me, often without my even realizing it. So, I decided to ask God--as I so often do--and now, to ask my daddy, too, how do I release these fears. How do I move beyond them,into a new kind of life, a new world? There, sitting on my bench this morning, as I was watching the baby whale, and the big whales, too, that question is what came to me and I began to pray…
“Dearest God, whom I love and adore, and my dearest Daddy, I’m beginning to see how much a deep, underlying anxiety has run my life for so long…please advise me, how do I release and overcome the fear that’s there?"
And this was the response that I received...
"Dearest one whom we love and cherish, it’s all there in the very calm and simple fact of our kindness, to and for you, and that kindness shall heal you and make you whole. It’s so, so, so easeful and that’s all you need to know. Now you’re home, whole, healthy, and you’ll see just how easy it is now to let go, because of this very real kindness--this kindling feeling in you, and for you. So whenever you feel deeply afraid, or even just a little bit, you can call on our love, kindling within you, and that’s all that’s ever necessary! So, it’s all very real, and so beautiful, so truly beautiful! So go now and enjoy whatever you do! Because here in this land of the living, there’s all the space in the world to hold on anywhere, everywhere and you see shall see, that’s how you’ll come out and into the open! Out and there for all to see!”
And that's what came to me as I prayed to God and to my dear dad....
And then I asked myself, have I ever felt this kind of ease before. And I thought...maybe, perhaps, I’d felt it a long, long time ago, in the earliest years, when I was too young to later be able to recall it. Perhaps, I did feel it then, and my experiencing of it now is a kind of grand return. Perhaps. You see, I was always told that when I was born, my daddy carried me around all through the night. I’d had colic--baby indigestion--and I’d cry and cry. And my daddy would carry me late into the night, through the house, the easy motion of his stride soothing me until, finally, I fell asleep in his arms. Yes, perhaps I’d had this feeling then. And as I sat there on the bench, overlooking the ocean, sensing his presence, and that of God’s, I was overwhelmed with tears of happiness, of gratitude and of joy.
And I have to add this one thing because it happened, not because I want to cause any alarm. Not at all. But, as I as sitting on my bench yesterday, experiencing all that I've shared with you here, overlooking the ocean, the rocks cascading down a huge cliff to the water below, the whales breaching, and that little baby whale--three tourists entered to look out at the sea and marvel at the whales, too. They stayed a few minutes. And as they left, one glimpsed a snake a short distance away--curled asleep, warming itself in the sun. It was about 10 or 15 feet from my bench, so I hadn't noticed it. It was there on the rocks that jut out to sea, nestled amidst some spiky plants at the edge of the cliff.
Now, in this great land, snakes are to be avoided--most of them, actually, are deadly. And if this one had been one of the deadly poisonous snakes, I surely wouldn’t have stayed there on my bench! But, as I looked closer, I could see that it was a snake that I've learned is called a Diamond Python. And while I’ve also learned that you definitely want to avoid any snake, this particular kind isn’t poisonous. So, for that reason--and still, I kept myself very aware of it--I didn’t leave my bench, but stayed, even though I knew it was there.
And as I sat on my bench, heeding the reassurances I’d received from God and from my dearest Dad, I began to relax--feeling their presence close and near. And with that, I gradually grew easeful with the snake there, as it was sleeping nearby. I began to sense a kind of calmness, this beautiful snake curled silently on the rock. And it was like God was giving me a chance to stretch myself beyond my fears, it was like I was being given an opportunity to let go in a way that was new--to begin to relax and move out of the old anxieties. And as I did, something amazing happened--I began to feel the snake’s presence. And it was a beautiful feeling--a deeply meditative feeling. I sensed the snake, and it was so trusting and so still and quiet and peaceful--deeply at ease, there, overlooking the vast seas, absorbing the warmth of sun, as was I. And as I felt its presence, I became happy--the snake and I, two beings inhabiting this earth, easeful and still.
Since the passing of my dad, and the coming to me of his presence, close and near--together with God's abiding love--the feeling of being reassured is growing--God and my father are both here now--to support me and help me move into a new way of being--like that little girl at the playground, like that baby whale propelling itself up and out of the water.
And in that light, a song has kept coming to me over these days since my dad's passing. It’s from a Disney movie, "Aladdin." It’s called, “A Whole New World.” A little piano student of mine is learning it. And I keep hearing the words and melody in my mind. Perhaps you know it. It goes, “A whole new world…a new fantastic point of view...a dazzling place I never knew…now I’m in a whole new world with you.”
So to end this podcast, once again I'll play my daddy’s favorite piece--Pachelbel’s Canon in D. This version is a little different from the one I in my previous podcast episode. It’s from my CD, called 'In Duet with God.' Indeed, now, I'm in duet with God. And, much to my delight and joy and amazement, I'm in duet with my beloved dad, too.
