The Love of the Father

Mitch Albom writes a book entitled "Tuesdays with Morrie." I read this book years ago, sophomore year of university study. If you've not read it, it is important to note that I believe this book solves one of the major problems of our ever-changing world: genuine discipleship. I'll address the note of Christianity later.

Even before I moved abroad, I've been hoping and praying for a mentor seeping with wisdom and desire to teach an eager learner. Disastrous to my feeble hopes, I have not found a person willing to take me under wing as I had wished. There was a different method of mentor-discipleship moving my soul. I've been allowed the to sit at the feet of many wise rabbis passing through for a couple of days or sometimes even, a couple of weeks.

Today, as the heavy drawbridge lowered and opened to me the opportunity to return a shard of the patience blessed unto me. Markos, the youngest, and I coincidentally struck a hunger cord on the same harp as we sat watching Superman. So we ate. As usual, I finished first, for my mouth and appetite are slightly larger than his. As I progressed toward the snack cabinet, and retrieved a granola bar. With his sandwich almost half finished, he informed me, quite matter of fact that he was finished. Why I believed him, no one will ever know because he then turned to the snack cabinet and also attempted to retrieve some goodies that he refers to as "treats."

The natural response to his desire for these, at least from me, was to implore him to first finish his true lunch. He disagreed. The packet of sugary chocolate appeared much more appetizing, and who could blame him? But in the interest of his well being, I insisted that he first consume the first food. Markos does not like to be told no. And so the debate began; me with the proposition of all food or none and he with the demand for what he wanted, when he wanted it. Incited tempers commanded tears. I desperately wanted to give him the treat, but it hurt me more to think what it would be like for him to grow up missing such discipline in his life. As an older, wiser concerned man who wants only good for those near him, I refused to give in. Since my power was significantly more mature than his, he clawed and climbed, wept and drooled trying to attain this prized, sweet, sugary goodness. As the salty drops and gooey saliva gathered in a pool on my shorts, and amidst the flailing wails, all I could muster were memories of my own wailing and pleading for things not of what i needed but merely of what I temporarily wanted to gratify my my craving.

And just as Marko's bellowing echos in my ears still, I know that he, like me, needs a constant rabbi to teach us the ways that are better and higher than ourselves.

This was the first time I have acknowledged what it would be like to act parentally, in the best interest of a child younger than the ones I've lived with at summer camp. Mom and Dad, I've been continually thanking you for the work you've done in me over the last 23 (almost!) years. Today will be no different. Thank you for your perseverance in love. And to parents not my own, rest assured that your child too will soon enough understand your dedication and sacrifice for them. They may not thank you, but they may not know how. Accept this thanks as a representation of the appreciation you children have for you.