Dad – All the Wonders

Thinking of Dad

I am thinking of you today, Dad,
On this day when you crossed through the thin space
To join the saints who had preceded you:
Mom, Holt, Ida Mae, Bill …

You had been leaving us for a long time
As bits and pieces of your memory slowly slipped away.
“A blessing, really,” is what we all said of your passing.
But that did not take away the grief that we felt.

I remember the first time you did not remember who I was.
We were having dinner at the kitchen table.
You had been looking at me, and then
You finally asked me who I was.
I said, “I’m your daughter.”
You turned to Anna to see if it was true.
She said, “Yes. That’s your daughter.”
“I have a daughter?” you said in surprise.
But you took it all in as I told you who was:

Beth, your daughter.
Writer of books and liturgy.
Singer of songs.
Clergy in The United Methodist Church.
Worker at The Upper Room.
(You remembered The Upper Room.)

You were so happy
That you had a daughter.
So proud of who I had become.
And I was so happy
At your delight.

And so, we started our new ritual
Carried out in person, on the phone,
In which I would introduce myself to you
And you would be surprised … delighted!

And I was blessed with your love, your happiness,
And your affirmation
Over and over and over again.

Have You Ever Been Lonely …

Dad passed away two years ago today. He had been in an Alzheimer’s decline for quite a while and though we knew it was the end, we didn’t know when “the end” would be. I was working at my office when my phone rang. It was Anna, my step-mom’s, number, but it was the chaplain at The Manor who told me that Dad was near the end. They had called to let me speak with him one last time over the phone. I don’t remember what I said other than “I love you.” It was such an act of love and charity for them to reach out to me in that way. As soon as I got off the phone, I made my flight arrangements. While I was waiting for my plane, I got the call that Dad had died.

I’m so grateful for Anna, who cared for Dad with such love, selflessness, and dedication for so many years. And for all those who helped to take care of him and loved him no matter what.

Even after Dad couldn’t remember who I was, he could play the piano. There was one song that he always came back to when he sat at the piano. As he played through his repertoire, he would returned to the song, “Have You Ever Been Lonely.”

I didn’t know the song before I heard him play it. But the words seem so appropriate for his journey.

Have you ever been lonely?
Have you ever been blue?
Have you ever loved someone,
Just as I love you?

By Peter DeRose and Billy Hill
Made popular by Patsy Cline

I asked him how he learned to play the piano by ear. (I wish I could play by ear!) He loved to tell the story about Grandma Ida Mae giving him lessons when he was a little boy. He said he would rather be outside, playing, so he would ask her to play the song and he would memorize it. That saved the time he would have spent practicing so he could go outside with the other kids. And in his last years, that part of his brain still functioned … what a gift. And though I can’t play the piano by ear, I received his legacy of music.

And I’m so grateful.

Celebrating Dad

I’m still celebrating my saints. Today, Dad would have been 84 years old. I’m grateful for the gifts he gave me:

My love of “the family business.” Dad was a United Methodist pastor and, since I was a little one, I wanted to be a preacher’s wife. In grade school, I finally met a woman pastor realized that I could be clergy. So today I carry on the family business as an ordained Deacon appointed to The Upper Room and to Edgehill United Methodist Church. (I always enjoyed Dad’s delight when I would tell him my vocation during those last years when he was battling Alzheimer’s.)
Photography. I found this photo after he passed away. Dad took it in Mooreland, Oklahoma during my first year of life. It’s the only self-portrait I’ve seen: Dad shooting his picture into a mirror. The reflection in the table is of a picture of Grandpa Richardson.
Music. Dad had a beautiful tenor voice. I can remember him singing from the pulpit from time to time. Grandma Richardson was a music teacher who passed along her talent and love of music to Dad. And he passed it on to me. Today when I preach, I like to weave a song into the sermon.
Art. Dad began drawing and painting when I was in grade school. I’ve only just begun to test out this part of myself with the cartoons I’m drawing of Jack. I’ve been sketching daily cartoons (a sort of daily journal) for about five years. I remember Dad writing letters to us using cartoons instead of words.
A love of nature, watching birds, BBC, public radio, Mexican food … I could go on and on.

Dad’s legacy lives on in me. And I am grateful.

God of sunrises and sunsets, God of feeding birds and charcoal pencils, God of music and prayer, thank you the life of Charles H. Richardson. And thank you for his gifts to the world. May we remember Charles and, in remembering, give thanks to you, the Artist, Musician, and Loving Creator of life. Amen.

Remembering Dad

My dad — Charles H. Richardson — passed away one year ago today. I grew up watching him every Sunday morning as he led worship in little Methodist churches in Oklahoma. Because of him, I wanted to work in the church. Dad gave me many gifts–love of nature, music and photography. When I was ordained, he was here to lay hands on me in the ordination service.

His last years were lived in the darkening stages of the disease of Alzheimer’s. Every day, his world shrank just a little bit more. When I was with him a couple of years ago, we sat and ate dinner with my brother and Anna, my step mom and Dad’s wonderful caregiver. Dad said to me, “So, tell me where you have lived.”

I answered, “Well, I was born in Norman, you know, and then we moved to Mooreland.”

Dad said, “Oh, I did a stint there in Mooreland. What’s your last name?”

“It’s Richardson,” I said. (My heart was getting heavy.)

“Well,” he exclaimed, “My last name is Richardson! Who’s your daddy?”

I said, “You’re my dad! I’m your daughter, Beth.”

He turned and looked at Anna and she nodded to him and said, “That’s Beth. She’s your daughter.” He looked a little uncertain, and then he stood up, opened his arms to me and said, “I need to give you a hug.” I stood up and we hugged — a good, long embrace.

We sat back down at the table and he listened as I told him about myself: how I had been to seminary, was ordained in the United Methodist Church, worked at The Upper Room, had written a couple of books. He was delighted to know who I had become.

Our dinner conversation turned to other things, and then he turned to me and asked, “Do you know my daughter?” And I said, “Yeah. Isn’t she great?” As the rest of us chuckled, he looked at me closely and said, “Oh. You’re her, aren’t you?”

Over the following years, when we talked on the phone, I always ended up introducing myself to him. And he was always delighted to know me, to learn I was his daughter, to learn I was ordained in the United Methodist Church, and that I worked for The Upper Room. It was a wonderful ritual for me and such a gift of affirmation that, even if he didn’t remember me, he was excited about who I was and who I had become.

Today on this first anniversary of his death, I’m sad, but grateful for his life and for the gifts he gave to me. Thanks be to the Creator for the gift of Dad.

Prayer for Dad

My dad (Charles H. Richardson) passed away at 9:53 a.m. on Wednesday, December 7. I was on my way to the airport to fly to Oklahoma. I shared Psalm 139 and this prayer at his service on Friday.

Loving God, we give you thanks for the life of your servant, Charles. We knew him as father, husband, uncle, grandfather, preacher, musician, photographer, artist, compassionate listener and friend. We loved him and we saw glimpses of you in his photographs of mountains, flowers, and sunsets; in the way he loved chocolate pie or made pancakes for breakfast; in hikes in the mountains or trips to the zoo. We heard your voice through his sermons, his prayers, the songs he sang, the music he played, his infectious laugh, his telling of stories. We felt your love through his smile, his hugs, his gentle presence, his willingness to listen, to give, to be present with others.

Comforting God, we miss your servant, Charles, our father, husband, grandpa, uncle, friend and colleague. We give you so much thanks for his life and for the privilege of knowing him for this short time on earth. Be present with us in our loss. Comfort us in our grief. When we are overcome with sadness, sit with us and wrap us in your love.

We thank you, we praise you for your many gifts, but especially for the gift of Charles. It’s in great gratitude for this gift that we pray in your name. Amen.

Here is a link to the obituary for my dad.