I started this blog over 11 years ago. For some strange reason, I felt compelled to put my thoughts out there for the universe to inhale. Some have been enjoyed and judged and some judged and critiqued. Whatever the case I still open up my computer and my heart year after year and blog. My first entry was short. Looking back it was obvious that God was preparing my heart for what was about to transpire in my little world.
"I am sitting here thinking about how I always seem to want the easier life. I admit I don't want to suffer, & I don't like when things go wrong. I know that God will help me have a good attitude and enable me to trust Him to bring good out of it all.
There are so many trials we have to go through. And with each trial, there is a victory. I am so blessed with the knowledge that my God is my umbrella. He has protected me from so much. And has allowed me to get drenched when necessary."
Well, I sure got drenched after I wrote that entry. On December 21, 2010, my universe turned upside down. I received a call from my mom telling me to meet her over at Abington Memorial Hospital. My dad was admitted. It was the beginning of the longest long ten-day journey I had ever experienced up until that point in my life. It was this journey that shook and changed me.
The ten days that my dad spent in the hospital were strung together with bungee cords of various emotions. Fear, laughter, separation, togetherness, forgiveness, rejection, peace, and regrets. I remember pacing the floors feeling hopeful and uncertain in tandem. There was peace in my heart and confusion in my head. I often reflect on those days. Sometimes with a smile and sometimes with tears. That year we "celebrated" Christmas in the small hospital room. My sisters, my brother, our spouses, and most of our children were there around the clock. We had some family come to visit, call, and send well wishes. Surgery was eventually set and scheduled for December 30th. It seemed as if that day lasted 240 long uncertain hours. The crew gathered in the waiting area pacing, sitting, and praying that God would give us another day with my dad. I remember how we all swarmed the doctor when he came out and told us the surgery was a success we were excited at the prospect that our leader would be able to go home after he recovered. God had a different plan. Yes, He gave us another day. We were able to be with our earthly superhero for his last few hours the day after his surgery. Each of us handled his passing in our way. The journey in those last hours was challenging. However, in the end, there was a victory. I know that God was my umbrella. He walked beside me and sometimes I even felt Him as He carried me.
It's been quite some time since I sat at the computer and typed out my heart and thoughts. Yet, here I am, eleven and a half years later, once again sitting criss-cross applesauce. Much has changed over these eleven and a half years. Like I said, each one of us processed and moved forward in our way. Our families each started new traditions and adjusted many of the old. We drifted in different directions and occasionally we find our way back. There are now ten great-grandchildren (number eleven on the way). Each one is a beautiful piece of a great legacy. They will always know of my dad even if they never got to sit side by side with their Opa.
It truly amazes me how one man could have brought so many together. Joseph Mallon was stronger than gorilla glue. And that glue stuff is pretty crazy. I ruined many items with that concoction. One drop too much and another pair of shoes in the trash....long story. But seriously my dad had a way of pulling us all together. Sometimes it would be a single sentence that would change the trajectory of a situation. "Girls, you are ruining my dinner". And sometimes no words were necessary. I still miss his hugs, the warmth of his hands, and how he thought every glass of wine was a fine wine (even some that tasted more like vinegar). I am sad that my grandbabies will never get to sit and hear his wild stories about Micholaf Von Naufgahauski Van Kaput the 3rd. They won't smell the fresh paint on the canvas or his artistry firsthand. Yes, life is very different without him. Some things seem to be stuck and others have evolved. But the constant is that I miss him. I smile and tear up each time I think of him. I still can close my eyes and see his smile, hear his laugh, and remember those hugs that made everything feel right.
The past two and a half years have been a wild ride. More often than not I find myself asking, "What would Dad think? What would his perspective be on the thoughts and reflections that have been running rampant through my head and heart?". He always had a way of helping me clear the dense fog that often fills my head. He would gently say, "Kathleen, put a lasso around those thoughts and place them before the Lord". I have been trying to "lasso" and evaluate my heart and the path my life is taking. For a while, the fog seemed to get thicker and thicker with each step. For most of my life, I have classified myself as a "Christian". I have gone to church, read my bible, and attempted to live and walk as a "Christian" should. But...how does a "Christian" live and walk? These days I am utterly confused and uncertain of the "Christian" classification. According to the New Testament we, as "Christians" are supposed to live like Christ. Love, love, and still love. No matter what is thrown at us we are supposed to show mercy, grace, and love. Over the most recent years, I have seen more hate, judgment, and division in the Christian population. I have heard and read things that have boggled my mind. I have listened to people twist scripture to help validate the vile and disgusting behavior within my community, my country, and even in my circle. I have caught myself doing this too. I find myself wanting desperately to sit with my earthly dad to have a conversation. However, my friends, this is impossible. Anyway, I would love to get his take on things. How would he feel if I told him that I no longer felt proud of being called a "Christian"? Would he have the same reaction that he did when he discovered that I allowed my youngest daughter to be a vegetarian (I am pretty certain he called me a jackass or something of that nature)? Would he understand the idea and concept that I just want to be a follower of Jesus? Would he be proud of my revelation that I am just as much of a loser as the women and men that my Savior hand-picked to walk with Him, move with Him and rest with Him while He walked here on earth? These are just a few of the questions that float around in my head. I am aware that can't ask my Dad, Joseph Mallon, these questions. However, I can ask the Holy Spirit to direct and give me a clearer picture of what it means to be a follower. As I look at the characters of those first followers I am a little shocked. There were plenty of rabbis, Pharisees, Sadducees, and other people that may have been more qualified to be part of Jesus's ministry. Perhaps these qualified individuals were overqualified. Yep, so qualified that they thought they knew better and knew more. So, Jesus selected common, everyday individuals like me. No glam, glitz, or extraordinary characteristics. Just your average ordinary everyday humans. So so so ordinary. Did you know that there are two disciples named James? I remember learning the names of the Apostles as a child. So, I did know about the "other" James. But I cannot recall if I knew of his character. And then there is Thaddaeus aka Judas, son of James (not the disciple James). Again, another silent walker. Why would Jesus pick these two? What role could they/ did they play in Jesus's ministry? I wonder if Jesus knew that somebody like me, a nobody, would or could relate to James the "lessor" and Thaddaeus. The "lessor". Wow, I can relate to that characteristic. Maybe, that is preciously why He said, "Hey, come walk with Me". Jesus picked a variety of personalities. He intentionally invited the loud, silent, smart, average, rich, poor, beggar, thief, abused, rejected, outcasted, and the list goes on. He purposely pick each person and personality so that I could fit in...we could fit in and be a part of His posse.
God's mercies are new every morning for a reason. We step into the boots of mercy each morning as we begin each new day. Our feet are refreshed for the journey and steps that God has prepared for each of us. And as we step out into this crazy, uncertain, ugly but somehow still the beautiful world we are hugged by the raincoat of Amazing grace. Jesus presented us with the gift of the Spirit. That hug, that embrace is there because we need to be reminded that He is always with us. I am still confused about my "title". However, I am not confused about my role. I know that as I start this day, Monday, August 1st, 2022, by the grace of God I have my rain gear ready. Jesus is the umbrella of Love. Just like being covered in His dust, my heart is filled with gratitude that I am protected and sheltered under that umbrella of UNCONDITIONAL ( not subject to any condition) Love. I know that the Spirit will lead and guide me. I may (let's be honest... I most likely will) go off the path to seek shelter on my own. However, it is because of God's unfailing, reckless, never-ending mercy, grace, and love and not my own devices, that I am covered.
