Time To Go

Man, I haven't blogged in a long time.  I've thought about it but nothing was pushing its way out.  Not hard enough anyway.  But now, my dad has died and it seems like something needs to be said.

My dad was born on December 21, 1915.  His parents named him Luigi Sorabella.  His mother told him he was actually born on November 21 but he was so very sick with asthma that they didn't issue his birth certificate until a month later when they knew he would live.  And so began the life of Louis Sorabella.

My dad was a remarkably complex human being.  He was completely out of the ordinary.  I've never met anyone else quite like my dad.  He was a unique, one-of-a-kind guy.  Thank God. Too many like him on the planet and we'd all be exhausted.  He had enough energy for 10 people.  He was the friendliest person I’ve ever known.  He never met a stranger - literally.  If you were in his line of vision you were going to meet him.  He wanted to know you.  And he wanted you to know that someone had come and died for you because he loved you so much.  He wanted you to know his Jesus.  For example, one time I was meeting my family in the parking lot of a restaurant.  We were all there but dad.  We started looking around for him and found him on the street talking to a hitchhiker.  He had seen the guy over there and just had to meet him.  He told him about Jesus and how much he loved him and got his name and address so he could write to him.  We were so embarrassed...then.  Not so much now.  Now I want to be just like him.

My dad loved beauty.  He thought everything God created was the most astounding thing he'd ever seen; from a squirrel - to a worm - to a butterfly - to a sunflower - to the clouds and on and on.  He loved to be outdoors in a sea of color.  And he loved to be up to his elbows in the dirt.  He loved to grow things.  I think it made him feel closer to God.  And he loved to laugh until he cried.  I loved that most about him.  But mostly he loved.  He loved people.  He loved God.  He loved nature.  He just loved.

There was a time when my dad lost his way.  The enemy waylaid his intensity and he was very nearly sidetracked.  Some people thought he was.  That's when he began to write - letter after letter after letter.  Short, to-the-point letters that said "Praise the Lord!" and "Expect a Miracle!"  Just notes to let you know you were being thought of and blessed.  Oh and he wrote poetry.  It wasn't great stuff but it wasn't terrible either.  I think as I go back now and read those poems I'll find them much more poignant.  

My whole life I was told I was just like my dad.  Mostly I hated that.  He was always embarrassing to me. There were a lot of things about my dad that I didn't want to be anything like and I let those things taint my desire to embrace the things in me that really were like him.  Today I am able to embrace those parts of my dad that live on in me.  I love nature.  I see God there.  I take gazillions of photos - just like my dad.  I love people.  I love to tell people how much God loves them.  I love that.  It's my favorite thing and it's when I feel most alive.  I fought that for so long to the point I had very nearly lost my voice.  Thank God His plans are bigger than our plans.  I'll never plant another flower without thinking about my dad.  He taught me everything I know about growing things and nurturing them.  And I have a feeling my flowers will be much more abundant this year because my dad will be smiling on them.

I have so many stories about this man.  Funny stories.  Stories I never talk about that wrench at my soul.  Stories that make me laugh.  Stories that make me cry.  That was my dad.  He was man of extremes.  There was never a dull moment with Lou around.  It's no wonder my mom gave out first.  She was exhausted.  They were married for 68 years I think.  That's a long time to live in the shadow of another person.  But she did - gracefully at times and at other times kicking and screaming.  They were complete opposites, my parents.  But they loved each other in a way that inspires me to love Geoff more deeply.   They were not perfect parents but they loved us with their whole hearts.  And besides, I’ve found out there’s no such thing as a perfect parent.  Only Father God has gotten that right.  He alone loves perfectly.

I have one more story to tell.  It’s the story of the day my dad died.  He didn’t want to die.  He wanted to live and he became more and more anxious and agitated about it to the point he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep. 

This is a good place to tell you about my hero, my sister-in-law Valerie.  There are no words for how strongly I appreciate and honor her.  She cared for my dad the last four months - 24 hours a day – 7 days a week.  She loved him and fed him and bathed him and talked to him and prayed with him and cleaned up after him and sat with him.  I know you are tired Valerie but know that there is a place in my heart and a very special place in heaven just for you.  I like to tell people that I’m God’s favorite because my brother married a geriatric nurse but the truth is Valerie, you’re His favorite because you are just like Him – a true servant who loves with your whole heart.  And Brandy.  Girl you are my other hero.  Thank you for the time you spent helping Valerie take care of my dad and for taking him out on adventures and helping him with his letters and photo albums.  He loved you both so very much.  You gave the last months of his life purpose and you honored him through your service. 

Now back to the story.  Valerie had called me and asked me to be praying for him and I did.  I had a lot of my friends praying for him too.  Last Wednesday I was at a Bible study and at the end I asked them to pray for my dad.  No explanation.  Nothing specific.  Just pray.  My friend Latimer prayed over him.  When she finished she looked over at me and said, “I just saw a picture.  I saw a flood of water rushing down over a hill onto your dad.  It washed away every residue and residual thing from him and he was completely clean.”  We thought that was amazing and went on and finished praying over the other requests.  That’s when I got the phone call from Valerie.  She said my dad had just died.  It had happened during that prayer.  I believe that rush of water that my friend saw as she prayed for my dad released him to live.  I couldn’t wait to tell Valerie.  She was as amazed as we were.  A couple of hours later Valerie called me with the rest of the story.  Brandy had brought over the picture my dad wanted to use on his next mail out.  It was a picture of a waterfall.  It’s the one on your service card.  That’s my dad.  He came in with a story and he went out with a story and he lived his story for 94 years – bathed in love.