Father's Day, Africa, and Baby Aspirin

This is only the second Father’s Day I’ve been away from my dad. The last time was three years ago when I was in Africa. I left for church that morning with an itch in my throat. My teammate was down with some nasty virus—we thought it might be malaria. I would’ve stayed with her, but we were supposed to work on a play with the children after the service, so I went anyway.

            The sun was well up in the sky by the time I climbed into the bright orange van with the pastor and his family. Church couldn’t start without us, or so I thought. When we got there, they were already worshiping. Loudly. And in Africa, that means blaring every instrument and microphone as loud as they will go.

            I don’t remember what the sermon was about, but I do remember that every minute that passed in that wobbly, red plastic chair, my throat was closing up and my head was pounding. Maybe because it was Father’s Day and I was on the other side of the world from my family. “Make sure to call your papas!” the preacher said. Or maybe because I was catching my teammate’s mysterious virus.

            Turns out, it was both. By the end of the service, I could barely get through rehearsal with the kids—there were probably twenty of them, and I bet they hardly understood a word I said. I ended the rehearsal early, and told the pastor that I felt like I was getting sick. On our way back in the orange van, we stopped to get coconuts on the side of the street. The vendor hacked the top off with a machete so we could drink the water right out of the coconut. It was very refreshing, but I could feel myself getting sicker and sicker.

            We got back to the pastor’s house and I ran inside, gathering every vitamin, essential oil, and other virus fighter I could find. If my body reacted the same as my roommate’s,  I knew it wouldn’t be long before I couldn’t walk. I asked the pastor if I could use some garlic, which I intended to crush and eat with bread. He said yes, “But let us pray for you. God will heal you.”

            I should’ve been more grateful, but at that moment, I felt like snapping. I just wanted to be home with my mom. With her loving care, I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. But yes, let’s pray. He prayed for the sickness to miraculously leave my body. I did to. And I also prayed for a quick healing that wouldn’t leave me scarred for life. As soon as we finished praying, I collapsed in the room with my teammate and knew the last of my energy was spent. The fever came, as well as aches, a nasty headache and a splintering sore throat.

            But I still needed to “call my papa”.

***

            Why is it that we don’t often realize how much we love and appreciate people till we’re away from them or in fear of losing them? One night when I was around fifteen, Mom woke me up at midnight. “Don’t be scared, honey, but—”

            That’s never something a kid wants to hear.

            Dad was having chest pains. Mom and my older sister were going to run to the pharmacy and get baby aspirin, just in case it got any worse. “We don’t think he’ll have a heart attack. This is just in case. Can you stay up with him?”

            We sat in the bed and just talked. I don’t remember what about. But I remember thinking just how much I loved my dad. He assured me that he was fine while I was scared that, at any moment, I’d need to call 911. I wanted to call them anyway, but they said everything would be fine. That it was probably just heartburn.

And it was. And everything was fine.

***

My favorite pic of Dad & Me

            “Hi Mom! Can I talk to dad? I wanted to wish him a Happy Father’s Day…ok, yeah, I’ll wait.”

            It was so good to hear their voices. We had regular phone calls each week, but they were expensive, so we mostly kept up over text during my nine weeks in Africa.

            “Hey El-belle,” he said.

            “Hi dad,” was all I could get out before I started crying. I told him I love him. I told him I missed him. I told him what a great Dad he is. Then I told him I was sick. “But I’ll be ok. I feel like crap, but I’ll be ok.”

            Deep down, though, I was scared I was going to die. Alone and on the other side of the planet from everything and everyone I loved and held dear. And all I wanted to do was be in my daddy’s loving and protecting arms.

            With time, I got over the malaria-esque virus. But my homesickness lasted till the day I stepped off the plane in the Raleigh-Durham airport.

***

Some people are without their dads this Father’s Day, whether physically, emotionally, or eternally. I cannot imagine their pain and my heart grieves with them.
I am so grateful that my dad is still only a phone call away. And that no matter where I go, while he’s still on this earth, he’ll only be a phone call away.

My dad is nowhere near perfect, but he’s incredible. He’s a Dad who’s wiling to speak truth into my life when I’m lost and confused—which is a lot. A Dad who loves and forgives when I can’t love or forgive myself. A Dad who calms me when I’m worried. A Dad who gives guidance and disciplines in love. A Dad who loves his family and his willing to give of his own precious time to be with us. A Dad who has always provided, even when it sucked him dry. A Dad who is constantly giving of himself. A Dad whose life story is just one more miraculous gift from God!

As I write this, I’m only an eight hour drive away from my dad (versus a ten hour flight like last time). But I’m homesick, or dad-sick tonight, because all I want to do is be in the loving arms of the Dad who showed me what my Heavenly Dad is like. Whose arms I’ll be in for eternity.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy! I love you so much!