After my dad passed away, my mother offered me his dress boots.
While I was tempted to take them home with me, I couldn’t quite get over
the notion of wearing the shoes of a dead man. I did, however, load a
couple of his shirts and pants into the back seat of my car.
A few days later, as I was preparing to leave the house, I slid open my double closet doors,
… and saw it.
The “it” was a short-sleeved, button-up purple shirt which looked far
too much like the one my dad was wearing when he died. And I should
know, since my mother and I spent some time with him in the ER cubicle;
as he lay unresponsive on the hospital bed.
After this, my mother
claimed a hospital representative gave her that particular shirt.
However, I’m certain that never happened, since I contacted the funeral
home the evening of his passing, and a mortician came out immediately to
retrieve my father’s mortal remains.
Nevertheless, the shirt in my closet continues to hang in its self-same place, and I don’t care to wear it.
All the foregoing to say that this afternoon, as I was napping, I had a dream.
I found myself standing in a large room in my underwear. As I glanced
around, I noticed a pair of pants, and something rather like a tunic.
Both articles of clothing were beige in appearance, and upon closer
examination I discovered the rough shirt included a clerical collar.
Someone suggested I get dressed. And since my rather tenuous status,
and subsequent entrance into the world depended on the unfamiliar
costume at hand, I complied.
As I picked up the two articles of
clothing, I noticed. Stitched along the belt, and hem of the chest
pocket were words. And though I couldn’t read the words, since they were
in some archaic script, I knew. I just knew. The words indicated the
mission to which God had assigned me.
It was then I was informed
that my father, my spiritual father, would arrive shortly, and that I
should be prepared to meet him.
And it is important, at this
juncture, for my readers to understand that I came to a saving knowledge
of the Lord Jesus Christ under the momentary tutelage of a Rev. William
Kirschke. He had been preaching a revival on the campus of a local
Bible college that week, and as he finished the sermon to which I had
been privy, I stood from my seat, walked a couple dozen paces to the
altar, bent my knee, confessed my sins, and encouraged the Messiah to
take up residence in my heart. Which I believe He did.
As I
finished zipping the pants, buttoning the shirt, and straightening the
collar, (the likes of which I’d never worn in my life) my spiritual
father strode in the door. And it was then I realized, we were
…. both dressed exactly alike!
Both my biological and my spiritual fathers are gone now, and as I have
implied I have previously worn some, (if not all) of the clothing the
former of the two left behind. And to be sure, as my recent dream
indicates, I have been blessed to also wear the proverbial clothing of
my spiritual father. You see, he was a national figure in an
evangelical, Christian organization, and his heart beat for ministry,
and the impact which naturally results from it;
… as does my own.
The collar and words need little or no explanation. The hue of the
cloth represents humble service. The same color with which monks are
clothed; the humblest clerics of their particular persuasion.
God grant that I wear my father’s clothing well.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 39, Copyright pending
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