Wearing My Father's Clothes

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. "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 33. Copyright pending

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