“Daddy’s Coming!”

About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice… "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46)

The outdoors was my father’s passion. He called forests “God’s Country.” Family outings were picnics to secluded areas that included long walks. Vacations were almost invariably camping trips to wilderness areas. This is a story about how a visit to “God’s Country” became a visit from God.

Daddy was looking for the perfect place to camp. Not a campground—no to him campgrounds were like towns in the forest. It had to be wilderness yet it had to accessible to our old station wagon. It wasn’t an easy task, but my Dad was up for it. He had a tip from a park ranger about a great spot. There was a road of sorts because workers had to occasionally service the remote gas wells in the heart of the Allegheny National Forest.

We got there about dusk on Sunday night. I remember the pungent aroma we smelled as we arrived. It was from small leakage from the wells. It’s odd, isn’t it, how things we smelled as a child provoke strong memories. As usual, we set up camp together. The tent, air mattresses, wood for the camp fire all received attention from weary hands and bodies, big and small. Our dog Frisky’s collar jingled as he too gave himself to the important task of exploring and smelling. I’ve always been distracted by sounds.

Family evening walks were always on Daddy’s agenda. We explored a long abandoned railroad right of way whose coal burning steam engines had carried away logs decades previously. As a young boy who had never encountered coal before, the discarded lumps were fascinating and they filled my pockets. As a skinny little boy—my how we change—I hadn’t worn a belt, and soon my pants were sliding down my skinny bottom. My Mom took a portion of Frisky’s rope leash and made me a belt. It amazes me now how she adapted to a boy’s behavior without criticism and with creativity.

I was probably the cause. We walked and walked. At least it seemed that way to short legs and full pockets. I don’t remember whining, but I’m sure I did. At any rate, what happened next had never happened before and never did again. My father left his family to look for a shortcut back to camp. He took Frisky and left us waiting.

From the vantage point now of being a parent, I’m again amazed with Mom. Time stretched on, Dad didn’t return, and yet she remained outwardly calm. Eventually, she led us back to camp in the growing darkness. Someone mentioned rattlesnakes. Mom assured us that Daddy could take care of himself. In spite of those courageous words, fear followed us—not just to camp, but to our beds.

I was in the back of station wagon, unable to sleep. First light was making its way through the forest leaves when I heard it. I didn’t care that my sister and mom were trying to sleep. I heard the jingle of the steel rings on Frisky’s collar. I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Daddy’s coming! Daddy’s Coming!” No one else but a little boy had listened and remembered the sound associated with our dog’s brisk walk. No one else knew Daddy was coming.

God often seems absent, away on other business, while I am confused and afraid. This seems to be our common experience, even for Jesus. The Gospels clearly teach that Jesus knew the cross was coming. Yet there was a moment in time in which He, in spite of knowledge, in spite of absolute trust, in spite of faith, felt abandoned and forsaken. The scriptures are silent about most of His thoughts during His agony but I would conjecture that He gave Himself to remembering what He had heard and seen in His Father’s presence. He remembered the sound of His Father’s footsteps. When He said, “It is finished,” He “heard the jingle” of those footsteps that told Him, “Abba, Daddy, is coming! Daddy’s coming!”

What are the sound of Father’s footsteps? I hope I know. In times of distress, I must know and remember Him or I am without hope. For me, Father not only saved a family from potential tragedy, he taught a little boy to listen and to pay attention to things others might overlook. The little boy is gray haired now. But I’m still listening, and I believe I hear Him coming near.

Listen! Can you hear Father’s footsteps, too?