Easily Excitable

At times, I wonder if God made me to be a public school teacher just to show me that I won the parent lottery- that He might reveal how mightily the odds were stacked in my favor in that regard.

I have learned through my career that nothing in life is as hard to overcome as a bad homelife. That’s not my story: as a child and on through adulthood, my parents have loved me, valued me, and made it known.  

My parents were given unorthodox (read: weird) children, and yet they loved each of us in a way our hearts understood, even if we didn’t always appreciate it or appreciate it for what it was.  

Growing up, I didn’t know that bad parents existed. 

What a gift. 

It was totally out of my realm of conception that some children simply were not loved- or, at least, loved the way I was. 

Maybe I understood the concept in theory, but seeing it in practice is an altogether-different situation. 

There are children who suffer neglect. 

There are children who suffer abuse. 

There are children who are not read to. 

There are children who are given free reign. 

There are children who are the adults in their homes. 

Again, I will say it:

What a gift I was given in Joe and Wendy Meadows- two imperfect people who loved their children beyond reason. 

Last week was Fathers Day, and we took our annual family vacation to Fernandina Beach. I didn’t even take a computer with me, so writing was out of the question. 

But I couldn’t let Fathers Day roll by without a tribute to my dad. 

My father is one of the best men I know. 

He is principled, hardworking, kind, generous beyond belief, and incredibly loving. 

He loves kids, babies through teenagers. 

He made sure that I always knew I was capable of anything I set my mind to. 

He disciplined us, and as a result, I grew to be a very routined and somewhat disciplined adult.

He required church attendance from us for just about every Sunday until I went to college. 

If you know Joe Meadows tangentially, then you know who he is entirely. 

He is the same man in church as he is in every business dealing, at every ballgame, and through every season and trial he’s been through. 

Sunday through Saturday, he is the same man. 

Growing up, there was never really a surprise reaction from him, no matter what I had to tell him. He was predictable, something I appreciate more and more as I get older. 

The ways Daddy’s reflected my Heavenly Father’s love for me have been many. 

And for that I’m grateful. I cannot understand God in so many ways, but I connect to Him particularly in His Fatherhood. 

I can understand that and I never had to wonder about the Good Father because, see, I have a good father here on earth. 

I have a daddy who loved me, even when he had to correct me- even in those moments where the love didn’t feel so good. 

I have a daddy who smiles at me, who is excited to see me, who cheers me on, even when the cheering does come with a little bit of critique. 

But one thing my Daddy did growing up always reminded me of God:  

My dad always left a light on. 

When we all grew old enough to drive, we had a curfew. 

Duh. 

It seems to be a novel idea with some of my students now. But *back in my day,* there was an 11 o’clock curfew. 

When I graduated high school, I think it was extended…maybe by thirty minutes.

Anyways, when I’d call my dad to tell him what I was doing and where I would be, he would always say this: 

“I’ll leave a light on.”

And he did, without fail. 

When I’d get home, he’d be in his recliner. He was awake sometimes. Oftentimes, he would be dozing off, but still wanting to make sure I got home. 

And yes, for sure, oftentimes my Momma would be up too. 

No matter the situation- 

No matter the decisions I’d made-

There was a light on at my house, and there was a parent who stayed up to make sure I made it home alright. 

It was a show of love and a show of welcoming. It was a reassurance that someone wanted me to come home. 

Now, at the time, I probably would have preferred everyone to be asleep- for there to be no porch light and living room light on. 

In my mind, that would have made a self-extended curfew a lot easier. And, thereby, a lot more common. 

What I now know is that the curfew, that light turned on, was proof that my presence and my safety was valued in my home by my parents. 

And that light being left on was a reflection of the Father’s heart. 

God Himself ordained the days we have on this earth, and as He lovingly crafted the beginning, so He lovingly holds the end. 

Our God is the Father who wants to see us walk through His doors after our last breath: He cares where we are going. 

Jesus Himself said, 

In My Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and welcome you into My presence, so that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.

A place we know with a Savior we know. 

A place where we are welcomed in. 

A place where a room is prepared for us. 

Jesus Himself prepared it for us- paved the way home in His own blood. 

And in thinking of going to our eternal home? 

I like to think God left a light on for us. 

I know, I know: in heaven, we’ll need no lights, for the glory of the Lord will dwell among us, and His brightness and holiness will eradicate every thought of darkness. 

But all the same, a little lamp in the room, maybe? Maybe just for a little extra detail, an extra comfort from the Creator who forgets not. 

But our Father, who knows exactly when we’ll get there? 

He’s awake because, unlike our fragile human form, He wants not for sleep. 

He’s not bleary-eyed with His hair standing up on end. 

He stands in heaven, thrilled at the thought of us being with Him, showering us with the love and Presence our hearts crave. 

He will welcome us in. There will be jubilation: a running to us as we make it through the gates, and eternity’s biggest hug as we follow our Savior, Jesus Christ, into the presence of the perfect Father. 

There is a light on for us in eternity. 

The light of God Himself will brighten our days that have no end. And it may just be my imperfect imagination, but I have to think that when it’s my time to go, I’ll walk up the steps of the Heavenly gates (porch, maybe?), and He will say to me, 

“My girl’s home.”

If I am loved so well, so incredibly much, by a good, yet imperfect, earthly father, how must I be loved by the perfect Father of lights?

The character of Joe Meadows taught me about the love and character of God. 

Thanks, Daddy, for loving me. 

And thank you for leaving a light on.