By: Sandra Lopez
Honk, Honk!
The familiar sound announced dad was home. It was perfect timing too. I wanted to give my green thumb another try and my father would give me the best instructions to help bloom my new set of potted flowers. I went to open the back gate to let him and his faithful truck in. There was something different in the demeanor of his usually tired face. There was more of an uneasy expression I didn’t recognize. It then occurred to me that today was a special and nerve wrecking day for him. He’d spent the last few weeks studying his bible with vigor. Today, he would be delivering his very first message and testifying of the wonderful things God has done in his life. Public speaking is never easy so I completely understood the nerves that must be shaking him up. I decided to save my flower-pot questions for another time. He quietly made his way in to the house, jumped in the shower, put on his favorite suit and splashed on a little of his signature Stetson cologne. Ready to go, he sat down at the edge of his bed, bible and notes in hand as I watched him quietly pray. It might not seem like much to others, but it was a defining day for our family. Before I set out to meet my parents at their church, I kneeled for a moment and spoke to the Almighty asking that He comfort my father on this day.
Through my prayer, I recollected with God how far my family has come and all of the sacrifices my parents have made in my name. I will proudly admit that I’m the daughter of a Mexican farmer turned illegal migrant-worker turned self-made Gardener. Most would shy at the thought of being dropped off at the front gates of their High School in a dusty, rusty 1971 pale-yellow Chevy Truck housing nothing but landscaping equipment. My older brothers included. Not me! You know why?! It was with that run-down truck, that equipment, and most importantly, the man behind the wheel, that I’ve had a chance at a better life.
One of the things I’d like to achieve in my lifetime is to have my parents hold pride in the child they’ve raised. Some might not care so much for this, but I do. It’s something that I strive for every day and to a certain degree, one of the reasons I’ve kept out of trouble. As lucky as I am to have parents in the faith, I like the idea of making my parents proud in terms of living my life for Christ. I’d like my parents to know that their struggles at raising my brothers and me in this country have not been in vain and that their sacrifices are very much appreciated. I desire to gift them with the satisfaction of knowing that I haven’t thrown it all away at being rebellious and getting involved in the wrong type of activities. The bible says in Proverbs 3:7, “Be not wise in your own eyes; Fear the Lord and depart from evil.” I’d like to give them fulfillment in knowing that I’ve sunk deep roots in my faith and desire most to walk in God’s favor.
In due time, my dad was introduced as the night’s messenger. I smiled to myself as his Pastor praised his years of commitment to the church during that introduction. 1 Peter 5:6 “Therefore, humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you up in due time.” Accepting the mic, my father thus began his short message with a shaky voice. A couple of minutes into his first deliveries, he was able to compose himself and found some confidence to deliver a pretty simple lesson on judgment and pride which led to a portion of him retelling parts of his testimony.
My father’s experience with Christ came in 1987. From his present demeanor you would never have guessed that in his early youth he was a menace to society. He was regarded as a tremendously rebellious and feared man who never thought twice about pulverizing someone into the ground to make certain they understood he was no one to be messed with. My dad never felt the need for a gun because his weapon of choice had always been his fists. His family labeled him the black sheep, a title he bore with gusto, and in turns only expected the worst from him. As anticipated, the day came when, for an instant, his guard was down and he found himself the victim of a gunshot that penetrated his body and made its way of ruin to his spine. While half-conscious at the hospital, he listened to conversations between his doctors and nurses. They discussed that the possibility of my father returning to a normal life would now only be a distant memory. With a guarantee that he would never walk again, my father sadly began to reflect on the life he had led and the conditions where his choices had now placed him. After accepting visitation from my mom and some of her church friends, he finally contemplated the idea of changing his life for Christ. In his lonely hospital surroundings that night, he began to speak with God for the first time since childhood, when reciting memorized prayers was all he knew. Forgetting about his rugged macho pride and letting go of his inhibitions his eyes welled with tears as he pleaded with God for forgiveness and asked God for the mercy of a miracle. He promised God that granted this miracle, his entire life would be devoted to walking Christ’s narrow path. 2 Chronicles 7:14 reads, “If my people, who are called by My name, shall humble themselves, pray, seek, crave, and require of necessity My face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven, forgive their sin, and heal their land.” Well, he stands on his own two feet now and he has since never taken a trip back to the person he used to be.
When those stories began to pour out of him, I looked around for the congregation’s reaction and found a couple of people sitting at the edge of their seats in awe of my father’s testimony. Ever the entertaining story teller, my father retells those stories in a far more colorful way than I can and are best served in his Mexican drawl. Overwhelmed and overjoyed at the impact my father’s words were having on the congregation that night, I looked down at the folded hands on my lap as a lesson recently studied came to mind. It was the parable of the sower found in Matthew 13 where Jesus relayed this parable to the multitude: “…A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow.But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. Whoever has ears, let them hear.” In keeping his promise to God, my dad has lived like the seed explained in Matthew 13:23 and has become a ripen tree that has firmly established his root in faith and has through the years produced good fruit.
As my dad brought his short message to an end, I thanked God for this shining moment in my dad’s life. Who would have thought this sinful and seemingly worthless man could change his life around to glorify God’s name?! Just as He once felt pride in his son Jesus when he spoke of His greatness to the masses, this day, I imagined God proudly smiling down at my father who had been a hopeless seed that tumbled through all those tumultuous paths until a blessed breeze blew him on to good soil. There, he latched on and grew into the Man of God he’d promised he’d be. Isaiah 66:2 says “For all these things My hand has made, and so all these things have come into being [by and for Me], says the Lord. But this is the man to whom I will look and have regard: he who is humble and of a broken or wounded spirit, and who trembles at My word and reveres My commands.”
The following Monday, I sat with my dad on the living room couch to enjoy one of our favorite pastimes together. We flipped the TV to Channel 22 for some black-and-white Cine Mexicano. During a commercial break, I broke the silence between us and couldn’t help but ask my father about that one thing I strive for.
“’Apa… are you ever proud of me?” I asked lightly.
Considering that my father is a strong willed Mexican, it wouldn’t surprise me if his answer wasn’t the one to be expected. Mexican parents have a funny way of encouraging you. In any way he’d answer, I would just like to know.
He sighed, tilted his head in my direction and admitted warmly, “Yes. I am very proud of you, Mija.”
That was all I needed; I was content.
Unexpectedly he added, “I am proud of you overall, but I am most proud that you are still walking this narrow walk with Christ.”
I held back tears of satisfaction.
In the morning, before I left for work, I made a pit stop at the kitchen window to water my little project. It then dawned on me that just like the gardens he cultivates, grooms and helps bloom; I am also one of those seeds that my father, The Gardener, has sowed. Well Dad, I can happily attest that this seed landed on good soil. And I have you to thank for that!
-Shadi
