“Who taught you how to drive?”
This was a question at the beginning of Bishop Jon’s sermon at synod assembly last week. It was meant to get us thinking about the people who have equipped us in our lives and our lives of faith (and don’t worry, Bishop Jon, it did that, too), but first it took me back in time.
I am fifteen, making hesitant circles in the synagogue parking lot near our house. And the surprisingly calm presence in the passenger seat is my dad.
My dad is the Woody Woodpecker theme song whistled as he walked down the sidewalk to the front door at the end of the day. He filled our childhood with music–with lullabies and 1960s protest songs and songs he and our mother made up just for us. (So if my constant humming and spontaneous bursting into song get on your nerves, you know who to blame.)
My dad is dinner and a show. He’s a subscription to the Court Theatre and tickets to plays large and small and always allowing plenty of time to find parking. Whether it was the four of us or the two of us, we always dressed up and we were always early and we always came away full (of food and culture, of course ).
My dad is a computer full of typed up recipes–Syrian Lentils and Betty Crocker Cornbread and No Hurry Curry and many more. Compliment a meal (Pro Tip: Seriously, when John Lux is cooking you’d better have some compliments ready) and he will email you every recipe so you can recreate it at home. Or, when you have a baby he will come to your home and make all your favorites for you.
My dad is generous and gregarious and curious and kind. Never have I ever doubted his love for me. Which, it turns out, is some pretty impressive equipping–for a life of faith and for life, full stop.
Who are the “equippers” in your life?