Originally appeared in the Evangelist, April 6, 2018
Like a double rainbow, my life has been blessed by fatherly wisdom from two outstanding men.
My father, Bill Styles, was a whistling, happy funeral director at Styles Funeral Home in Troy. He saw each person, living or dead, as unique. He treated everyone with respect, honoring their personal story. I think he acquired that habit when he was a prisoner of war in Germany. He heard so many stories during the years in that camp that it influenced everything he did.
Dad continued to pass along that ideal even as I grew to adulthood. When I began teaching, he urged, “Never see a group of third-graders; always see 30 individual children who happen to be in your third grade. Always connect with their particular story.”
I had only a few adult years with my father. My first maternity outfit was a navy blue dress from Sears that I bought for my father’s wake and funeral. I wore it again a few months later on Father’s Day and then buried it under the rose bush in my backyard, along with my grief and my confidence. I missed my “encourager,” but it was time to prepare for the new arrival.
When my daughter began kindergarten, grief pushed through. I fussed in the garden, sprinkling tears along with Miracle Grow, longing for my father’s love, which had always helped me bloom. Planting autumn mums, I tossed tulip bulbs in as well, too sad to separate the seasons.
Fortunately for me, a priest who was my former high school teacher returned to our hometown and became pastor at my parish. We worked together on Liturgy of the Word celebrations for children and soon became good friends.
Visits just to talk things over gradually turned into monthly spiritual direction sessions. I would bring chocolate chip cookies; he would make tea. I was introduced to the spiritual classics and never left his office without a book to read. He showed me how to stand still in a deep awareness of God’s love and to quiet my prayer, just becoming open and allow God to work and move in my life.
My new pastor reminded me of my father, with his little sayings about the dignity of people: “You can’t meet another person without learning something.” “Look everyone in the eye and ask questions about their life; then listen.” “Look for the beauty that chimes out of every individual.” His wisdom was wonderfully familiar.
I began sending Father’s Day cards along with my prayers thanking my pastor and friend for all the ways he cared for me. He was proud of me, and I knew it. “Thank you for the kindness of your words on Father’s Day. I am so grateful,” he would write. “If I in any way have increased your faith or if I have been an instrument of the Lord in your life, then my whole life as a priest has been worthwhile.”
After years living nearby, my “substitute father” moved to another state. I worried that I would no longer feel his guidance, but letters and cards replaced personal visits. His wisdom was saved, reread and often copied in my journal: “God has blessed you in a special way with His grace. Realize it is a blessing. Realize it is a grace. Ask God every day to protect that and every day speak of your own poverty and poorness.”
Actions matched the words of my spiritual father. One memory stands out: I had traveled to a celebration honoring my friend. Two days of festivities concluded with a noisy reception in the hotel. Dignitaries and colleagues waited to congratulate him.
At the end of the party, my friend and I entered the hotel elevator. An old woman in ripped clothing approached as the door was closing and shouted his name. My friend stepped off the elevator; I followed.
He listened with great attention, giving her as much time and consideration as the other guests. For that moment, she was the most important person in his life. My friend’s actions echoed wisdom from long ago: “Regard each individual with great care. Don’t rush away.”
It’s been 40 years since I buried my maternity dress under the rose bush. Roots have embraced it like a father’s hug. Grief has found its resting place. And confidence became trust in the Lord.
I continue to be nourished by wisdom from past and present fathers.
(Mrs. Berkery is pastoral associate for adult faith formation at Our Lady of the Assumption parish in Latham.)