i think it's important to share.

i'm probably going to make people uncomfortable by writing this, but i figure people never grow if their comfort isn't shifted now and again. so if you find yourself reading this - settle down somewhere comfy. it's a long one.

this month last year i was debating on whether or not to call my dad back. he had been leaving several messages on my machine (which in hindsight, i wish i hadn't deleted) for me to call him back. but the week of may 19th, or so, i just didn't want to call back. i'd been struggling over the month of may with decision of whether or not to call him back. our conversations were intense. and God was on me in a big way to talk to him. but i was selfish - i was tired of talking. i just wanted to pray. honestly, it was easier. i knew that my dad's salvation was being worked out and i was getting exhausted, spiritually, after each conversation with dad.

and as i finally felt the real desperate need to hear dad's voice and to call him back, i started getting visions. (this is where i say you might shake your head if you're not a believer - but i believe in God's ability to speak to us however we'll listen - in vision, dream, scripture, conversation with a friend, etc.). in any case, i would pray and ask God if i should call dad (i always waited for the holy spirit to tell me when to call - otherwise i knew the conversations would sour quickly). and for a week solid i saw something that i didn't want to allow my brain or heart to understand or digest. i saw dad on his couch, hands clasped over his belly, sleeping. dead.

memorial day weekend i got a call from mom. she confirmed my vision. all i could say was, "i knew it. i knew it." and i cried. i remember the first thing i cried: Abba, Father! one of my best friends, carie beth, came over and together with todd we prayed in our backyard. and from that moment forward, life changed.

life had changed long before then, but then it really changed. i was pregnant. i didn't know it. i suspected. i wondered. carie did too, i think. but life changed in ways i wouldn't expect. God used my dad's death to open up my eyes to love i had never experienced - and joy. in more vision, God confirmed my dad's salvation. and then through one of my cousins he confirmed it. i was amazed. not at my dad's salvation - i had claimed that victory in prayer a year before. i was amazed that God was blessing me with such clarity in faith, in his word, in his presence.

and today, i hold my sweet loralai and i cry. i have my dad's long eyebrows - so does she (thankfully i learned how to use tweezers). she also has his long eyelashes.
and there have been days that i hold her and i can't help but cry. in some ways i'm jealous of her. she has a daddy. she has a daddy who craves her presence and tries every day to make sure that he walks so closely to God that leaving His presence will never be an option and therefore will never be an option to walk away from his baby. dad walked. but he didn't first walk away from his family. his first step back was from God - and that is where it all begins. that's where the spiral begins and then evil takes its go and a life can fall down in sad ways. his did. but the beauty - oh the beauty - is that while he walked away from God, God never walked away from him. (lamentations 3) and after my head was firmly pulled out of my toosh, i remembered what it was to love my dad and found new ways to love him. somehow in the year before my dad died, in desperate prayer for him, i loved him all over again.

tomorrow, may 21, marks a year that he's been gone. it's hard to believe. and i still cry thinking about him. my best hug was the one i got from him after my last softball game in highschool. and still, if i look at a picture of him, i can hear him. i can see him. i think my dad was one of the most handsome men i've ever known. i'm sad that joy wasn't his for so long but i celebrate in his eternity.
below is the eulogy i gave at his funeral.
i encourage anyone struggling with addiction to first turn to Christ, to find community and seek help. and if somehow i can help, please let me.

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I want to start by taking you back a little bit...

Black hair, bright and deep blue eyes, round cheeks, strong hands.

He wanted to farm for a living but found himself, instead, living vicariously through his McLeod family and helping out in summers as a boy on their farm in Carthage, NC. Something called out to my dad in the hot humid summers of North Carolina and escaping the cold of New Jersey, he made his way to East Carolina University. He found out that the struggles of his youth were making him the man of his future. The trades he was somewhat forced to learn as a child were blossoming into things that he enjoyed and that allowed him to prosper. He found a talent with working on cars at a local shop in greenville - he learned that he could fix things. And the nail pops he hammered in, the dinners he cooked for his siblings...all of those experiences helped him when he moved on to North Carolina. They even helped him to teach his future wife how to cook - or cook better. But she surpassed him quickly. He found affirmation in doing a good job, in being able to see the results - start to finish - of a job well done. Sometimes it was carpentry, sometimes it was in fixing a car, or growing the perfect garden, or mowing the perfect lawn , or growing the perfect daffodil, or having the most obedient and docile dog: Zap. God blessed my dad with amazing talents. His hands were his brush and his canvas was vast.

I was amazed at the vision he held secret in his mind – that he wanted no one to know - but that would finally take shape in the things he created. I remember so clearly walking to our backyard garden at our first house in Red Oak. Dad showed me how to pull a carrot out of the ground. I remember how orange it was and that it was a skinny little thing...i remember walking over to a spicket on the side of the house and washing the carrot as good as we could...and then he told me to just eat it. I was so small – so small. But God blessed me with a vivid memory of my childhood -- and i can remember biting down on that skinny carrot and thinking -- it's bumpy...it has skin on it! I appreciate the newness of my dad so much. I am eternally grateful that he was never afraid to show me life in a new way. He encouraged me to eat all of the veggies from our garden straight from the earth...or boiled, or fried, or stewed...I believe he found the earth to be a delicacy to him.

My husband and I recently put a fence up in our front yard - by ourselves - and we had to use a post hole digger to make holes for the posts that would hold up the fence. I remember that early into the project I found myself overcome with a sense of pride - a sense of joy. I recognized that I was sharing in the same emotion that my dad held when he was creating, or building. And as Todd would open the post hole digger and than slam it down into the ground it made this noise - shhhhhssshhh -- i never realized how much the sound of a shovel going into dirt would remind me of my dad. That sounds would remind me of dad. But it did and i celebrated in that. I told him that I was so excited to be doing this and sharing in the joy with my dad. Bryan and I didn't always work in the midst of my dad's projects, but we would stand back and watch a lot. And just by watching him, you could learn so much...how to measure - the preciseness of an angle - how to take old wood and make it new - how to take what someone thought was useless and make it priceless. How to take an orchard and transform it into a race track for remote control race cars. He laughed and cringed as I took off on our three wheeler and my brother spun around on our four wheeler. He smiled with satisfaction when he finally taught my brother how to drive the tractor - finally someone else to mow those acres of grass! He chuckled when he outsmarted my brother when bryan thought he'd gotten away clean with a night out on the town - and he frowned when he knew he had to ground him. (i sort of laughed). He made his way to all of our softball games and tennis matches and made sure he could keep up with what seed we were or what our batting average was, how much weight we could bench press or how many minutes we could run without stopping. He taught us to ski and pulled us for endless our on our ski tube – whipping us all over the river and even treating us to a yacht wave or two. I can see him driving straight ahead, shirtless, his back so tanned (he called that his Indian tan) and his face smiling so big as he could hear the faint sounds of us laughing hysterically with fear and joy...and his thumb going up and down asking us...faster, slower, stop? “KEEP GOING!!!” he wanted to please us and he tried desperately to find a way to do so.

But as much joy that lived in him, i remember looking into his eyes and seeing a sadness - a pain. As a little one, i can remember the quiet in him. I remember him sitting on the back porch and listening to him have melancholy conversations on the telephone or just watch him as his eyes stared off into the distance. And there came a time when the joy that used to last for weeks, would last only for days - the time between good and bad seemed to close in a gap. As a teenager, i remember wanting to desperately reach him. I would pray at night and ask God to save my family - to make us ok. To make us last. I couldn't imagine holidays without each other - but i couldn't imagine the sadness existing any longer. Those days used to make my heart bitter and pained – I hurt for my dad and i hurt for myself and my family. as much as we wanted to deny it, the days of summer jubilee were fading. And as much as I clung to my dad, as much as i begged and pleaded with him, chased after him, grabbed his arm and cried for him to come home...he would hide behind his fear, his anger, his broken heart...and he would flee. And each time he fled, his heart grew harder and more convinced that the creation he had begun would never be finished. It was as if he was allowing himself to not finish his greatest project, because he was so desperately afraid that he wouldn't be able to make it perfect like the rest...so it was probably better left unfinished. And I think about the days when I realized that he would walk away and leave things unfinished – I thought about the joy he felt in his finished work before...his carpentry, cars, his garden...and I watched as all of that started fading into the distance. It was as if a life that was lived was moving further into the memory bank and less into the present. It was so difficult to watch - to be a part of. So we prayed. We prayed for hope and for understanding. And Jesus says that we may ask anything in his name and He will do it (John 14:14). I remember doubting that faith. Really God? Anything? He tells us to come to him, humbled and obedient and asking with pure hearts and he will set before us the desires that lie deep within us.

And just like he promised, as soon as we began to pray, He began to answer. It wasn't completely clear to me - what the Father was revealing - until the past few months ....and the last year. When I finally began to walk with jesus - when i let down my guard, controlled my tongue and cleared my heart of the lies that I had let sit there for so long, I realized that the promises that Jesus made were true - that his salvation was more real than ever and that in me sat eternity. God tells us that in us he has set eternity - that heaven is in us. Ecc. 3:11. I wondered for so long what that meant. How can heaven/eternity be in me and i be a person living and breathing on this world? Is God like a magic 8 ball -- I ask to see a glimpse and he will reveal it, or do I get to open my eyes and just know all of the secrets of eternity? I have pondered that for some time now and I finally received the answer this past saturday. After I found out that my dad had died, I sat down and cried a cry so deep and hard that I thought i was losing myself. And then i heard - in you is eternity - all you have to do is ask. So I asked, Father please show me a glimpse of yourself...and before i could open my eyes or finish my last sob, I realized that in my dad was eternity. That before the kingdom was, God had created us and eternity was set in us. So that when the truth of the gospel was spoken to us, we would somehow be able to recognize it. So that when we were hugged and loved in ways we thought we never deserved, we could somehow recognize the selfless and eternal love of our maker. So that through a telephone call, a card sent in the
mail...we would glimpse eternity. My heart rested as I sat on my back porch steps on saturday. I sat in the midst of eternity being revealed. God reminded me that: Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces hope and HOPE does not disappointed because of the love that was poured out to us through Jesus Christ. i realized that in all the times that my dad
had turned away from me...that when i tried to reach for his arm as he ran from our house and our family...that it was not me he was turning from. He was running from God. God was the final project and he could feel that in his family and it scared him to face eternity - so he ran.

And as I spoke to dad one night after my wedding – he challenged me telling me that he qualified himself as "good" by giving to charities and by giving to missionaries. I asked him if they were Christian missionaries and he said YES. And I asked him why? Why give to christians if you don't believe in christ? Why support something you think is hypocritical? I challenged him back, you see. and from there...from that night forward, our lives were changed. for each conversation following that one, we would start off by talking about superficial things, but then would go directly into talking about Jesus. Dad asked me one night through tears, “So why do you think bad people go to heaven? why do you think someone who abused a child should go to heaven? they don't deserve it.” And my heart broke. i could hear the pain that he had been carrying for years. his burden was so heavy. and so I told him...”dad, Jesus is real and i promise you that in your childhood he was never far. that he stood with you every step you took… he loves you and he wants you. He wants your attention. i challenge you to cry out to the Jesus you think doesn't exist - he WILL answer you. will you do that?” And after silence, a silence that usually means he’s avoiding, he said, “yea, maybe so. maybe I will.” And we talked a little while longer about eternity - that God set eternity for dad. That eternity was in him and for him...that he just needed to call out to his savior. and i reminded him that while his heart hurt desperately bad for those that had hurt him...that their salvation was between themselves and Jesus...but for dad, all it will take is a mustard seed of faith and his savior will bring him home.

We didn't speak for some time...but our next conversation was just as beautiful. we talked about living in america...about living free. And as sure as we spoke words of freedom, God showed up and presented himself in conversation. it was as if he was saying to me: ask him again, ashley. ask him to cry out to me. And so i told him that i believed that God was calling out to him...i told him that he WOULD be saved. That he would see heaven for eternity and that the God of the universe was undoubtedly calling on him. and he got really quiet and said, "you know, i used to believe in God." and I said, "i believe you still do. but i believe that you are scared and i believe that you hear Jesus calling you but you keep turning your head from him. i believe God is calling you." and then he said as serious as I've ever heard him get with matters of the heart (because he normally did his best to avoid intimate conversations) he said: "moment of truth?" "moment of truth" i believe he is too.”

...and in those last phone calls, those last moments of grace...i believe that God was helping to complete a beautiful project. He was showing dad that it was good. that even if his face lay in ashes and soot, that even if his walk was so entangled and messy and his heart so heavy with burden and regret...none of that mattered if he just chose to cry out to the one whose walk is sweet, whose burden is light and who desperately wants to hold his son. Jesus says that the door to enter is narrow - but with faith as small as the last breath, his arms are open and he will welcome you home with a reunion like nothing our minds could ever fathom.

I say this knowing that in the last moments of my dad's life, Jesus was working so diligently on his heart. he was revealing things to him that had already been set in him, but that he had forgotten or chose to push away for fear of them being too much for him to handle...for fear that he would have to finish what he had started. but i believe that dad was humbled so much...that he finally wanted to finish. he wanted to see what it felt like to for, if but for one moment, believe and trust and hope and love and be loved. And so I believe he cried out: “Jesus, is this real? are you real? help me. save me.” ...and then I believe Jesus replied: “it is real, it is good, i am truth, i am light...Bill, I AM.”

And as tenderly as he arrived in this world, he arose to a sunrise more brilliant than anything the Pamlico River has ever ever displayed.

Lamentations 3
1 [a] I am the man who has seen affliction
by the rod of his wrath.
2 He has driven me away and made me walk
in darkness rather than light;
3 indeed, he has turned his hand against me
again and again, all day long.
4 He has made my skin and my flesh grow old
and has broken my bones.
5 He has besieged me and surrounded me
with bitterness and hardship.
6 He has made me dwell in darkness
like those long dead.
7 He has walled me in so I cannot escape;
he has weighed me down with chains.
8 Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.
9 He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
he has made my paths crooked.
10 Like a bear lying in wait,
like a lion in hiding,
11 he dragged me from the path and mangled me
and left me without help.
12 He drew his bow
and made me the target for his arrows.
13 He pierced my heart
with arrows from his quiver.
14 I became the laughingstock of all my people;
they mock me in song all day long.
15 He has filled me with bitter herbs
and sated me with gall.
16 He has broken my teeth with gravel;
he has trampled me in the dust.
17 I have been deprived of peace;
I have forgotten what prosperity is.
18 So I say, "My splendor is gone
and all that I had hoped from the LORD."
19 I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
20 I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
21 Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him."
25 The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
26 it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.
27 It is good for a man to bear the yoke
while he is young.
28 Let him sit alone in silence,
for the LORD has laid it on him.
29 Let him bury his face in the dust—
there may yet be hope.
30 Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him,
and let him be filled with disgrace.
31 For men are not cast off
by the Lord forever.
32 Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.


Galatians 4:6
6Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, "Abba,[a] Father."