Profile of Legacy

We are nearing the end of our time here in Kauai, and I’m spending much time enjoying the surf, watching the waves roll in, one after the other. The sheer power of the curling whitecaps astounds me, the very rhythm of the tidal pulse echoing in my heart and mind, pulling forth deep memories of family. Especially my dad.

Dad’s been gone for 29 years now, far too long. The memory of him, thin at times, at other times striking me full-force like one of these breaking waves upon the shore. But his legacy lives on in his family, sure as the constant of tidal pull of the sea.

It was yesterday as I was yet again meditating on the pounding, rolling, crazy surf that a sudden memory of my father sat up forward, clear and strong, visceral and true. It was a memory of one of our times together on Cape Cod, vacationing as a family should, often does - together and tied up in our angst and issues and love. The hodge-podge of family life - babies, teenagers, newlyweds, grandparents - the sweet patchwork of what is family. We were fortunate enough to have snagged a beachfront cottage, with a deck tilted forward to the sand and surf. Dad, especially, was in heaven. He loved the sea.

The memory revived was of my father, sitting still and quiet on a deck chair overlooking the water. It was pink dawn still, both of us early risers. His coffee at his elbow, and his hand poised along the side of his head, fingers splayed along jawbone to temple. It was as carved stone, this profile I see; a man holding his head steady as if the thoughts and cares of his life were too heavy to bear. His gaze was quiet, intense, yet gentle. I couldn’t see his thoughts, of course, and he said nothing. Simply looked over at me, and with a slow wink and a small smile, returned his gaze seaward.

The memory is powerful in that the very nature of my father was revealed in that stance, that pose of hand splayed along the side of his face, eyes steady upon the waters. It was a pose he frequented when he was pondering the weight of his world, his fate, his faith. It was the same pose he set when I was 14 and his contracting business went out of business, and he sat in the backyard on our large wooden swing, hand up to his head, staring out. Two weeks he held that pose. For two weeks he struggled with his inner demons, and one day, coming off the swing, he looked up and gave that slow wink, that small smile. He’d survived the struggle, and returned. He later told me he’d been praying, asking God for direction, guidance - and a miracle - to keep his family of five fed and housed. Dad didn’t look like a praying man, but his faith ran deep and strong. He never wavered.

This legacy of that quiet, silent man is true and sure. My father was a private man, rarely expressing emotion in words. Not to mislead - he was also at times loud, and boisterous, filling a room with his shouts and words. He loved a good argument, and laughed easily. He rarely said ‘I love you’, but we always knew he’d be there, no matter what, because he always showed up, faithful and strong. His life was a testament to doing the hard things, quietly and without complaint. His family, his church and his friends all knew that he was always there to lend a hand, to help someone in need, to give himself up to give to another.

And so his legacy is not in gold or silver or gems. His legacy is more powerful and more lasting than any earthly treasure. In that powerful, quiet pose of thought, of contemplation, of prayer is evidenced the legacy of the man that was my father. His legacy about the importance of caring, of showing up, of loving through action given in quiet service. The value of doing for others instead of paying lip service.

Legacy is like that, sometimes. Our actions - our very posture - often speak more to others about our values, about our love and faith, than any words can. It is the strong, sure gaze out to sea that is often the measure of what goes on in the heart.