While still living on Earth in these mortal bodies; while living in the here and now of what we know and have experienced; while waiting and longing for Jesus to return and usher in His eternal kingdom, death seems so final. At least this is how it sometimes feels in the day-to-day, even though we know it’s not, solely because of Christ.
Many of you reading this have experienced the death of a loved one, and so I know you genuinely get my words. It's in the intimate knowledge of the authentic person—the history and idiosyncrasies, the unique personality, the likes and dislikes, the mannerisms and ways—that the absence of his or her presence is tremendously felt. For the family who knew him best—my mom, brothers, spouses, dearly loved grandchildren, and myself—the absence of my father's presence here on earth is tremendously felt.
Oh, how I miss my dad.
Many years ago when my children were little, I wrote a short piece for my dad, titled “If You Know My Dad." I printed it on nice paper and put it in a simple wooden frame, and If I remember correctly, I gave it to him for Christmas.
It read:
If you know my dad—I mean really know my dad—then there are many things that you would know.
He’s a Cleveland steelworker and a Marsh Fork Bulldog—always will be.
He’s a mathematician, a craftsman, and a perfectionist.
He loves his cut-offs, ball caps, and paint-spattered white t-shirts.
He loves his truck, sports page, George Jones, and Judge Judy.
He loves the wonders of nature and the comforts of his home.
He has the strong yet gentle hands of a master masseuse.
He has the gift of helping, as all well know who have been blessed to be his neighbor and friend.
He is a cautious protector of his wife and is a man of passionate opinion.
He finds the greatest humor in his grandchildren, especially in the things they do and the things they say.
His grown children know his fatherly love knows no boundaries.
He is strong and proud, determined and hard-working.
And, he is mine. Because of this, I have been incredibly blessed.
As I sat at my kitchen table for many hours over several weeks, putting together a video presentation (included at the end of this blog) that began my dad's memorial service, I was once again reminded of the core distinctions of who my dad was. However, I wasn’t thinking about the more superficial, temporal things, like his love for Judge Judy or that he thought no one was better than George Jones. I wasn’t thinking of his attachment to his 1995 black Ford F-150 or his affinity for his white t-shirts, cut-offs, and ball caps. I wasn't thinking about his growing up in West Virginia, or that LTV Steel was his place of employment for almost forty years. Though these surely characterized him, this is not what I was reflecting on.
Rather, these two realities were the primary contemplation of my thoughts:
my dad’s great love for his family
and God’s great love for my dad.
In early February 2022, on an exceptionally frigid Ohio morning, days after my dad had passed away, my family had a graveside service for immediate family and a handful of our closest friends, and I was able to share a few words about my dad while standing next to his navy blue casket:
Growing up with Stanton Sifers as my dad, despite his imperfections. . .his weaknesses. . .his sins. . .as his daughter, I knew these realities—verbal and experiential—to be reliably and enduringly true:
In him was protection and provision.
I was his dearly loved and deeply cherished daughter.
No matter what—even when I hurt his heart—he was always my faithful father.
I’ve told different individuals, and have even shared on social media a time or two, that I know it was because my dad was who he was with me that it laid a rock-solid foundation for my relationship with my Heavenly Father: the One who is my ultimate protector and great provider; the One who loves and cherishes me more than any other has or ever will; the One who—even when I deeply grieve His heart—will always remain my faithful Father.
Stanton Sifers, my imperfect earthly father, whose "second home" was Gaisor’s Pub during my growing up years, daily pointed me to my perfect Heavenly Father without even knowing that’s what he was doing.
He was just being my good dad.
And my perfect, good Heavenly Father never stopped pursuing my imperfect, good earthly father, just as He never stops pursuing each of us. Despite our sinful condition and our absolute unworthiness, through Jesus Christ, our loving, merciful Creator invites and He woos. He targets and persists.
To our blindness, He brings sight. To our darkness, He brings light.
And He transforms our hearts. He makes us new.
On January 28th, 2022, my beloved daddy, at 82 years of age, was born again, just thirteen days before he passed away. His salvation had been specifically, intentionally, and fervently prayed about for over fifty years, not just by our family, but by so many in the body of Christ. What a beautiful testimony of God's long-suffering nature, mercy, and grace! What a beautiful testimony of the power of persevering prayer through the long stretches of life, to experience the salvation breakthrough so desperately longed for.
The morning of my dad's born-again experience, he was taken by Cleveland EMS to the hospital where he lay very sick for days; a week later, he was finally released to in-home hospice care. In those precious final days, despite his weakened condition, God allowed us to witness—to see and hear for ourselves—a truly transformed heart, an old life made brand new. Evidenced was an old man who’d experienced a new birth, being transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit who had taken up residence within him, just as the Word declares the Spirit does for the one who opens his heart to Jesus. Clear testimonies, though maybe small and insignificant to those who didn't intimately know my dad, were unmistakable in his speech, behaviors, and interactions with him.
One such testimony occurred one evening when I telephoned my dad. He had already been in the hospital for five days. Because he had been so ill and because my mom had COVID-19 and had not been doing well, she had not been able to visit or even talk to him on the phone until earlier that evening, finally having the strength to call him.
After my dad and I talked for a few minutes, and I was so encouraged since he sounded stronger due to the multiple blood transfusions he had received over the previous four days, our conversation turned to just how sick Mom had been that week. Then (in his exact words) my dad said, “Sherry, I’ve been laying her thinking about all the mean things I’ve ever said to your mom, and I feel bad.” And with a serious, humble tone (so uncharacteristic of my dad, especially when referring to my mom), he told me just how much he loved my mom and that when he talked to her on the phone earlier, he had told her so.
A heart transformed. An old life made new.
On January 21, 2022, just seven days before my dad finally allowed the light of Jesus to break through the darkness, I began penning something in my journal. I didn’t know it at that specific moment, though now I do, that it was about my dad.
I had just read a verse in the book of Micah that says, "The One who breaks open the way will go before them" (2:13), and at that moment, this description of my all-powerful God struck me so personally, so very profoundly.
Our God, the Creator of this vast universe—my perfect Heavenly Father, and yours if you've placed your trust in His perfect Son—is THE ONE WHO BREAKS OPEN THE WAY.
And so I began writing. . .
The Way. . .
is blocked,
tightly sealed shut
with impossibilities;
barred by an
entrenched,
reinforced wall
of impenetrability;
barricaded by
inducing,
crippling,
generational history;
buttressed by
foolishness,
rebellion,
sin;
bridled by
doubts
and fears
and pride,
and lies from hell;
blanketed by
a dense veil
of darkness.
THE ONE. . .
No seal
is too firmly fixed
for His inexhaustible love.
No impossibility
is too indomitable
for His lavish mercy.
No impenetrable wall
can withstand
His unstoppable might.
No generational fortress
can overpower
His incomprehensible grace.
No sin
is too great for
His blood-stained cross to conquer.
No lie from the Enemy
can vanquish
His unfailing Word.
No darkness
is too heavy
that it cannot be
overcome by
His overwhelming light.
HALLELUJAH! WHAT A SAVIOR!
Fellow sojourner, I don't know who you are presently praying for. And I have no way of knowing how long you've been interceding, or who you have enlisted throughout the years to help you petition God on behalf of the soul burden that weighs so heavy on your heart.
And maybe, just maybe, right now as you're reading these words, you are discouraged, even feel like slacking off or giving up because your intercessor's journey has been so long. As I type these words, I know this might be your earthly reality, your present-day mindset as you read them.
But these realities I do know because God's Word says they're so:
God is faithful. God is good. He is just. He is sovereign. He always knows the right way to make wrong things right.
He is compassionate and gracious. And He is so long-suffering.
He's perfectly precise in His timing and impeccable in His ways.
The promises of His Word—always true, always trustworthy, always at work—are always worth waiting on.
He is always about a much bigger picture than you or I could ever imagine, a picture that encompasses so much more than our limited understanding.
He is not willing that any should perish lost in their sins.
So, like the saints of old, throughout century after century, have done, you and I must keep on keeping on. We must keep lifting our "eyes toward the hills," and crying out to THE ONE WHO BREAKS OPEN THE WAY, for the soul we so long to see saved.
Though the fight is long and the weariness is real. . .
Though discouragement is tempting and defeat seems inevitable. . .
Still, we MUST keep praying.
MUST keep petitioning. MUST keep interceding.
MUST keep trusting. MUST keep worshiping. MUST keep praising.
Because the Great Magistrate is hearing.
The High Priest of Heaven is sympathizing.
The Savior who suffered is now advocating at God's right hand.
His Holy Spirit is groaning and, most assuredly, working, though we don't see the evidence or fully understand how.
And even when the burden feels undeniably great and the day is unquestionably long, still, we must choose—daily, hourly, momentarily—to trust that our perfect, good Heavenly Father, "the Everlasting God" who "fainteth not, neither is weary" (Isaiah 40:28), is working out His holy, redemptive plan, despite pride's blindness, Satan's grip, and a sinner's free will.


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