My Father, My Hero

Loss is a fact of life. Some souls seem to find meaning in it. While others harden their hearts because of it. I want to be a man who knows the former. I want to model my life after another who has grown strong as a result of the pain. In fact, I know a man who has done just that. He has dedicated his time on earth to restoring the broken pieces that have happened apart from his control. I admire this man with all I have. He is my earthly father.

Kenneth Wayne Roberts, my dad, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis during 2000, my senior year in college. As I prepared for the beginning of my independent life, he was just beginning to prepare for what would become the downside of his. Or so, it seemed.

Ten years removed from the initial shock of discovering his body and brain would no longer work the way it did in his youth, he still is with us. Through the thick of a constant struggle to hold onto his memory and coordination, he has learned a dependancy upon Christ I can but envy. The depths of his struggle, I will never know. But, the evidence of his dependancy upon our Eternal Father is undeniable. He is lead by the memory and the coordination of one who has gone before him. Through the darkness, there is a light. And he is living proof that a soul can be refined by fire. Although he is in relatively good health, if he lives one more day, I am honored to have seen him fight this remarkable struggle.

During his life, he has served in the US Air Force, worked side-by-side with his own earthly father laying hard-wood floors, learned carpentry, had a few sales jobs, married a wonderful and supportive woman of his dreams, raised two independent children, and started his own business.

He has survived both of his parents, and mourns them with each loving stroke of his tired arms. When he waxes his car, lays tile, repairs a broken fence post, and eats a certain thing for dinner, he tells a story about his parents. But, in his memory and in his everyday life, he has modeled his parents' work ethic, morality, and passion for Christ to his children, in ways he may never truly know. Their memory lives on through two generations. It is indeed an amazing thing to be called a Roberts.

There are few people I truly respect. As a child of the 80s and a GenX-er, I struggle with cynicism and disrespect for authority. But, my youth is slowly fading in its own right. And there are some things that we learn as we age. Respect is one of those things. This man, if he does no more, has earned every bit of mine.

Heaven belongs to the humble in Christ. The least of these is my father. And, I am honored to be able to spend eternity with him, my personal hero.

His son,

Sean