Still Preaching: Lessons in Silence

The Other Side of Christmas 

I’m finding myself on the flip side of Christmas. The wrapping paper is crinkled and discarded. The tree that once stared at me with anticipation now looks at me with a sigh. “Familiarity breeds contempt.” There is some truth to that. I find myself moving quickly through stories I know well. Stories like Christmas. I’ve reduced it to a song title—Silent Night. Truth be known, it probably wasn’t that silent. I’ve relegated it to a headline—baby born in poverty in harrowing conditions—as if the repetition diminishes the power. Just confessing that truth feels profane.  

 But familiarity doesn’t make the incarnation small; it makes the truth easy to miss. God didn’t rescue the world from a distance—He certainly could have. It would have been safer. Less messy. But He entered it fully, vulnerably, and without status. He did not stand at a distance but entered the very places we avoid.  

This has always been how God works. He uses what the world overlooks to reveal what the world has forgotten. He chooses weakness as the vessel of His strength. He shows up where power seems absent and declares, “I am still here.” 

Christmas in Real Time 

I see this now in the life of my daddy.  

His home is a memory care facility. His days are spent in a wheelchair or a recliner. His words are locked away in the deep and hidden places of his mind. And yet—this is holy ground. The image of God has not dimmed. It may be vulnerable—even a little messy—but not diminished. 

My daddy knew from a young age that God called him to be a preacher. That voice led him into the woods on top of East River Mountain, where he would preach to the squirrels, the deer, and any of God’s creatures that would listen.  

The call came in spite of his circumstances—the tenth of eleven children, raised in poverty, fearful of his stutter—but it transcended them all. It was the Great Commission carried out through the obedience of an Appalachian boy in the heart of West Virginia. And he carried it well then—and he carries it still today. Preaching isn’t something you do; it’s who you are—and who he still is, even now. 

Some days I pull up a chair in front of him, touch his hand, and stare into those big blue eyes and whisper, “Hi, Daddy. It’s Missy. What have you been doing today?” Sometimes he looks at me with those eyes, and I know he is carrying on a conversation that I can’t quite make out with my ears. Some days, I’m not sure if he remembers my name, and those same eyes stare right past me. 

But there is one thing I know: the image of God isn’t what we do, it’s who we are—and I see that image alive in him. God called my daddy to preach, and God will call him home when he’s finished his work—not when his worth depends on what he can do.  

Lessons in Memory Care 

Sometimes when the words won’t come, I search through my backpack of memories and pull out one we can share. On this day, it happened to be a scripture: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me...I am going to prepare a place for you...I will come again...that where I am, there you will be also.”  

I saw a light flicker in his eyes, a hint of recognition by the movement of his head, the smile. I smiled back as he reminded me that those words were an anchor. The purpose of an anchor is to hold something in place when the waves threaten to pull it under. Those words anchored him. He didn’t have to say it. I just knew. Love the Lord your God, and you won’t have to carry around a troubled heart.  

The lessons he teaches me are endless. Before I open my car door and walk towards the facility, I ask God, “Don’t let me miss the message that Daddy’s life is preaching today.” So I’ve been writing them down. 

Some days, his teaching comes in moments. Other days, it comes in small, quiet truths felt in the rhythm of his life. Here are a few of the lessons he teaches me—without saying a word. 

Faith Lessons Still Being Preached 

Love the Lord, your God, with all of your heart, and all of your soul, and all of your strength. Out of this love, you will be able to love everyone else purely. This is how I came to know Jesus. My daddy introduced me to him like an old family friend—always around, forever trusted, and deeply treasured. Because of this lesson, I can never remember a time when I didn’t know Jesus. 

Preach the gospel. And when the gospel becomes who you are—the tapestry of your life—you won’t even need words. I quit saying, “he was a preacher.” God’s callings are irrevocable, and they come with a lifetime appointment.  

Live generously, even when people take advantage of you. You will discover that you can’t out-give God. 

You can devote your entire life to people and end up alone. This is one of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn. I’ve wrestled with it. I’ve questioned God about it. Dementia is a thief. It steals memories. It steals relationships. It steals your usefulness. But there is one thing that it cannot steal—love. “For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor demons, nor things present nor things to come…nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” I’m pretty sure that includes dementia. 

My daddy is a man of not only great faith, but great wisdom. He had a way of knowing if I carved my initials in his desk or the secrets to finding a man who would make the perfect husband. (Spoiler: marry someone who is like my dad). But who said that messages are only wrapped up in words?  

Life Lessons He Taught Me Without Knowing 

There is something to be said about living a life of simplicity. He had one purpose—follow Jesus. If it didn’t fit into that category, it wasn’t worth pursuing. He never owned a house until he was in his fifties, and it was built by friends on land his family had occupied for generations. He loved fresh air, rich soil, hard work, and chickens. 

Always try to make people laugh, no matter how bad you feel. Laughter is good for the soul. 

Love life and be a fighter. And if you fall down—bruised or battered—get back up again. I was reminded of this recently when Daddy tumbled out of his wheelchair for the thirtieth time—and that’s not an exaggeration—only to end up with a huge goose egg on his head and a black eye. Two days later, he was Sonic the Hedgehog, speeding down the hallway in memory care like it was a racetrack. You can’t keep a godly man down. 

Never be afraid to cry. It doesn’t make you weak; it keeps your heart soft. 

The image of God doesn’t depend on what you can do, how much you know, or your level of usefulness. The image of God is endowed, not earned. 

Growing up, I never doubted that Daddy loved his family. Even when he scheduled revivals on our birthdays or gave us a spanking for kicking the church door (yes, I really did that), I knew that he would go down swinging when it came to us. 

Family Lessons That Shaped Us 

Protect and defend your family (which may or may not look like): Driving your kids to school every time you have a chance, getting out of your car and yelling at a driver who honked their horn incessantly when your 16 year old was learning to drive a stick shift on a hill, picking up your grandkids, making them waterslides out of advertising tarps, and threatening to beat up your kids’ teachers if they mistreat them. 

Make your family feel like millionaires by making self-sacrifice a lifestyle. I never knew how little we had until I became a parent myself. He went without so we wouldn’t have to. 

Work to keep your family together. Give your kids space, but be there to pick up the pieces.  

And then there are the simple things that one might miss if they weren’t looking for them… 

The Small Lessons That Last 

Leave the cooking to the people who know how to do it. Bean cakes are not good no matter how you dress them up. 

Always have a project to work on. Projects are more fun and productive than vacations. (I’m still not 100 percent sold on this one). 

The best way to practice a message or speech is to pace throughout the house and speak it out loud to yourself. I still use this method after years of being a teacher. 

Never stop dreaming. Dreams are seeds that God plants in the soil of our hearts. 

Music is the language of heaven. It connects with your soul when all other connections get broken.  

Be a person of integrity. 

Live a life where people want to write about you.  

Resting in the Silence 

One day, I was praying for my daddy, asking God why He allowed this disease to happen to someone who served Him so completely and selflessly all of his life. The conversation went something like this: “God, either heal Him or take Him to heaven with you. He has no meaning or purpose. He wouldn’t want to live like this.”  

Immediately, I heard the voice of God echo through my spirit. “Who are you to judge the value of my precious children? He is here because his race is not finished. He’s still running; you’re not watching. He’s still speaking, but you’re not listening.”  

I changed my prayer that day. God, the truth is easy to miss. It may even be residing in the places I avoid. Please help me to throw off my preconceived notions and take the road less traveled. 

Maybe the truth we’re searching for is already speaking—from the places we’ve learned to overlook.