Yesterday

was singularly long and singularly eventful.

The highlight of my day was at 5:51 when my brother called me of his own volition, just to talk. I mean, I could have melted in a puddle on the sidewalk. This has never happened before, ever.

Unfortunately, that phone call came thirty-six minutes after my sister called me of my mom's volition to tell me that my dad was going to the hospital--probably the big bummer of my day.

And now for a bit of context. At Sunday School there was a brother and sister (approximately the ages of my brother and sister) whose dad (who was younger than my dad) was rushed to the hospital. We prayed for him, and that was it. That night I learned that he had passed away. And then the next day my dad went to the hospital.

It was sort of a freak sequence of events and it left me really on edge, probably more so than I would have been otherwise.

Right before rehearsal, I finally called Mom, who has been convinced this whole time that Dad would be fine. When we hung up, I started bawling--a combination of grief for all the stress that he's been under that has caused all of these problems; relief that it sounded like his heart is okay and that his vitals were good. It was then that I got down on my knees, on the concrete, by the theatre, and told God that I was confident that He loves Dad, Dad loves Him, and I love Dad. It was kind of interestingly full-circle--when I was born, I had a little bit of trouble with the whole being-alive aspect of living, and my dad knelt down on the hospital floor and prayed that I would survive.

It was also a heck of a lot better than the last time Dad went to the hospital. It was when I was in high school, it was the middle of the night, and we'd just had a major knock-down, drag-out fight. I went to bed very angry. And then at 3 am I felt just terrible because there was my dad, going to the hospital, and it was an epic-ally bad night for that to happen. And here we are, on good terms, with a lot of mutual respect there.

But seriously--last night felt really, really long because I was constantly wondering how Dad was doing and what was going on. It wasn't until eight-ten that I finally got peace about the situation because Mom said that she was going to get Dad some Chik-Fil-A for dinner. For some reason, I don't think of Chik-Fil-A as a deathbed food.

But there you have it. It was a little nuts, but God has always been in control, and He loves His kids. My dad is one of the coolest people I know: he reads a lot, he plays bass, he wears patterned sweaters... the list goes on and on.

(Dad, you should get into the washtub bass; it's got less strings, it's more temperamental and you'll look like a hillbilly. I'd laugh and take pictures.)

I know my dad will be happiest in heaven and if he were to go there suddenly, I would not wish him back... but I'm still glad that he has some unfinished business down here first.

But really, in conclusion, please pray for the Call family.