A Mission Trip

As a bachelor that lives alone, my dad is the regular recipient of our family's leftovers. Tonight's after dinner drop off was Wasabi's. The food was delicious, but as usual, it was served in portions impossible for consumption in one sitting. "Dad, are you home? We are swinging by with leftovers," was the text I sent as we pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. Dad assured me he would be home, so with two boxes of rice in my lap, Amber drove our van toward dad's house.

The headlights of our van caused light to flood the dim lit living room of dad's house. I could see him rise from his comfortable reclined position and make his way to the door. We met in the middle of the drive way. As I handed him the boxes of food, he handed me an envelope. I could tell his mood was somber. "Hey dad. How was your day?" Through tears he managed a heart felt, "I love you," and he turned to walk back inside.

My dad has never been one to hide his emotions. Some might say that's a weakness or a fault, but as a 38 year old man who has been kicked around by life myself, I think geniune emotions are the greatest honesty a father can share with his son.  When we arrived home, I laid the envelop on my nightstand and admittedly forgot about it for some time. Kids to put to bed, clothes to take to the laundry room, you know how the evening routine goes. But before I finally made my way to bed, I stood at my nightstand and I carefully read the letter.

"I have to leave for a little while. I shall return, but I don't know when I'll be back....I want to sleep, I'd like to sleep, but I have to act." For most sons this would have sounded an alarm, that warranted a return trip to dad's house to check on him, but you don't know my dad. "He marches to the beat of his own drum," only scratches the surface and is woefully insufficient to describe the kind of life my dad has led and the kind of man he is.

But I got ahead of myself, I should've told you about one month prior to the night I've described above. I received texts daily from various friends. "I just saw your dad and his car at Target." "I'm picking up Christmas gifts and I saw your dad driving by the mall." Those are just a few examples. My dad is the guy who drives around Knoxville at Christmas time in the "Tribute Truckster." A car he purchased and outfitted to look identical to the Family Truckster from "National Lampoons Christmas Vacation."

For the last handful of Christmas seasons, my dad has driven his Tribute Truckster around Knoxville smiling at passersby and giving thumbs up to shoppers. His smile is infectious. You may questions his methods. Trust me, I get it. But you can't question his heart. He will tell you unequivocally he is "on a mission." He talks to people you wouldn't talk to. He hands out crochet crosses, stuffed animals, and bibles. He does it all without pay or reciprications of any kind.

You can call him crazy. Go ahead. Heck, I've thought it myself. You know what, maybe he is "crazy." But I think more accurately he is "called." Called like all of us are called, to love one another. To CARE for one another. After all, he started a 501(c)(3) non profit called "Care 365" in 1999 after hearing about the travesty in Columbine. As an educator and coach for three decades, he saw the ugliness and hate in public schools first hand, and he couldn't sit idly by while nothing was being done about it.

The same urge that caused the formation of the "Care Club" at Lenoir City High School, is also what caused my dad to drive 1400 miles to a community he'd only recently learned about on the news, Barron, Wisconsin. The story of Jayme Closs had broken my dad's heart. It kept him from sleeping. It genuinely bothered him. A girl had been kidnapped, her parents had been murdered, and a community had been rocked to it's core.

So, while I skimmed online articles and mumbled to myself how awful that tragedy was, before returning directly back to my day, my dad loaded his car with gifts, a minimal amount of cash, and headed north in his "Tribute Truckster." He wanted to bring joy and happiness to a community that was hurting. He wanted to give Christmas to a community that went without.

If I'm being honest I was intially more focused on the chore of caring for dad's golden-doodle while he was gone, than giving requisite head space to what caused him to leave in the first place. My own selfish frustrations blurred the greater good that was afoot.

As I type this, my dad is on a mission. My dad is on a trip. My dad is on a mission trip. All of us are called to love and CARE about others. We can do that abroad or we can do that here, but we have to do it. Our heart's hold the answer to the hate we live around. Care can resolve conflict. Love is the universal language.

So, let's ask for God's guidance. Let's seek out His will. Where will He send you on a mission trip?

Much Love, Adam

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