Forever Sealed

The skies opened, and rain fell for days on end.

In Indiana, we’d seen that never-letting

Sealed!!!

up rain that flooded fields, shoes soaked, a

continuous, soggy mess. It was April of 2025, and Good Friday was tucked somewhere in the middle of those drenched weeks—a day of mourning—and the weather had certainly reflected this solemn mood for days.

I found myself standing on my dad’s property, ready to battle against a separated culvert in his driveway and a tunnel that the non-stop flooding had created. Dad joined me for what we both recognized would be a bout of knuckle-scraping manual labor. Here was a man who, at age 87, might surprise you with his strength and willingness to tackle any hard job with a cane in hand. And here was I, happy to be a sixty-year-old who still had opportunities to chat while working alongside an amazing man.

We worked for three hours—Dad feeding me the materials while I crouched to pack sand and rock into the tunnel. Much of our time was spent in sweat-covered silence. At some point in that quiet span, I heard a voice in my head or my heart—maybe both.

“Your dad is going to speak to you about your blog,” the voice said.

Typically, these things are more of a feeling or a sudden awareness. This one was not. It was clear and pronounced. Still, I kept working. I just wasn’t sure.

Thirty seconds later, Dad spoke.

“Rob, I read your blog.”

My eyes went wide, but I hid my reaction and went on packing rock into the hole. On most days, those five small words might be a casual way to fill an awkward silence, the way you’d discuss the weather with a next-door neighbor. This was not most days.

My previous blog post had focused on my journey to healing from a traumatic childhood sexual experience. And my dad had read about it. I maintained my poker face as I shoved more rock into the slowly filling space. Instead of moving on to a more comfortable topic like sports or politics, Dad pressed further in. He asked not just one but multiple questions:

“When did this happen?”

“Did your mom know about this?”

“Who was the man, and how did he get involved in your life?”

I kept my responses short and direct, careful not to add too many details. At the same time, my emotions stirred. It started to dawn on me that this conversation was happening. It was as if I were suddenly a nine-year-old boy again, listening to his father's concerned voice.

Before my dad retired, he started a non-profit in southern Indiana. The nonprofit served communities by locating and restoring old cemeteries and gravestones. Dad believed in the importance of a headstone to mark and honor the life it represented.

He went on:

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Dad, I was nine and terrified, with no idea how to explain what he had done to me.”

“That makes complete sense,” he acknowledged.

I kept packing the hole, only now I had tears dropping from my eyes.

“Well, if I had known,” Dad said, “I would have stopped that immediately.”

The astonishment set in as I began to feel my dad’s deep care for me. He continued probing gently, asking if the man was still alive. My poker face quickly faded as more tears came. Through a lump in my throat, I assured Dad that the man had died a few years after I pressed charges against his crime. How would my dad respond to that? Some brief word of encouragement, or just silence, maybe? Neither of those would have been inherently wrong and might even be expected. What I didn’t expect was what came next. After a long pause, Dad said: “I want to tear down his gravestone.”

The tears then fell freely as I packed the rock tightly, like it was my last day on earth. I felt Dad’s gaze on me, then I stopped, and my eyes met his intently.

“I will go with you, Dad.” We exchanged small smiles with a deep sense in me that we stood together against this man and his crime against me, then we got back to work.

Some moments in life seem normal at first, just working on the farm, then unexpectedly morph into life-altering milestones. That moment in the driveway with my dad exposed a longing in my heart that I’d forgotten was even there. It was a moment that allowed a little boy to finally hear the sentiment he’d longed for from his father:

“I will protect you. I will defend you.”

Those words invoked strength in me, reinforcing my soul, which felt more fortified than even the rock I’d been working with. As Dad and I finished up, I uttered prayers of thanksgiving as I covered the tightly packed rock with a thick layer of concrete, sealing the hole up for good.

A much deeper hole was sealed that day, a hole that I have been trying to fill for decades in different means and measures that have been exhausting. God, in his perfect timing, knew the void I’d had in my soul for so many decades. He took this otherwise unremarkable moment in my dad’s driveway and used it to fill my heart with a precious gift, and to mend a wound that by His grace would never need to open again.

The following day, I did my best to capture in my journal, through writing and tears, the moment that God and my dad healed me.  I ended my reflection, awakened by reading my words…

My dad fully knows me. I am released. I now want to know my son and grandson.

***

This is how God does it. The infinitely powerful Creator of all that is, stepping into the sweat, mud, and rainwater to orchestrate a beautiful moment between father and son. It’s what He did on the first Good Friday, as Jesus Himself stepped into the broken mess of our sins, giving up His own life to save ours. Could it be that Christ, the Shepherd of souls, the filler of forgotten holes in our lives, does not forget our deepest longings? Could it be that He actually cares that deeply for each of us? That he really hears the longings of our heart that our souls mutter, those things even forgotten by us, but not Him.

Lord, You know when I sit down and rise; you discern my thoughts from afar. You …are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.  (Portions of Psalm 139)

Consider what it might be that a dreary Good Friday is pointing us toward. Take a moment to breathe deeply, asking the Lord not only to show you what holes still exist in your heart but also how He, through His very presence, may be inviting you to healing and hope. To make the good news even better. He is for you. He sent His Son to die for our sins on the cross. He forgives us. He mends our wounds. He redemptively desires to make us whole. He is willing and able to let you see and feel that no matter how dark and flooded life gets; Good Friday is always followed by the glorious sunrise of resurrection Sunday. 

To all who believe, receive, and accept Him, He gives the right to become children of God.

The Gospel of John

***

If you are considering such things, I would be honored to sit with you, be a prayerful, safe presence, and witness what the Lord may be inviting you to with Him.

Peace, my friends,

Rob