This past Saturday, my sister and I had a memorial service for our father, Tony A. Estrada Jr. (also known as Papa T). Family and friends surrounded us with funny memories: tales of cars that worked only in reverse, an almost encounter with Keanu Reeves, and the many moments my father got people backstage for some sort of event (concerts, drag races, and even the closed-off catacombs at the Mission Inn). Hearing these stories warmed my heart and made me ache for my father. Something I am sure many of you can relate to: a feeling of immense love intermixed with profound loss.

I have had recurring nightmares since my father passed away. He comes to visit me, but he is not well. He is sunken in, frail, and mostly decrepit. It’s as though he is crying out for my help, and I don’t know how to save him. I wake up right before I find the solution, and there is this incredible hopelessness that engulfs me. I try to forget the dreams as quickly as I can because who wants to think their loved one is suffering in the afterlife?

My dad led a fast life filled with adventure, impulsivity, and oftentimes, pain. Unfortunately, we did not always have a good relationship. There were a lot of unsettled waters between us, and though our last conversation healed a lot of wounds, there were unresolved issues that could not be restored this side of eternity. I truly believe that there are some wounds only Jesus can heal face-to-face.

One of the last statements I made to my father was one of forgiveness. I told him I hoped to spend eternity with him and get to know him as God intended him to be: redeemed, forgiven, and completely transformed. Needless to say, I still struggle with the idea that I will see my father in heaven, and that thought terrifies me. 

On Saturday, as I watched a slideshow of my father’s life, I remembered his infectious laugh. I remembered how his smile lit up a room. I remembered how his passion lives on in me today. I remembered his generosity, his willingness to talk to a lonely person, his ability to make friends wherever he went. I remembered him, and I wept. I wept for the man he was. I wept for the man he could have been. Most of all, I wept for the man he wasn’t able to become because of the trauma he suffered. 

The day flew by in a blur of emotion, and when I woke up on Sunday, I was exhausted. My eyes were swollen, my head pounded, and my body felt as though it had aged overnight. In a way, it had. The last thing I wanted to do was to attend church. Instead, I wanted to crawl in my bed and sleep the sad away, but I didn’t. Rather than succumbing to my depression, I watched church with my family, and it was one of those services that will forever change me. That’s often the case when I don’t want to go to church: the message wrecks me, but in a good way.  

One of our Pastors, Pastor Alfredo Ramos, was preaching on my favorite chapter in the Bible: Romans 8. This chapter is all about God’s love for his people, which is something I struggle to comprehend. I feel unworthy of God’s love, and it baffles me how He can love me in my brokenness. Pastor Alfredo made some connections in this chapter that I have never made before. I will list them below, in case you need these truth bombs, as well.

1. Condemnation never brings about the change we need. (When he said this, I was overcome by my own critical nature, and I realized I had sat down in the judgement seat against my father. Talk about conviction.)

2. Christ will never change his mind about me. (Oof, that one still hits me in the feels.)

3. In confession, there is still progress. (Oftentimes, I berate myself for making mistakes.)

4. God cannot stop loving any of us because he never started loving us. He has ALWAYS loved us. (This point made me ugly cry.)

I don’t know about you, Dear Reader, but I needed to be reminded that I cannot earn God’s love… it just exists. His love is not dependent on my love for Him. It is not earned by my good deeds, nor is it lost when I fail, which is most of the time. 

My father made mistakes, many of which helped contribute to his death. He got it wrong far more often than he got it right. (Sound familiar?) But, and this is a big but, my father is irrevocably, undeniably, recklessly loved by Christ. Will I see him again in heaven? I can’t say for certain. But there is one thing that makes me think I will… hope.

I have hope in God’s unfailing love for me, for my father, and for you. I have hope that I will know my dad exactly as God intended him to be. I will see him restored, healthy, and so full of light, I’ll need to wear shades in his presence.

I will embrace my father, again. We will laugh together, again. Again… Yes, friends, I can find my hope in the promise of again.