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If You Knew My Dad
For all demographic and legal purposes, I am Bridget Erin Hogan Hurry, the eldest daughter to this amazing man, my father, John Thomas Hogan. A summary of the recent past would have you know that he has just died. He was 67 years old. His death was unwitnessed, unexpected and yet speculated by those who know such things to be peaceful. My dad was an intelligent and hardworking man. He modeled for me discipline, responsibility and perseverance. He had been gainfully employed in the newspaper business for over 30 years working for the Circulation and Sales Departments of major providers such as The Chicago Tribune, The Chicago Sun-Times and The Washington Times. I find it ever so tender of our Heavenly Father that my dad died on April 8th, 2014, on the couch reading the Friday paper which they found lying in his lap. This was an honorable death for my most cherished newspaper man.
MANY reading this never knew my dad. Others may have only heard of his flaws, shortcomings, or struggles. For that, I am sorry. Not for revealing his truth- my truth- but I am sorry you didn’t know ALL of my dad. See, this intelligent, hardworking, disciplined, and responsible man was also gentle, funny, thoughtful and talented. He had four great kids and he loved us unashamedly. He had grounded roots and wanted a college education for each one of us and was adamant about certain things such as health insurance coverage and sharing all flight itineraries before any major travel. He was an avid golfer and taught me how to shoot my first basket and how to throw a mean softball fast pitch. He was my coach and my cheerleader. He was a hero and a hugger. He screamed like a little girl on water slides and yet stood in solemn silence as he kissed me off into Steve Hurry’s loving embrace for our forever-- our covenant marriage.
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He did, however, have a hard last decade or so. In the summer of 2010, he and my mother divorced after 30+ years of marriage. He battled an ongoing addiction to alcohol and this disease had ramifications that significantly impaired ALL arenas of his life. He had an emotional heartbreak after the unexpected death of a dear friend in May of 2013 and then he ensued some physical issues with his own heart developing atrial-fibrillation in the winter of 2013.
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Is Papa Jack On The Plane, Mom?
About that same time, we were approaching our one year mark in Uganda and the kids’ “yuck duck†every night at dinner remained the same, “Missing Grandma Jan, Nana, and Papa Jack.†We were so blessed to have Grandma Jan and Nana come out for a 2 week visit in December and we knew we had to make this a reality for Papa Jack as well.
By February of 2014, my dad’s heart rate was regular, he had his cardiologist’s blessing and he was excited to come see our life in the great outdoors J! We walked him through his vaccinations and packing lists and we all expected to hug him on Ugandan soil on April 12th, 2014 with the travel arrangements already finalized.
This was the hardest part for our little buddies. Papa Jack’s arrival is what we counted down to in Ms. Bridget’s math class- the highlight of our last quarter!
“Mom†Ethan inquired, “is Papa Jack still coming on the airplane?â€
“No, no he won’t be coming on the plane buddy. He has died†I whimpered back, still in disbelief myself. “He won’t be able to come see us here in Africa.â€
“Well that’s okay Mommy†Evelyn chimed in, “He is in heaven—the angels are teaching him how to fly. You don’t need to be sad Mommy.†Oh Evey girl.. you are so grounded, so cute, so right!
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Show The Way
That was what my life looked like… in the physical realities of time. It reminded me of the lyrics of David Wilcox's song, Show The Way:
Look, if someone wrote a play just to glorify
What’s stronger than hate
Would they not arrange the stage
To look as if the hero came too late?
He’s almost in defeat
It’s looking like the evil side will win
So on the edge of every seat
From the moment that the whole thing begins…
On Tuesday, April 8th, 2014, we were in a Kampala grocery store buying pork chops, Pringles and cheddar cheese in order to spoil my dad on his inaugural visit to the African savannah. We came out to our car, however, to discover that it had been ramsaked, violated, robbed. Valuable items, weighed in both sentiment and fiscal worth, had been stolen by the very people we had come to serve—those whose feet we had come to wash- and just days before Holy Week nonetheless—it was all so very poignant!
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin.†Hebrews 5: 15.
Wednesday, April 9th, 2014 rolled around and we were slow to rise- we were tired from the preceding day's 5 hour road trip home and heavy under a hint of disappointment and defeat from the same day’s insult—but we met Him in the new day and chose to embrace all of His plans and purposes ordained for us.
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’†Lamentations 3:22-24.
Ms. Bridget promptly gathered up her pupils and we were rocking out to consonant blends and the letter “R†when Steve asked to borrow my phone. He had his stolen the day before and needed to borrow mine to call CHASE Bank in order to put a cancel on some checks left in the stolen luggage. As he handed me the phone back, I saw a picture flash on the touchscreen which I was swiping to ensure it was silenced off.
“Was that my dad?†I asked myself, completely bewildered.
Next transpired the strangest 15 minutes (which felt like 500) of my life. I woke my phone back up to read, on FACEBOOK, that my dad had died. “What!?! He is flying HERE in three days. Is this some kind of terrible April Fool’s joke?†All this monologue was being narrated inside my head as I ran to our front porch trying to get cellphone reception in the middle of our nowhere. “Oh no, oh no, oh no… it can’t be, it really can’t be.â€
It. Was. Real. It did not seem real for a lot of minutes! I just couldn’t get my mind wrapped around it. I was supposed to be in the RG clinic in one hour. I still had suitcases from our Kampala trip to unpack. The kids were playing in their rooms asking aloud, “Do we still have to do school?†All while I sat on our back porch and cried and cried in the loving arms of Margaret (our amazing Ugandan friend and house helper) and Steve- my two physical world realities were colliding to hold me up- literally- when I just could not stand.
So now the stage is set
You feel your own heart beating in your chest
This life's not over yet
So we get up on our feet and do our best
We play against the fear
We play against the reasons not to try
We're playing for the tears
Burning in the happy angel's eyes for it's
Love that makes the mortar
And it's love who stacks these stones
And it's love who made the stage here
Although it looks like we're alone
In the scene set in shadows
Like the night is here to stay
There is evil cast around us
But it's love that wrote the play
For in this darkness love will show the way.
Every Good And Perfect Gift
So now we will venture into the BEST JOURNEY I have ever been on- outside of the physical- into the spiritual realms... the place where we get to meet with GOD. We need to remember the backdrop I painted previously. There I was, 6 months earlier, walking with my cherished friend Janna as she gently inquired, “When was it that you knew that you knew that you knew God loves you?†I couldn’t answer her then. I couldn’t understand why. But, I knew He knew that He knew that He knew so… I committed to just pray.
“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God†Ephesians 3: 17-19.
His spiritual courtship and our dance together continues in the immediate aftermath after first learning that my dad had died. I was crying—wailing to be more accurate-- in the arms of Margaret and Steve and then I called my twin sister, Jessica, who confirmed all the details on the phone. Steve and I then proceeded to sit on our cold, concrete floors and explained plainly all things as we knew them to Ethan and Evelyn. Evelyn promptly left to write Papa Jack a note… something he could read with the angels in heaven. Ethan went off to play with his “guys†in his room—these are both accurate next steps as our insightful and cultured 4 and 6 year olds have over 110 classmates and friends who are all orphans- Mother and Father LESS—so their worldview and experience with death is beyond their years.
I asked Steve if I could go tell Janna—I felt like I should tell someone—being an extroverted, external processor after all! So, there I stood on her porch, being held, prayed for, and comforted by my dear friend who KNEW exactly how this all felt—she had lost her sweet baby Selah Shalom just 6 months earlier. It was a physical picture of 2 Corinthians 1: 3-7 as my church, my community, my sister was comforting me with the comfort she herself had received from God, our Father of Compassion. She knew the juxtaposition I had immediately entered into-- the awkwardness of grieving as a private Westerner in our Third World country where death and loss are experienced as commonplace as traffic stoplights. We both had to grieve the loss of our first immediate family member in our Ugandan fishbowl—on display for the crowd of innocent onlookers never turning their heads so as to not miss a stoke of our fascinating foreign and minority position. There I was… on her porch… in her arms and prayers… comforted, accepted and loved. It was sweet. It was tender. It was a gift—for ME—from HIM.
Not surprisingly, as I pressed into the Spirit’s guiding next steps, He allowed for more and more healing and intimacy with Him. 6 months prior, just after Selah’s unexpected death, I had chosen a painful “parting†with my garden. It was October and we were nearing the end of our second rainy season—the seasonal end to our 8 month growing frenzy was coming and I knew this—conceptually. However, when I returned from Kampala after Selah’s hospitalization and death, I came back to a garden in shambles. It was painful. It felt personal. I was undone. I saw the weeds, the wilt, the damaged fruits of my labors and I was so hurt. “Why are you letting ALL things die Lord†I cried out… literally and figuratively… and then I walked away to not take another step in the garden.
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New Life Blossoms
The garden had been my place of refuge and was full of intimate, spiritual, and precious encounters with God. I did not fully realize it then, but I was walking away from a growing and significant part of us! God is relentless though, isn’t He? He would not let me stay away for long. Guess who asked about my garden EVERY single time we talked via phone or email? My dad. I think he might have emailed at times just to hear about the garden! His daughter, the Midwest doctor, making him proud… in the garden J!! So, with his impending arrival, I got out there. I tilled the soil, I slaved away at the months of weed neglect, and I planted some seeds. Steve pitched in and we watered and watered… but things just did not grow. “Maybe we planted too soon,†I wondered?
Why this garden interlude you might ask? Well, there I stood on Janna’s porch merely hours after hearing of my father’s death, tears just starting to dry, prayers still hovering and hugs all adequately dispensed and Steve came over to gently inquire, “What do you want to do?â€
“I want to sit on our bench†I declared. “I want to just sit and look out at our garden!â€
Steve and I proceeded to the bench and had a sweet 2 hours of just sitting, praying, crying and reflecting. And wouldn’t you know…. There was LIFE sprouting up all around us. Cute, little buds of life—EVERYWHERE!! They did not have to be there. They were not there days before. Yet that was another gift—from Him—for me!
This story isn’t getting any shorter but I sure hope it is getting sweeter. Here, I’ll scoot over-- I want each of you here with me on this garden bench. Feel the gentle, cool breeze—something not usual but greatly appreciated on this otherwise dismal April day. The sky is BLUE with cute, fluffy, full, white clouds peppering the horizon. The RG workers pass by intermittently and offer their culturally-expected and appreciated greeting, “Apoyo nene daka mono.†But then… they move along with unusual timeliness and sensitivity… as if they too understood—we were all on sacred ground!
Well, as the parents of two, there are some things that even deep grief can’t circumvent and feeding your children is just one of those things! Steve offered to go start preparing lunch and I headed over to Janna’s house to pick up Ethan and Evelyn. And just then—IT HAPPENED!!!
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Autumn In April
There is a big, beautiful tree between our two long-term missionary houses. It has a huge root system- intricate, twisted and largely exposed about ground with the threat of snakes, rats and lizards nesting in its depths. I love the look of this tree but avoid close encounters of any kind because of my healthy fear of those aforementioned threats! Our small neighborhood even cast vision for a tree house in this magnificent tree—the perfect accent to our children’s savannah adventure—but NOT worth the lethal risk of a snake bite. Nope, never gonna happen.
This tree has lots and lots of leaves and they shed often—I am sure of it—I have seen them. They cover the ground between our 2 houses. But never, never, never have they “CRUNCHED†under my feet. This too I am certain of. Why? Because I LOVE autumn- I love the cool breeze, I love the blue, blue skies, and I love the crunching leaves.
WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. I knew then and there—standing between their house and ours—I knew that I knew that I knew—HE LOVES ME!!!!
He loves me- extravagantly—relentlessly—intimately. He had made ME an autumn day in the bush of equatorial Africa on the very day my dad died. Why? Why NOT?
“This is what God the LORD says—he who created the heavens and stretched them out,
who spread out the earth and all that comes out of it,
who gives breath to its people, and life to those who walk on it:
‘I, the LORD, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand.
I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people and a light for the Gentiles,
to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.
I am the LORD, that is my name! I will not give my glory to another or my praise to idols.
See, the former things have taken place, and new things I declare; before they spring into being
I announce them to you’†Isaiah 42: 5-9.
He knows me…. Intimately.
He loves me…. Extravagantly.
He pursues me…. Relentlessly.
Can you see it? Can you feel it? Can you hear the leaves? Feel the crunch… it has been over a year since I last experienced that sensation… I had almost forgotten the sound. Here, crunch a few more with me!!
Beauty From Ashes
This story should be—could be—sad and dismal. I LOVE my dad. I wanted to hug him one more time. I wanted to pull a few weeds with him. I wanted his shoes stained with our Ugandan soil. I wanted our RG staff and kids to see this 6’7†Muzungu teddy bear and know that he is a part of me—my story—my history. But I can’t help but smile. The Lord used Isaiah 61 as part of our specific calling to come and follow Him here to serve and live and love in Uganda. I am overwhelmed with thankfulness as I see how He has also chosen to use Isaiah 61 to comfort me now… in the ashes of my dad’s death… with beauty that only HE can craft in His ever-present pursuit and love and restoration of ME!
“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor†Isaiah 61: 1-3.
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The Dawn Of A New Day
This is a GREAT story. This is a GOD story. It could end here… it doesn’t need anything else. Previous English professors would have made me stop it all right here. Heck, my father himself, with a masters in English literature, would have had me stop here. But this is a story of Our God's praise, His renown, His glory. And that kind of story, my friends, deserves an encore! So hold onto the edge of your seats, we are almost done but not without one last awe-some view of His Majesty.
Back in April of 2012, RD Reid turned around to Steve and I during CGCC communion and handed me the very piece of paper you see depicted above. He whispered to me, “I just had this vision for you. I have not been told what it means.†We were heading off to be missionaries in just a few months so I had assumed the vision was surely going to reveal something significant and life-changing to direct our Ugandan next steps. But as I prayed and prayed, nothing came. I, too, had not been told what the vision meant. So, I labeled the back “April 2012, vision from RD Reid at CGCC communion†and folded the paper into my Bible... a treasure to be saved... knowing that the LORD would reveal its fullness to me in His perfect timing.
Fast forward now with me to the very recent past and to our here and now… April, 2014. The same month. Irony? Happen stance? I think not. I first learned of my father’s death on Wednesday, April 9th, 2014 and I would describe my psychosocial status at that time as SAD. Thursday, April 10th, 2014 then ensued and I would have been best described as SHOCKED, EXHAUSTED, and SAD. So, as Friday approached, the LORD woke me from my sleep around 0400. I laid there in protest for about 30 minutes and then decided to meet with Him… our first intentional time together, alone, since I had learned of my father’s passing. The first hour I wrestled and cried and questioned. I kept expecting to hear from my dad… some evidence that he was now at peace. It finally hit me, “You don’t believe in hearing from the dead. You hear from the LORD… why am I not asking to hear from YOU, LORD?!?â€
The next hour I was met in song, scripture and truth by the fullness of my Heavenly Father, my Abba Father, my Daddy God. I have always intentionally avoided the use of “Father or Daddy†when I referred to God for most of my adult life… chiefly because I had a father and had felt that it was dishonoring to allocate that same title of respect to anyone other than my dad. How simple and limited our human minds can be, eh? Well, this second hour was a magnificent awakening, a new beginning, as I experienced an intimacy with the fullness of my ABBA FATHER that I had not let myself fully embrace before in almost 40 years of my physical life!
And then… the crescendo of this whole story, the hook-line-sinker, the encore… was revealed.
As I was writing and reading and singing and praising, I had doodled a small but clear picture in the crease of my journal. It was an exact representation of the vision RD Reid had obediently shared with me in April 2012. It was the vision that I had no understanding of but knew HE did. So, I saved this drawing in my Bible and moved it with me to the banks of the Ugandan Nile.
Since all of you know me, no one would argue with this point of fact-- I am a woman of words. Accordingly, I do not doodle and I have over 300+ journals to prove that fact. But, here I was, doodling with accuracy the very vision my Daddy God CHOSE TO REVEAL TO ME just 2 years prior for the foreshadowing of this new dawn, new season, and for the glory of this new relationship with Him.
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All Things New
Satan would attempt to distract us with the two large mountain peaks in the foreground. Those steep, nearly impenetrable slopes...enough to make anyone steer away in fear and trembling. The first mountain, let's name that Tuesday...a robbery, a 5 hour road trip with one crushed 4 year old and two frustrated adults... a true insult. The second mountain, well that peak has more of an edge in my perspective. That one we will call Wednesday... the day my dad was taken from this world and left one 39 year old crying and frustrated...an insult indeed.
These peaks, these heights, these obstacles... they are real. They both packed a punch. We can attest-- we just lived through them both. We are still actively cleaning up the shambles these physical world schemes have left behind
However...we have no need to focus on the mountains, the peaks, the intimidating foreground. We can not afford to miss what is dawning...His light...His glory...His fullness that is unable to be contained!
Church, Family, Loved ones…. I miss my dad. I love you, Papa Jack. I want to hug you just one last time, Dad. But do NOT let anyone here be deceived. This is a story worthy of Our God's praise. We serve a majestic God and He is making all things new.
Friends, I AM THAT SUNRISE. I am just starting to break through the dawn.. through the darkness of night I am rising and shining in the reflection and fullness of HIS glory. I will continue to rise...and together we can all shine like stars in this universe as we hold out our lives for WE ARE HIS, WE ARE CHOSEN, and WE ARE LOVED.
“’For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the LORD.
‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: it will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord’s renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed’†Isaiah 55: 8-13.
Thank you, Abba Father, for making all things new. Take care of my dad and please, please tell him... I love him.
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Prayer Requests
As we wrap up our time here in the U.S., after celebrating the life of Bridget's Dad with her family, we invite your continued prayers as we transition back into life in Uganda. We thank you all for your continued support and many of you have offered to help financially towards our losses following our car break-in and/or towards the expenses we have incurred traveling back to the U.S. following the loss of Bridget's Dad.
Thank you all for your continual prayers, kind words and incredible generosity of both self and spirit. If you still desire to help with these unforeseen expenses, you can click here to make a financial gift and enter the amount in the "Missions - Hurry" text box.
While this time with our family has been rich and rewarding, we are also eternally grateful for all of your love and support. We value your co-laboring with our journey here and ask that you all stay tuned for a full Hurry Happenings eNews update to be expected in the upcoming month.
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To send us a care package or mail in Uganda:
Restoration Gateway
Attn: Steve and Bridget Hurry
PO Box 828
Bedmot Village
Karuma, Kiryandongo District
Uganda, East Africa
*Visit our care package page for more information.
5219 E. 74th Place
Indianapolis, IN 46250
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