Last year, as a freshman at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas, I joined an InterVarsity Bible study. I talked with Shawn Young, the Bible study leader and IVCF staff worker, about my spiritual life. Even though I was experiencing some spiritual growth, I wasn't satisfied. Little did I know that my opportunity to grow was about to come through the death of my father.

A LETTER TO GOD Dear Heavenly Father, I've been thinking about you and your mercy, timing and purpose. So I want to ask you some questions. . . . (Click on the title to go to the full sidebar)

All of my life I had heard stories from my family about how many times my father had escaped death. As an infant he'd had pneumonia five times. When he was a teenager, his risky behavior got him into a lot of trouble. In his college years, he escaped an accident that killed his best friend and his cousin. My father was in danger of dying so many times, yet all these stories made him sound immortal. When I was a freshman in college, he was only 43 years old, and he had yet to be a part of my adult life. I believed my father was going to live forever.

During Thanksgiving break of 1996, I was excited about returning home. My roommate came with me. That weekend with my family was rather unusual. We always celebrated Thanksgiving Day at my grandma's place, but that year the entire family came to our house. My father was different, too. Usually a temperamental man, this weekend he was very sweet. Everyone observed the same thing about my dad, saying "Cliff looks extremely tired; I don't know how long God will lend him his life." I also saw it, but I didn't want to admit it. I was just happy to be home to see my family. So the last thing on my mind was my father's fatigue.

My father was the pastor of a small bilingual church in Coolidge, Arizona, and I used to translate his Spanish sermon into English. Before my dad preached on Thanksgiving Sunday, he said, "I thank God that my son is here and can preach with me once again. I'm very proud of him." During his sermon, my father repeated the verse in 2 Timothy 4:7 which says, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." I noticed his choice of texts and thought to myself, he may die soon. But I didn't take my thoughts too seriously and just continued to enjoy the weekend.

Following the worship service we loaded the car and set off on a long trip back to school in Las Vegas. On the way I had the rare opportunity to hold a long conversation with my father. My father and I had never had a strong "friendship" or a man-to-man talk. When our conversation was over I lay back and gazed at my father for a few minutes before I fell asleep. I remember thinking, God, just lend my father a few more years because he looks so tired.

Back at school, we unloaded our luggage from the car, and I said goodbye to my family. I still remember giving my dad a hug. This was one of three hugs I had given my father in my entire life. He asked when school was over, and I said, "In two weeks." He said, "I'll see you in two weeks, then." Somehow I knew that wasn't true.

The next night my roommate kept bugging me to call my family to see how they were. He kept insisting until I finally called them. My father answered the phone, and we talked a bit. As I hung up I told my dad, "I love you, Dad." He said, "I love you, too." Once again, this was unusual because it was one of only two "I-love-you's" I ever heard from him. I went to bed with a peace that everything was all right. About 3 A.M., I suddenly woke up. I looked around the room and tried to go back to sleep, thinking how weird this was because I usually need a really loud alarm to wake me up.

At 5 A.M. the phone rang. It was my uncle. He wanted to meet me for lunch that day. At the time, I didn't think anything was wrong. After we ate, he finally got to the point and said, "What I have to tell you is not good news." Right away I got chills all over my body. "This morning at three your father-" I finished his sentence: "-passed away."

I couldn't react until I got back to my dorm room. I found my friend, Kim, and started crying on her shoulder. People helped me pack my clothes. I left school right in the middle of finals in order to attend the funeral.

Looking back, I see how this crisis caused me to grow spiritually. I have learned to trust in God when he's telling me something. I didn't take it seriously when my family said my dad looked exhausted. I missed the clues in my father's sermon and the verse he kept repeating. I denied my instincts as I conversed with him later. Now I know God was talking to me the whole time.

I also thank God for not allowing any regrets in my life. He allowed me to translate my dad's last sermon. He allowed me to spend a final weekend with my dad as well as hold a conversation with him as a friend. Most importantly, God granted me a hug from my father and an "I love you" before he died.

When I came back to school I felt a void in my life, as if my dad's death had left a hole in my heart. But I also saw God in my life through the extensive conversations I had with Shawn Young, my staff worker. They were very much like my last conversation with my dad. After a while I realized that part of my void had been filled by someone special-Shawn. He became like a father to me and to this day he's a pillar that keeps me up.

During my initial shock I wasn't able to appreciate the Christian community that was being shown to me by those who helped me pack, sent cards and prayed for me. Instead of being angry with God for taking my father, I now see that he has given me so many blessings in the people who surround me with love. Best of all, I know that my heavenly Father surrounds me with his love.