The Shape of My Eyes

In the midst of loss and reconciliation, this story reveals a powerful truth: God’s love speaks louder than judgment, even in our final moments. Through a father’s illness and a quiet return to Scripture, we see a picture of grace that restores hearts and reframes how we understand God.

In my father’s final days, God showed me that love—not judgment—has the final word.

While I was still living in Bangkok, I got a call that shook me.

“Dave, it’s Dad. I’m in the hospital.”

He didn’t sound well. His strong voice, usually brimming with confidence, was noticeably weaker, worn by hardships and choices that he regretted. He paused for a long time, catching his breath even as he tried to sound normal.

“Son, I got leukemia.”

I felt something grip my heart as I stopped breathing for a moment, trying to fathom what was happening. At this point in our relationship, the past wounds were healing. There was a scar, but no more stinging or pain. Memories of the hurt remained, but I couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

Dad got into a treatment program at MD Anderson in Houston, a world-renowned cancer treatment center. Dad and Carolyn began making regular trips to Houston, and his health improved dramatically. We were all hopeful.

Then I got a surprising call from Dad after several months of positive news.

“Dave, I’m going to stop going to Houston.”

“Dad, you can’t just stop after you’ve gotten this far.”

“I know, but it’s just too much. I can continue some treatment at the Mayo Clinic near me.”

Dad’s health continued to deteriorate. During one trip to see him, he looked up at me in his hospital gown. His blanket was pulled up to his chest, and his strong arms looked noticeably thinner. He turned his head toward me.

“Dave, can you get me a Bible?”

I hadn’t talked to Dad about spiritual things in a long time. God and the church in the world used to be key parts of our everyday conversation, but now, even though I was leading a mega-church, both of us felt uncomfortable talking about all that.

“Sure, Dad.”

I couldn’t believe Dad was asking for a Bible. It was remarkable, given the public shaming, disrespect, and hurt he’d experienced from the church where he’d been a popular volunteer leader. Overly enthusiastic about my dad’s interest in God, I ordered him three translations. On my next visit, I asked, “How is your Bible reading going? What do you think God is saying to you?”

He paused, then looked at me with a sincere expression of humility. Tears formed in his eyes. He said, “That I’ve been away too long.”

That sounded like God to me. It wasn’t condemnation. It was gentle. God was saying He missed being with my father. God wasn’t interested in dredging up Dad’s past failures or mistakes but was just delighted that Dad wanted to be with Him again. Knowing my dad, he had beat himself up multiple times for the mistakes he’d made. He’d blurt out when he made a mistake, “Stupid!” “Idiot.” Harsh words to curse yourself with. If this was what he said about himself audibly, I wondered how he spoke to himself internally.

My view of God was changing alongside my dad’s. I no longer saw God as someone looking to shame you for your wrong choices. I now understood that God was someone who loved cheering you on, loving you. Instead of God only desiring for us to believe in Him, He also wants us to know He believes in us. Instead of the God who is in Heaven, ready to unleash punishment for all our wrongs, I was understanding God more like a loving Father, ever present with us whose love is like a waterfall. It never stops.

In fact, if there is any one definition of God that is the most encompassing of who He is, it would be unconditional, ever-flowing, unstoppable love. While God’s love was something addressed at our church growing up, fear was what I’d felt the most. It was more about being right than being loving. Judging each others’ actions more than celebrating each other. The more I know of God, the more I see that love supersedes the rules and laws we tend to uphold.

Once again, I was seeing my dad more clearly than ever. He became human. I asked God to give me eyes for my dad. And one day, something happened. I started to see my dad as a child. As Gary, the little boy who didn’t have a father. He did the best he could with the resources and experiences he was given, which in many ways was better than I did. He was broken just like me. But also more beautiful than I gave him credit for.

…

Excerpt taken from The Shape of My Eyes by Dave Gibbons ©2024 published by Hachette Book Group. Used with permission.

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