BY BONNIE IVERSON

EARLY FOUR YEARS HAVE PASSED since my father's death, yet I miss him now more than ever. He was there when I took my first breath; I was there when he took his last. Overwhelming privilege and immeasurable pain fused on the grim night that my hand felt Dad's chest take its final rise and fall. But I was there, and I will never forget that moment. His eyes closed, and mine opened. I see things now as I never saw them before, and I see God so clearly in my father.

The Private Life of a Public Figure
Throughout my life, Dad was rather well known within the Adventist Church; J. Orville Iversen was known and admired by many through his work in radio, television, and public evangelism. But some of those respected qualities escaped me during my youth. I just didn't know him very well. He was always busy, ministering to others, and I wondered why I couldn't have that same bond with him that others enjoyed. As I grew older I distanced myself from him, giving way to those who seemed to need him more. My need for his active presence in my life was replaced by an unending search for the fun, the easy, the satisfying. I tolerated his background presence in my life, but I expended little effort trying to get acquainted with him as one of my life's significant elements.

Then Mom died and Dad changed-or so I thought. As I more wisely reflect, I see that it was the way I viewed him that really changed. Dad seemed to take on some of Mom's most wonderful characteristics: her warm heart, her concern for others (including me), and most of all, her unconditional love. No matter how abrupt my words, how impatient my tone, how neglectful my actions, Dad was always there-the first to apologize, the first to show patience, the first to support, the first to read my feelings, the quickest to show kindness, and always so very proud to claim me as his own, no matter what I had done. He was my biggest fan. Dad sacrificed for me in countless ways, putting his needs on hold, looking instead at how best he could meet mine. His love became unconditional; only near the end did I see how it had always been so.

I See
In viewing my dad more clearly in the four years that he has been gone, I see Christ more completely. And through a closer look at the life of Christ, I see my dad. They were a lot alike. So was my evolving relationship with them both. I had put God on hold so often, as I had Dad. For so long I had resented their distance and had wondered why they and I were not closer. They seemed so much more real in the lives of others than I allowed them to be in mine.

Questions for Reflection 1. In what ways are you most like your earthly father? 2. In what ways do you wish you weren't so much like your father? 3. What life values are you most interested in passing on to your children and grandchildren? How, precisely, do you plan on going about it? 4. Why does it often take a human to help us understand God?

I wonder if Dad knew how much I would learn from his death. What a reversal I thought Dad had made in his life when, in fact, I had been the one who had changed. He had always been there, waiting for me to see him as he really was.

My mind now serves up a wealth of wonderful memories about Dad-sitting awake all night by my hospital bed until he knew I would be OK; forfeiting a trip to Hearst's Castle so that he could take me fishing on the San Simeon pier; battling the Long Beach freeway after having a flat tire, dropping his keys in the middle lane, splitting his pants, and still making it to his speaking appointment on time; sending me flowers each year on the opening day of school; and traveling the long distance, four weeks before his death, in order to hear me deliver the consecration address to the graduates at San Gabriel Academy. It was the memory of that night that I cherish the most-Dad getting up in the middle of the aisle during the recessional to give me his familiar hug, to let me know how proud he was of me, and to tell me how much he loved me.

I told him in his later years just how much he meant to me-but not often enough. And at his last sunset, one hour before the machines that linked him to life were stilled, I whispered to him once again how blessed I was to have had him as my father and how much I loved him.

I know that God opened my father's ears that evening, that He awakened his weary senses during the setting of his final sun, and Dad heard me. I am certain that he did, because I now know the unparalleled kindness of my Father in heaven. He's like that; He's a lot like my dad.

I'm not sad anymore, because soon I'll see both my earthly father and my heavenly Father standing in the middle of the aisle, waiting to give me a hug, telling me how much they love me. And they'll be chatting, just as Dad so loved to do. After all, they have so very much in common.

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Bonnie Iversen is chair of the History Department at San Gabriel Academy, in southern California.