Poppa

I was at the home of my mentor and friend Dan Bumstead, and we were talking about something or other that seemed significant at the time. In retrospect, I am amused that my indelible memory of the moment has nothing whatsoever to do with the topic of conversation. 

What I do remember is that in the middle of our conversation, Dan's son Christopher came into the living room from playing outside.  He surveyed the room and took in the interaction his father was having. I can only speculate at the internal dialogue that ensued...

"That Lennox guy's talking to dad again. Seems they talk a lot these days.  Boring grown-up stuff..."

I wonder if there was ever a moment of hesitation before he walked between us, hopped onto Dan's lap, curled up in a ball and said "hi Poppa."

For the slightest fraction of a second, Dan took his eyes from me, placed his hand on his son's head and said "hi Chris."

An instant connection was cemented and we resumed our conversation, Christopher curled securely, oblivious to our exchange, safe, content in his place of shelter and comfort, the cares of a 7-year old forgotten, the world irrelevant.

I remember thinking, that's how I'd like to relate to God. I would love to know that I can wander into his living room while the universe hums and planets whirl by, while nations and kindreds await his command, and desperate hearts seek his consolation. I would love to know that in the middle of the conversation, without summons or appointment, 

I could climb into his lap and with absolute confidence of my welcome say "hi Poppa"

And he would put his hand on my head and said "hi Len"

Sometimes after a hard day I do that. 

When I do, I'm picturing a young boy in a small town, retiring from a hard afternoon at play, seeking neither audience nor authority, simply craving the comfort that is presence. 

A single phrase to describe my friend Daniel Bumstead: Smiling Mentor Poppa Missionary