It’s amazing the things that cause us to recognize people.

My father is in the hospital, recovering from an ischemic stroke that happened last Thursday night. He is progressing in leaps and bounds, but it is a tough road. Surely, we covet your prayers.

When I walked into the hospital on Thursday, he did not look like himself. Nobody looks good in a hospital gown. Nobody looks comfortable in the ICU. And they had him intubated, which prevented him from talking.

Then he gave me a look.

And in his face, I could see 14 familiar emotions: everything from frustration to fatigue, from detachment to curiosity, from disbelief to relief.

And in that moment, I saw him.

By the next day, he was no longer intubated. And at one point, a conscientious, and thorough nurse asked him if he knew his name. And he looked at me like it was the dumbest question he had ever heard.

And in his exasperation, I saw him again

By day three, I realize, as he is becoming more expressive, that he isn’t 100% clear on what has happened to him. So on my way out, momentarily driven by doubt, I say “what’s my name” and he says “What’s YOUR name?” Then he smirks and says “2114.”

2114 is his room number. It is written on the visitors badge on my shirt.

It was a strong blast of “Get out of here,” like a hug with a middle finger built into it. He answered my question but answered it in a way that branded it as stupid and refused to accommodate stupid.

And it was the best thing I had seen all day, because it was the most Dad answer possible.

My father is a biting satirist and inspired grump. He is also a follower of Buddhism who is moved by the teachings of Christ, though not necessarily the behavior of Christians. So I’m never surprised when he is gentle, or thoughtful. His gentle moments, however, are hardly his signature.

So, when he is incisive and laughing, I know he’s there. When he is irritated and sarcastic, I know he’s there.

And right now I’m focused on my desire that he be there, not on the social norms I’m concerned he will honor as he is.

I think we spend a lot of time trying to change people God just calls us to love.

We don’t, however, have the power to change anybody. And we make ourselves, and them, miserable trying..

That doesn’t mean we have to accept mistreatment.

We get to decide how much access we give them, and we get to decide what it looks like: In the book “Boundaries”, by Drs. Henry Cloud and John Townsend , the authors emphasize that a boundary is NOT me telling you what you need to do around me. It’s me telling you how I will respond when you do. “Stop yelling” is not a boundary. “If you yell, I will leave the room” is. We get to decide whether we are going to stay in a given community, or job. We get to decide if we will keep attending family reunions. I can’t, however, control you, and I shouldn’t try. I don’t have to make you into someone you’re not to love you. And I don’t have to make myself into someone I’m not to be loved.

The comedian Dave Chappelle has a routine arguing that Sesame Street teaches children to judge and label people. He notes the character of Oscar the Grouch, who everybody derides and demeans, saying “why are you such a grouch?” To which he speaks for Oscar “I LIVE IN A TRASH CAN!!” It’s a joke, but it makes a point. We often look to police externals while ignoring the conditions that produce them. He then suggest we raise children to step over homeless people and say “Get it together, grouch. Get a job, grouch!”

And as a culture, we do a fair amount of it.

It’s knuckleheaded men telling women to smile when they have no relationship with them, no understanding why they’re not smiling, and no business suggesting they do anything with their face at all.

It’s people who don’t struggle with addiction telling addicts about “willpower.”

It’s people from one culture instructing another about how to fix their problems.

It’s people with education and money telling people without education and money the kinds of decisions they should be making.

It’s people not willing to do the most basic exercises in empathy to try to figure out _why_ someone else makes the choices they do stepping in to judge those choices.

I don’t know what the recovery process looks like for my dad.

I know, however, that in his sharpest barbs, I find hope.

I know that as prickly as he may get, he is an original, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I pray, today that you honor your originality.

I pray that you find the grace to love people, no matter how prickly they are.

I pray God protects your health and prospers your peace.

Traveling mercies.

I’ll see you on the road.