Ps. 121:7-8
It's Father's Day, of course, and if facebook is any indication, most of the women I know (the men don't seem so sentimental today) think they have the 'best dad ever.' I won't contradict them. But if I may offer my own version of the 'best dad ever,' let me give you a tiny glimpse of my own father.
If you know anything about me and my dad, you probably know that what we have in common is bicycling. Ever since I was a little girl, pedaling with all my puny strength up the hill toward our street and feeling dad's strong hand give me a hefty shove to reach the top, I've known that if he thinks I can do it, I can do it. There's nothing sturdier for a daughter than her dad's confidence. The faith I have always had in my dad mirrors the faith I can put even more deeply in my heavenly Father. And a few of the ordinary life lessons my dad taught me have some heartier meanings as well.
Whoever bleeds is the winner, he would say when he took my sister and me out for a bike ride. In other words, scraping up your knee might hurt, but it means you've been playing hard that's worth a few bandaids. Now, as an adult, I don't often need to worry about injuries, but dad's maxim encourages me not to be afraid. Some endeavors have risk attached, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try them anyway.
Boys are bad, he said, with the hopes of keeping my sister and me from heartbreaks. I think he failed there, quite honestly, but his quip touches the surface of something deeply true: we're all bad. We're all bound to break hearts and have our own heart broken. I doesn't mean you give up on loving and trusting others. It just means you recognize that they can't ever fully satisfy you.
It's probably cancer, he would say, a self-proclaimed worrier to the core. He handed down the worrying gene to me, and I've learned to sift through worries that are worth the energy and worries that aren't. Taking note of the worst possible outcome has some value, though, and whenever I want to stop worrying about something I just tell Dad about it. He'll worry enough for both of us.
I know there are many who find such a celebration of dads painful, either because their father is absent from this earth today or because he spent a whole lifetime absent from what mattered. I am in the undeserving position of having spent my entire life with a loving, present, sacrificial dad who's still with me today. He's why I know a hickory from an oak, a tortoise from a turtle, a wing nut from a washer. He's why I love old cemeteries and fishing and cycling and plants and reptiles. And he's given me unconditional love (though, he'd be the first to admit, imperfect love at best) every day of my life. Thanks for being among the best, Dad. I'm who I am today because of you.
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