Today I want to give tribute to my dad, a man who blessed me in many ways through the years.
First of all, I appreciate his dedication to God. That dedication was demonstrated to me as a child in many different ways. One of my clearest memories of that commitment was my father's morning ritual. Every morning I could find him sitting in the living room with a Bible open on his lap. Then his prayer list would come out and his eyes closed as he prayed for his wife, his children, and so many other people God had placed on his heart.
It also saw his dedication in his willingness to stand for what he believed. As a young man, it meant giving up a lucrative career as a mortician to go serve God in the jungles of Dutch New Guinea. Later in life, it often meant standing alone. Sometimes it meant being misunderstood and rejected. At home, it meant having definite standards for what we would and would not do as a family. During difficult times, when God's voice was not clear, I saw him pursue God in late-night prayer and fasting. At every turn, if you were to ask him why he had made a decision, the answer was the same. It was what he believed God would have him do.
One of my treasured memories of my father was when he taught me to play softball. We had arrived home on furlough, and I was playing the game for the first time at a family reunion. I was eight years old. While I could play soccer and shoot a bow and arrow, I had never encountered a softball. No matter how hard I tried, I could not make contact with that ball. I ended up in tears, feeling like a failure and rejoined my family. My dad took me aside and taught me to watch the ball. Under his direction, I made contact. From that day on, I could hit that ball. I never did very well as an outfielder, but I could hit and run.
Another favorite memory is storytime. Both my parents read to us, but when my dad read, he took on different voices for the various character in the story. He roared like a lion or purred like a kitten. His version of the story was so dramatic that we were immediately pulled into it.
Yet as much as I adore and respect my dad, he does not come close to my heavenly Father. Dad could not provide eternal salvation for me. He did not give His Spirit to be with me constantly to guide, convict, and direct me through life. His advice was not flawless. He will not be with me here in this life forever. While there are times when Dad is only as far away as a phone call, my heavenly Father is always by my side.
I am thankful that my dad taught me to trust my Heavenly Father. I can think of no greater truth that an early father can teach his children, and I can think of no better way to teach it to others than to live those truths each day.
First of all, I appreciate his dedication to God. That dedication was demonstrated to me as a child in many different ways. One of my clearest memories of that commitment was my father's morning ritual. Every morning I could find him sitting in the living room with a Bible open on his lap. Then his prayer list would come out and his eyes closed as he prayed for his wife, his children, and so many other people God had placed on his heart.
It also saw his dedication in his willingness to stand for what he believed. As a young man, it meant giving up a lucrative career as a mortician to go serve God in the jungles of Dutch New Guinea. Later in life, it often meant standing alone. Sometimes it meant being misunderstood and rejected. At home, it meant having definite standards for what we would and would not do as a family. During difficult times, when God's voice was not clear, I saw him pursue God in late-night prayer and fasting. At every turn, if you were to ask him why he had made a decision, the answer was the same. It was what he believed God would have him do.
One of my treasured memories of my father was when he taught me to play softball. We had arrived home on furlough, and I was playing the game for the first time at a family reunion. I was eight years old. While I could play soccer and shoot a bow and arrow, I had never encountered a softball. No matter how hard I tried, I could not make contact with that ball. I ended up in tears, feeling like a failure and rejoined my family. My dad took me aside and taught me to watch the ball. Under his direction, I made contact. From that day on, I could hit that ball. I never did very well as an outfielder, but I could hit and run.
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| Reading to his two eldest children |
Yet as much as I adore and respect my dad, he does not come close to my heavenly Father. Dad could not provide eternal salvation for me. He did not give His Spirit to be with me constantly to guide, convict, and direct me through life. His advice was not flawless. He will not be with me here in this life forever. While there are times when Dad is only as far away as a phone call, my heavenly Father is always by my side.
I am thankful that my dad taught me to trust my Heavenly Father. I can think of no greater truth that an early father can teach his children, and I can think of no better way to teach it to others than to live those truths each day.
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