Happy Father's Day

I’ve already taken a glance at Facebook this morning.  Folks are posting Father’s Day greetings and remembrances.  Some are expressing their sorrow for fathers who are no longer living.

It doesn’t take a special holiday to make me remember my dad or to know that I miss him.  Dad died December 14, 2006.  Remembering him on this day does not bring sadness.  Oh, it brings a lump to my throat, but it is more a lump of joy than of sorrow. 

Dad was not perfect, but he was my dad.  At his funeral, I used the words spoken of King David—“he was a man after God’s own heart.”  Dad’s heart was tender, sometimes too tender.  It led him to great heights and to great depths.  Yet, somehow through the heights and depths, he maintained a love for those of us who were at the core of his being; and he maintained a love of God.  It was, I think, the combination of those two that, toward the end of his life made, him even more attentive to us and receptive of us than he sometimes had been.

On this Father’s Day, I have a many memories, a few of which I will share. I recall:

·    Fun times playing monopoly at the kitchen table on a rainy day.

·    His helping me refinish a desk my grandmother gave me and his helping me to build a bookcase I would take to college and which I still use.

·    Sitting on a tractor with him before I was old enough to operate it alone.

·    Seeing him climb on the John Deere combine I was operating and hearing him say, “I’m sure you’ve got a date tonight.  I’ll take over.  You go home and get cleaned up.”

·    Feeling his big arms across my shoulders as he lay across my bed, comforting me as my heart ached from a broken teenage love relationship.

·    Watching him repair a broken bicycle chain.

·    Hearing him tell me that I could replace the universal joint on my 1955 Pontiac.

·    Watching him (and Mom) watch me driving off to college.

·    Seeing him weep with joy as he listened to his son preach.

·    Having our last, long conversation—one about things that mattered.

Above all else, I will remember one of the most important lessons he taught me—the power of forgiveness. 

Dad was the victim of shooting in 1998 that left him partially paralyzed for the remainder of his life.  Terrell Patterson, man who shot him, is serving a life sentence.  On the day of Terrell’s final appeal, Dad decided he wanted to speak to Terrell.  This was arranged at the Dunklin County Sheriff’s Office, where Terrell was being temporarily held.  The sheriff ushered Terrell into his office where he had a few moments earlier left us.  As Terrell entered the office, Dad pushed himself up from the chair in which he was seated.  To steady himself, he placed his left hand on the desktop.  With his right hand, he reached out to Terrell, who after a moment’s hesitation took it in his right hand.  Dad, gripping the hand that had held the gun that fired the bullet that left him paralyzed, said to Terrell, “Terrell, I hate what you have done to me, but I don’t hate you.  I forgive you and wish for you only the best.”

Like King David, my dad made some serious mistakes which altered his life and our family’s life; but he was also like King David in that he was a man after God’s own heart.  He understood the need for forgiveness—both received and given. 

Thinking of Dad this morning, I give thanks for who he was and for all he gave me.