My Father’s Day Gift

I grew up in a good home. I had great parents. The kind of parents you can look to for advice, encouragement and support. They satisfied the main requirements of good parents in my mind. They loved God in front of me, they loved each other in front of me and they loved me without a doubt.

I could tell stories of great moments with both of my parents but as Father’s Day approaches I want to tell a little story about my dad. A Father’s Day story no less.

I adored my dad as a kid. I thought he was the smartest and funniest man on earth. Nothing pleased me more than to make him laugh. His, was a home of discipline and diligence. There was a lot expected of us as his children. We were expected to do our best in school and at home. We worked hard, and we played hard and we lived our lives with care for others. He worked in a factory as a welder. His salary supported all of us. My mom did bring in a little income selling baked goods but our living as a family came from his paycheck. My four siblings and I did our part by working in the garden, feeding and watering the cows and taking care of our individual chores as needed. For us, Saturdays were not days off, there were no days to sleep in and if we had a problem with that, it was best not to mention it.

In all of that I tried hard to emulate my dad. As one of four girls in the family it was difficult to please him at times. He doted on my brother, his only son, and their relationship caused me some moments of frustration. Why wasn’t I allowed to go to work with dad? Why wasn’t I invited to go to the baseball game with dad. I have learned since then the value of the father son relationship and how important it is that boys spend “man time” with their dads. He wasn’t excluding me to show any favoritism toward my brother, (in fact I’m pretty sure he likes me better to this day) he was teaching my brother to be a man. Something that is best taught with time and observation. As a child though, it wasn’t explained to me, I was expected to accept my parents words and actions without question and deal with it, because…they are the parents. I did my best though to draw that attention. I played softball because he seemed to like softball. I found that I liked it too and was actually pretty good at it. I played shortstop on our varsity high school team all four years. He came to every home game. Sometimes he came straight from work and I was embarrassed of his ratty spark marked blue jeans, glaring white socks and black steel toe shoes. I got over that quickly when one of my teammates looked longingly at my dad leaning against the light pole near the bleachers and said, “I wish my dad came to all my games.”

He showed me in many ways like that, that I was loved. Not the least of those ways was his faithfulness to go to work every day, work overtime, and do extra things for people to earn money. He was relentless in pursuing a household where his wife and children had what they needed. And we did. We didn’t have a lot of extras, but we had what we needed and it wasn’t until I moved away from home and was doing life on my own among a more metropolitan group of people, that I realized I had done without a few things. Even after spending all that time working, he still came home every evening and milked the cows, tilled, weeded and worked in the garden and took care of our large yard. He fixed things around the house and if my mom needed his help, he was available for that too.

My dad loved me. I had no doubt of that, but what my dad didn’t do, was say “I love you.” He, like a lot of men of his generation and upbringing, was not affectionate. He was very quiet and sparing with praise. He did enjoy us though and we drew his affirmation with our humor and even a bit of mischief now and then. Sometimes we would hear from mom that dad had thought something we had made at school was “nice,” or that he had an opinion about our activities and what abilities we should be striving to learn more about and grow in. It was always good to hear.

When I heard sermons or speakers communicate that fathers should tell their children that they love them, I really thought my family was the exception. I KNOW my dad loves me, I had no doubt. In fact I remembered being with other families where “I love yous” were thrown around like candy, but I saw so much missing in those households, very little respect was shown for those same parents and I came to believe that you either loved your children, or you said you did.

Later, as an adult traveling full time in a ministry that utilized my talent with humor to share the gospel I was content. I had often explained to people who questioned my dad’s lack of affection and ability to communicate love that I didn’t need that from him, and I believed that with all my heart. To this day I think I would be a healthy functioning adult if I never heard those words from him. But one Father’s Day nearly 20 years ago something happened that shocked me. I was staying in a dorm room at a Christian university in Texas for a two or three week booking with the Texas Super Summer event for baptist youth. That weekend between groups of youth coming in and out was Father’s Day. I called my dad that afternoon and caught him all alone. Apparently my siblings that still lived at home had all gone out while he was taking a nap and he was enjoying a quiet house for a little while. We chatted about where I was, what was going on and how the weather was (a frequent topic with my dad). As the conversation wound down I remember sitting in the hallway of the dorm, the payphone cord stretched as far as it would go and the Texas sunshine pouring in at the end of the hall through the windows in the double doors. The phone call was ending and I said the obligatory, “well, have a happy Father’s Day…even if you are alone.”

He said, “Thanks, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, I’ll see ya.”

“Okay. Love you.”

I was frozen for a split second but not wanting to make a big deal about it in case that would ruin it I said, “I love you too.” and hung up the phone.

I sat there for about 10 seconds and my eyes filled with tears. Why was I crying? What’s wrong with me? I felt like a blubbering idiot but there was an overwhelming and undeniable happiness that was creeping up inside me that I could not keep from spilling over onto my face. I wiped it away but it kept coming. I stood up to go back to my room and thought better of it. Too small a space for this emotion. I went outside and found myself laughing aloud and the urge I had was unmistakable. I wanted to shout as loud as I could and tell everyone I knew, and pretty much anybody else, “HEY…MY DAD LOVES ME!”

I just walked around like an idiot and giggled instead.

Until my dad said those words,

I didn’t even know I wanted to hear them.

Until my dad said those words I didn’t even know I wanted to hear them. I had no idea the power those words would have on me when they came from him. No idea. I knew then what it must be like when someone learns for the first time of God’s love. How powerful that concept must be for a person who’s never experienced such unquestionable devotion. I grew up with God’s love, Jesus loves me was hammered into my head from the moment I grew ears. I KNEW it, with the deep down kind of knowing. I knew my dad loved me too, but the WORDS hadn’t been spoken. We say sometimes that “it’s only words,” but it is so much more than that. Words have power, even if you believe them before you say them, once they are said something is manifest in that belief.

My dad loved me all my life, but since that day I found a freedom to walk in that love more confidently. I was a healthy adult with a good relationship with my dad, but now, I am a healthy adult who is connected with my dad.

Happy Father’s Day dad, I love you too.