I have been thinking about my dad a lot lately.  I have been thinking about how I have taken him for granted over the years.  He has loved me when I didn’t acknowledge it. He has provided for me so much without ever expecting a thank you.  Sometimes, I would express my gratitude, but there was often a hint of obligation in those words. My dad ran toward every opportunity to take care of me, to provide what I needed, to give me what I wanted.  When I was in high school, he and my mom rode the bus to work so I could drive the only car we had, their brand new car, to school every day. That is an extremely humbling memory.  At 83, my dad is still reaching out in love.  He still thinks of special ways to show me he loves me.  Even now, he drives to the post office with an envelope filled with love and care from he and my mom for a friend of mine.  He does that because he knows how much that friend means to me.  He has never met that amazing friend.  He just does it out of love.  Over the years, I have been a jackass and complained about my dad.  The more I get to know the stories of the dads of my friends and students, about the hurt, the abandonment, the lack of presence of their dads in their lives, the more ridiculous I feel that I ever griped about mine. My dad prays with my mom daily for our family, my ministry, that friend I mentioned above and for me.  I am again reminded of how selfish my heart is.  I am beginning to appreciate, perhaps too late, a dad who never pretended to be perfect, whose issues and hurts definitely rubbed off on me and have affected my being, yet he never yielded in loving me, in pulling me up when I fell down, in helping me out of a rough situation when I had been foolish.  He is a good dad.

A friend of mine told me the other day that his 15 year old son walked into the room where he was sitting and told him this: “Dad, you don’t get it.  When I am 18, I am out of here!  I’m not coming back to visit.  I’m not coming back to stay. I can’t stand it here.”  He walked out of the room and my friend said a myriad of emotions overwhelmed him. The predominant emotion flooding his heart was love. He reminded himself that his son was a kid, that kids say stuff like that, that he loved being his dad and he was not going to quit. I think about how many times my dad must have gone through that with me, how many times he chose love over the feeling of wanting to give up or shut me out.  That is powerful love.  I am not a dad, but I have the honor of having some relationships that mirror aspects of fatherhood.  I want to love like my friend.  I want to love like my dad.  I want to provide like my dad did even though he often felt completely inadequate, at a loss in how to deal with me.  He never quit.

I have come close to losing my dad several times over the past few years.  It’s embarrassing to think that it has taken me so long to get into this place of understanding and appreciation.  I am thankful, no matter how long it has taken, that my attitude is changing.  I need to have a convo with my pops and tell him how much I appreciate him.  Thanksgiving day will probably be a great opportunity.  I kind of can’t wait!