Gracious Father, you're reflected in the gift of our parents. May every parent be so filled with your love that every child may know the love of someone who refuses to let them go when they fall and who lifts them up every day. Amen.
Today is my dad's birthday. He is 89. He has been and still is one of the two greatest gifts of my life. I have received gifts too numerous to number from so many people but Dad and my mom are the greatest.
My brothers and I will tell you Dad was more likely to get upset about a spilled glass of milk at the dinner table than by an accident in the family car. In those moments he was always more likely to ask, "Was anyone hurt?" When he heard, "Everyone's OK" he'd tell you, " I'll be right there."
Like many dads in his generation he worked hard to take care of his family. He, literally, built the home we moved into when I was ten years old. With his friends he helped do every part of building the house from digging the foundation hole to laying up the cinder block, raising the walls, running electric and plumbing, sheetrocking, painting, woodwork. All of it. Well, maybe not "all" of it since until the day they moved out almost 45 years later there were still baseboards needing to be finished. Life, work and the raising of three boys intervened. Important things first.
He has done all the normal things with us growing up. Taught us how to swim, throwing us off the same rock that his uncle had tossed him off a generation before. He coached us in baseball and taught us how to kick and throw a football. Mom, however, was often the one to warm me up for a Little League game because he wasn't home from work yet. Dad always went to church with us except when he had to work. Church wasn't something left to the women in our family, we did it together.
Dad and mom were always aware of when we got home whether we were out with friends or on a date. He rebuilt a carburator with me on the living room table for my first car. And he made a round trip with me to college to help me pick up my things when I thought I was going to leave school and supported me when I decided to stay driving home alone with the empty car.
All these things are part of the gregarious and loving yet quiet man whom my brothers and I have been blessed to call, "Dad." More than once Mom was waiting at home because he got caught up talking to someone but even now it is like pulling hen's teeth to get him to talk about himself and his life. It still seems, however, as if everyone in my hometown knows Norm, not just knows Norm but respects and loves him, too. He stills serves on a local park commission that comes and meets at his house because they value his history and input and, genuinely, want to include Norm. My brothers and my childhood friends will tell you in a flash if you ask them that everyone loves Norm and Mary.
Sadly, not every child is fortunate to have a dad like mine. Some never know their dad for numerous unfortunate reasons and for others their life might have been less painful if they had not known their father. When we speak of God in terms of father and mother there are always those for whom that expression causes more pain than hope. That is a tragic reality.
Sometimes we, as Christians and pastors, must teach against those broken images always remembering that the fathers and mothers of this world are sinners just like you and me. In those moments where we meet such pain in others we can only offer ourselves. We can only share what we have received from God in our own gracious parents, not by talking about them but by living the very way they have shown us is right and good and loving. God has graced me with a great dad and so the best thing I can do is live for others as a healing sinner so they can know there is always hope in the one Jesus encouraged us to call, Abba.
Thank you, Dad, all the presents we can give you would never be enough to compare to what you have first given us.
Today is my dad's birthday. He is 89. He has been and still is one of the two greatest gifts of my life. I have received gifts too numerous to number from so many people but Dad and my mom are the greatest.
My brothers and I will tell you Dad was more likely to get upset about a spilled glass of milk at the dinner table than by an accident in the family car. In those moments he was always more likely to ask, "Was anyone hurt?" When he heard, "Everyone's OK" he'd tell you, " I'll be right there."
Like many dads in his generation he worked hard to take care of his family. He, literally, built the home we moved into when I was ten years old. With his friends he helped do every part of building the house from digging the foundation hole to laying up the cinder block, raising the walls, running electric and plumbing, sheetrocking, painting, woodwork. All of it. Well, maybe not "all" of it since until the day they moved out almost 45 years later there were still baseboards needing to be finished. Life, work and the raising of three boys intervened. Important things first.
He has done all the normal things with us growing up. Taught us how to swim, throwing us off the same rock that his uncle had tossed him off a generation before. He coached us in baseball and taught us how to kick and throw a football. Mom, however, was often the one to warm me up for a Little League game because he wasn't home from work yet. Dad always went to church with us except when he had to work. Church wasn't something left to the women in our family, we did it together.
Dad and mom were always aware of when we got home whether we were out with friends or on a date. He rebuilt a carburator with me on the living room table for my first car. And he made a round trip with me to college to help me pick up my things when I thought I was going to leave school and supported me when I decided to stay driving home alone with the empty car.
All these things are part of the gregarious and loving yet quiet man whom my brothers and I have been blessed to call, "Dad." More than once Mom was waiting at home because he got caught up talking to someone but even now it is like pulling hen's teeth to get him to talk about himself and his life. It still seems, however, as if everyone in my hometown knows Norm, not just knows Norm but respects and loves him, too. He stills serves on a local park commission that comes and meets at his house because they value his history and input and, genuinely, want to include Norm. My brothers and my childhood friends will tell you in a flash if you ask them that everyone loves Norm and Mary.
Sadly, not every child is fortunate to have a dad like mine. Some never know their dad for numerous unfortunate reasons and for others their life might have been less painful if they had not known their father. When we speak of God in terms of father and mother there are always those for whom that expression causes more pain than hope. That is a tragic reality.
Sometimes we, as Christians and pastors, must teach against those broken images always remembering that the fathers and mothers of this world are sinners just like you and me. In those moments where we meet such pain in others we can only offer ourselves. We can only share what we have received from God in our own gracious parents, not by talking about them but by living the very way they have shown us is right and good and loving. God has graced me with a great dad and so the best thing I can do is live for others as a healing sinner so they can know there is always hope in the one Jesus encouraged us to call, Abba.
Thank you, Dad, all the presents we can give you would never be enough to compare to what you have first given us.
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