A Song For Our Father
February 26th, 2010I would be nothing without him.
I should be able to, but I can’t remember when I first knew he was my Father. Whenever it was, it has been the most pivotal moment in my entire life. Of course he was my father before I even realized he was. He’s always protected me. He’s always loved me. He’s known all of my features and characteristics longer than anyone else. He’s laughed at me and he’s laughed with me.
Now that I’m a dad I understand what it means to be a father of a child you love so much that everything hurts, even the good stuff. I ache for my son even when he’s as happy as he could be. I know what lies ahead. I know that love, joy, sorrow, heartbreak, peace, prosperity, loneliness, and despair are all in his path; If for no other reason then he know how to differentiate between each of those feelings. He will fall and rise up. He will be attacked and he will be tempted. He will sin.
When I look back at my own life it’s easy to see the sins I committed. I know that they are forgiven, but they are still there - like a tiny hole in the wall where a push pin once was. I made those choices and I can still remember making them. I can remember the raging war inside of me each time I chose to disregard my Father’s words of wisdom or of caution.
How I wish I could go back and change the past, and tell my younger self to listen to his Father. I know my son will wish that someday too.
What I appreciate most about my Father’s influence on my life, is that it has always been with one hand to guide me and one hand to pick me up whenever I fall. He’s never led me with a strong arm. He’s never pushed me or pulled me away from anything. He’s simply held his arm out and pointed me towards The Way, but I still don’t always heed that guidance. There are times I duck under his arm and go in a different direction. I always pay the price, and I always come back to my Father no matter how far I’ve wandered.
The difficulty of having children is most evident in what the parent cannot do for them. I never appreciated that about my own dad until I had a son. I am so thankful that he recognized early on that he would never be enough. My dad knew I needed something more; someone bigger and stronger than he would ever be. I need my Father’s strength because I am weak. I need my Father’s bigness because of my smallness. My dad needs a Father too, and so does my son.
I pray often that I will know how to deflect my son’s desire to look to me for all the answers. I’m just a man, and he will need to know that as soon as he can understand it. His hope is mine and my dad’s - that we are saved by God the Father’s grace and love.
What a love it is.




I have to wonder if this will always be a flaw in my makeup. Will I always be so humanistic that the death of a thing looms larger than the Creator of all things? Why do I want to war against what I know is coming when I know it’s going to be so much better? We are temporarily here, doing temporary things. The closer the things are to our hearts, the harder it is to remember that Heaven is just around the corner. It’s paramount that Christ “owns” me, anything else will end up damning me. As much as I adore Bekah she can’t own my heart, because if I ever lost her or Henry (I tear up at the thought), then I would be irrevocably devastated beyond repair.







