Dad and his boys.
Today is Father’s Day. My hubby and I are out of town. He’s playing golf with our five sons as I sit alone in our hotel suite and write my reflections of the day. We’re both happy. :)
We left home for the weekend, and I was relieved I didn’t have to be at church this morning. Why? Because the plan was to show pictures of everyone’s father on the big screen, and somehow I didn’t think I could sit through it without embarrassing tears. This is always an emotional day for me.
Not because I didn’t have a good father. Just the opposite; I had one of the best. And I miss him. I’m now a grandmother of ten, but today…I miss my daddy. I miss his smile, his clever sayings, his calm demeanor. I wonder what he was thinking when he was my age, watching me rear our own children. Did he wonder if they’d turn out to be decent citizens? Did he question the leadership their father was giving them?
My heart breaks for the multitudes of children who have never known the love of a good father. I’m also ashamed of and amazed at my naiveté for the years I took mine for granted. As a secure, dearly loved only child, I assumed all children had the same blessing. How sadly wrong I was. I wish I could tell my dad now how special our relationship was to me and thank him for the amazing legacy he left behind. He fulfilled the example of godly ancestors described in Psalm 78:5-7 concerning telling abut God’s power and miracles.
" He commanded our ancestors to teach them to their children, so the next generation might know them—even the children not yet born—that they in turn might teach their children. So each generation can set its hope anew on God, remembering His glorious miracles, and obeying His commands.”
Our sons have assumed the role of leadership in their homes that was modeled for them, and I’m so thankful. I see them expressing their love and appreciation to their dad and I thank God they’re doing it while he’s still here to hear it. Granted, they might express it by “spanking” him on the golf course or joking him about his bird legs or a myriad other idiosyncrasies they laugh about, but he knows … he knows.