My Dad was a man of few words. He used profanity, yelled when my Mom spent too much money, and got irritated when I got between him and the TV during the six o'clock news. But he also was the Dad who would go hunting, sell the raccoon pelts, and give the cash to my little brother and I for Christmas spending money. He was the Dad who would go out on Christmas eve and buy some really quirky present and stick money in it, and tell us to go buy what we wanted. He would work until 6:30 pm on Christmas Eve and pick up my Mom a Christmas present at the five and dime on his way home. One year it was a pair of pink fuzzy house slippers, size 6 for her size 10 feet. So much for the "It's the thought that counts" coinage. He was the guy who brought home a goose he hit on the highway and asked Mom to help him prepare it for dinner. Okay, that only happened once, but it did happen. Plucking that goose was one of the most fun things we did as a family. Oh how badly it smelled! We laughed until we cried. He was the guy who brought home a turtle the size of a push mower deck just so we could see it. He was the fellow that when Mom said she liked ceramic chickens, he sought out an auction and bought her 300 ceramic chickens in all different shapes and sizes. My Mom was delighted! He was creative, inventive, and as one local realtor put it "one recycling son of a gun."
Sometimes he was really funny. If Daddy laughed the whole world laughed. He hardly ever talked about his younger days. I think they were too painful for him to talk about. His dad was an alcoholic. He and Grandma had nine kids. Daddy was the third oldest. He was taken out of school after the ninth grade to be a hand on the farm. He did tell Mom that as a child he laid in bed one night and listened to his parents discuss whether or not they could afford to get him an ear surgery he needed. He never got it, and he lost most of his hearing later in life.
I visited his childhood farm house in Missouri after I was grown. It was abandoned and deteriorated and sit out in the middle of a wheat field. I stood in the old house, imagining my dad and his siblings as young kids. There were nine little hooks in the hallway. My cousin said my uncle told her those were for their overalls that would get washed once a week. I stood in the house for quite a while just trying to take it all in; the meals, the smells, the baths, the laughs, the tears, the birthdays, the joys, and the sorrow. Although empty and silent it was bursting forth with life for just a few short minutes in my mind. As we exited the old house I took a piece of the wallpaper from the wall. It was a pastel floral color with big pink roses on it. I couldn't tell what room I was taking it from, but I figured it was the living room. I kept that piece of wall paper for years, until finally it disintegrated past the point of being able to keep it. I was so glad I had that afternoon, as the house was torn down a few years later.
That little boy raised in that house was one who didn't express emotions very often. I called my Mom one day when I was in my twenties. At that point in time I was reflecting over my life and realized my Dad had never verbally told me he loved me. Not once. I don't remember being particularly hurt by that, because I knew he loved me. He showed it rather than speaking it. Mom told Dad about our conversation, and every single time I saw him after that he told he loved me. Our relationship was different after that. I will forever be grateful to God for giving me a chance to tell Daddy before he passed away that I thought he was the perfect Dad for me. His reply was a very quiet, "I doubt it." But I didn't care what he thought, I knew he was just the perfect one for me. As we finished our ice cream that day, our conversation ended with "I love you." A few months later Daddy was called home to heaven.
God tells me He loves me in His Word. He speaks it softly to me in my prayer time, when I am driving, or any chance He can get in a word edge wise. But even more He shows me. Just like my Daddy did. And I think that is why I can trust God so easily, even when my situation looks scary and uncertain.
My Dad's indelible love was manifest in one short conversation when I was 17 years old. I got my first speeding ticket. He had bought me a 1979 Chevy Camaro after letting me learn to drive with a couple boats with wheels. He always said I needed to learn with a big car. That way if I had a wreck I would hopefully be the winner. So after driving the big Granny cars, I had arrived! I had reached the epitome of cool, until I got a speeding ticket. Driving home that night the Beach Boys song was playing over in my head "She'll have fun, fun, fun, til her Daddy takes the [Camaro] away! "Ooooo Oooowe oooowe oooo"
I had to tell my Dad. I went to him after I got home late that night. He was in bed, sound asleep. I knelt down by the bed in the dark and whispered in his ear. "Daddy. Daddy." Finally he stirred. He leaned up on one elbow, and muttered "Huh?" "Daddy," I said very sheepishly and remorseful, "I got a speeding ticket tonight, and I'm so sorry." "Huh?" he sputtered again. I said it a little more loudly. I just knew he was going to come off the mattress and give me a verbal scolding of a lifetime. He said "Oh, where did you get it." I said "over on Mill Road." He said "How fast were you going." I said "45 in a 30." He said "Oh, that is a really easy place to speed. I've done that before. Lay it on the counter, and I'll take care of it." I left my parents' bedroom that night feeling forgiven, loved, and understood.
When you fail, or when life just seems too insurmountable to withstand, kneel down before Jesus and whisper in his ear, "Dad, I just screwed up and I am so sorry." You will get the exact same response from God as I did that late night in my parents' bedroom. "Leave it on the counter, I'll take care of it."
I’m so thankful He take care of us!!!