Today is Father’s Day – my first without my Daddy. That makes me sad. I’ve been thinking about him a lot this week. . . and I miss him.
Last week I heard someone say that her dad was a pastor and he got up and preached on Sunday, but the rest of the week he was completely different. My daddy wasn’t like that. He was the same on Sunday and Monday and Tuesday and Thursday and Saturday. He was always the same.
My sisters and I couldn’t have asked for a better dad. Ours really, really was the best. Our dad was patient and kind. He took time for us and always saw good in people. He was almost naïve, in that he would pick up hitchhikers, and stop and help people on the side of the road. He was a great dad. He always gave people a second or third chance, never carried a grudge and never had anything bad to say about people.
In the process of cleaning out some of his stuff, we found several of his of his Bibles. He wrote all over them, in his cramped, chicken-scratch handwriting. Some of the things he copied from Bible to Bible, every time he got a new one. I could (and probably will) write several blog posts about the stuff he put in them. I found this to be most interesting. In the back of each Bible, he had one of my sisters copy this poem. I have no idea where he got it, I’ve looked and looked to find an author and I can’t. I know it came from a So here it is:
Papa’s Coming
He swung on the gate and looked down the street,
Awaiting the sound of familiar feet,
Then suddenly came to the sweet child’s eyes,
The marvelous glory of morning skies,
For a manly form with a steady stride,
Drew near to the gate that opened wide,
As the boy sprang forward and joyfully cried “ Papa’s coming.”
The wasted face of a little child,
Looked out of the window with eyes made wild.
By the ghostly shades in failing light,
And the glimpse of a drunk man in the night.
Cursing and reeling from side to side,
The poor boy trembling and trying to hide,
Clung to his mother’s skirts and cried “Papa’s coming.”
There are things I know, and things I don’t know. I don’t know why that was so important to him. I don’t know who wrote it. I do know that it came from the Sword of the Lord newsletter from the June 19, 1980 issue. I do know that his father was a drunk, before it was politically correct to be called an alcoholic. I do know that my dad never drank, ever for fear that he’d be like his dad. I know that he never was like that – and that was important to him.
Today in Junior Church, we made a little thing for dads. On the outside, it said “My dad is the best dad because. . . “ and the kids put slips inside with reasons WHY their dad is a great dad. There are some great dads that I know, but my dad really was the best dad. And that, I know.
