It's Father's Day in Thailand. I cried a year ago when our church at CMCC had their Father's Day service. The little girls sang a song for their dads. Pii Noom dedicated a song to his dad, Pastor Kiat. And I cried, and cried, and cried. I was suddenly so hopelessly homesick and missing my own dad.
I don't know what I'll do this year. I'm not sure if they will celebrate the dads this year like they did last year. Maybe I'll cry, maybe not. But right now, I'm going to celebrate my own dad.
People who don't know my dad well might say he's a quiet sort of person. I never really thought of my dad that way. He always made himself known when he wished it that way. Here are some random memories of my dad.
- Saturday mornings when we were slow and getting out of bed he'd offer to, "Sing to you." This offer would occasionally come while were driving down the road, but often it was associated with waking us up.
- One summer he bought a big orange boat and we fished often all summer long. I will always remember that summer as very special.
- When I found myself in a situation where I simply didn't know what to do and emotions would muddle things, he would help me step back and look at the big picture.
- Once when Jenny and I were in the thick of our teens my mom was concerned about us in relation to the guy friends in our lives. I'm not sure what all was involved in that, but I remember that Dad was going to take us out for supper to talk about it. The subject was brought up, Dad spoke about two or three sentences on the subject, and that was it. Jenny and I sort of giggle about that. Apparently that was all that was needed because we're both happily married and neither of us have scars from our past that I know of.
- Dad had a way of asking for a hamburger at the most inconvenient times. Usually on Sunday evening I believe. Us girls would have a way of trying to skillfully evade him when he was starting to show signs of hunger. We preferred not to be the chosen cook.
- Or he would do his own cooking...that usually happened on Sunday morning...
- Dad was the one who let me go to school that last year. I was going go home school with the rest of them, but I begged really sweetly and he gave in.
- My siblings still say he has a way of listening if I beg really sweetly...
- It could be late at night and he might be tired, but if one us children said we needed to have a private chat with Mom and Dad, he'd take time for it.
- He had absolutely no time for lying. He hated being lied to and would have none of it in his children. I am so grateful for that. He is a man of truth.
- Being a man of truth he also "cuts to the chase" to use his own words. He says what he means and means what he says.
- Dad was "there" for me even when I taught school in Idaho. I specifically remember when the church choir was going on tour and I was exhausted and had a cold. I did not want to go and felt like I had a lot of pressure to go. He told me I wasn't allowed to go. Wow!!!
- Home was safe. Always.
- Once someone, I think it was my Grandpa Sid, asked Dad how he raised such a nice family. He said it was by the grace of God. It's true, Mom and Dad weren't perfect, but yet they depended on the Lord and now all of their children are walking with Him. And now I look at my own short comings and a potentially big scary future and realize too that it shall be by the grace of God that Dru and I can bring up Jubilant for the Lord. Hearing my dad say that, humbly, to Grandpa had an unforgettable impact on me.
Being over here has taught me even more how blessed I've been to be your daughter. Here we're among young Christians who don't know what a Christian family looks like. It seems like the men are not really the leaders that they need to be. But you were there, protected me and took care of me all the way to the walk down the wedding aisle. Thanks for being a man of truth. Thanks for the safe home life I grew up in. Thanks for being there. Thanks too for standing behind us and being tuned in with our lives here too. I love you, and miss you, and am so thankful for you.