Dadliness

This may be the last time I have a father for Father’s Day. My dad is 76 and very ill. At some point, all I'll have will be memories.

My dad was a hero. He was a terrible handyman and car mechanic, but he was a hard worker who supported my brother and me, and my chronically-ill mom, on a middle-class salary. When he was delivering dairy products to a home early one morning, he smelled smoke, broke into the house, got his hair and eyebrows singed by the fire, and helped an elderly woman to safety before the firefighters arrived. When my mother had a terrible virus and congestion added to her asthma, and she was choking, he force-fed her one of those killer-hot yellow chilies from the jar in the fridge. It fried the mucous on contact, and she was able to catch a breath and let the oxygen tank do the rest. Dad had AB-positive blood, and I remember several times that the blood bank called after 9:00 pm to ask if he could go to the hospital and transfuse blood to save a life. He always did, even when he had to arise before 5 a.m. to go to work.

Dad was loyal. When he gave his support or his promise, it was forever—come hell or high water. He was faithful to his wife and children, to his political party, his church, and his God. When his parents were old, he sent money every month, for years, to help with their expenses.

Dad was good-looking. In the college dorm, I had my father’s portrait in a 5x7” frame on my desk, and friends would ask who my movie-star crush was. Though a few women tried flirting with my dad, he was absolutely faithful to my mother. When I was little, my mom used to sing me to sleep (because Dad couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket) with Gershwin’s “Summertime,” but she’d reverse the lyrics.

Summertime, and the livin’ is easy.

Fish are jumpin’, and the cotton is high.

Your mama’s rich, and your daddy’s good lookin’,

So hush, little baby, don’t you cry.

Dad hated to inflict pain. Mom would spank and slap if we disobeyed or sassed her. She hated being the disciplinarian, and one of the few things they ever argued about (besides home-handyman jobs) was who had to punish the naughty children, and how. If I did something sufficiently egregious that it was Dad’s turn to spank me, he’d take me out to the attached garage and sit down and talk for a few minutes about how he was disappointed in me, then give a couple of halfhearted slaps to my backside that didn’t even hurt—yet I wept much harder and mended my ways better, than if I’d gotten a spanking and lecture from my mother.

Dad was a softie. He always loved our family pets (in a manly, dignified way, of course). When he went bow-hunting for deer with his friends, I’m pretty sure his arrows came home without DNA, although he had a share in the prize when it was butchered. When I saw a domestic rabbit along the side of a road, he stopped the car and helped me catch it and take it home, and built a fence to let it have the side yard as a rabbit paradise. Cats would settle on Dad’s lap as if it were the finest, softest pillow, magnetized especially for cats. When it was time to euthanize the old and sick pets, he couldn’t do it—I took them to the vet.

Dad was a daddy. When I had bronchitis attacks as a child, he’d set his alarm to get up at oh-dark-thirty to give me my medicine. He let me hang around as he and the neighbor guys would chat over what was needed to make the Renault run; or put me in a frilly party dress to go grocery shopping because he liked to show off his little girl. He helped me climb up to the roof to watch lightning or meteor showers; and he built a pretty cool tree house platform with safety rails, and a zipline, in our mulberry tree. At 17, I graduated from high school and mourned that I'd lose my friends as we went separate ways, and Dad comforted me by listening and hugging.

Dad was a quiet man. There was no need to fill silences: he said what needed to be said, and was silent when he was done. He had a calm spirit that soothed my mother when her asthma medications made her jumpy.

Dad was funny. We’d go on 2,500-mile car trips to visit grandparents in Minnesota, and he told stories about riding sheep or getting in trouble as a farm kid; he remembered the lyrics to poems and folk ballads (if not the tunes!); if he passed gas it was never the father, and always the dog to blame; and he remembered jokes for years. Here’s one from his homeland:

Two mosquitoes are flying over Minnesota, when they spot their prey below—an unsuspecting fisherman. The first mosquito asks, “Hey, do you think we should eat him here, or take him back to the swamp for later?” The second mosquito, older and wiser, responds, “No, we should eat him here. If we take him back to the swamp, the big mosquitoes will get him!”

Dad was a reader. If it wasn’t the Reader’s Digest magazine in the bathroom, it was the daily newspaper. He always had a history (usually World War I or II) or biography on his night table. His reading tastes were sometimes questionable: Eric Van Daniken's "evidence" for UFO interference over the eons; Velikovsky's apocalyptic "history"; and material written by the founder of the Worldwide Church of God. (My mom did not approve of that stuff!) As a boy, he read the Hardy Boys Mysteries, Black Beauty, and The Call of the Wild.  And gave them to me when I was maybe eight.

Dad was trustworthy and dependable. I had him as a rock-steady man I could count on to back me up or take my side against the world. I measured potential mates (obviously none of them worked out) against my dad for their real or potential qualities of commitment, honesty, kindness, fidelity, and, you know—Dadliness. 

Dad was strong and healthy. He almost never caught colds or flu, or the latest virus to make the rounds. He gave my brother and me that same immunity. Unfortunately, he also loved junk food, and imparted that carb-craving to us.

But for a few years now, my dad has been fighting several major illnesses. This may be the last Father’s Day, or any day, I see him alive, when he flies back to the home he’s shared with his wife for half a decade. After Mom died and Dad remarried, the relationships between Dad and me and my brother have changed dramatically. There are things that cannot be spoken, words that can’t or won’t be retracted, forgiveness that will not be extended. After a recent chain of events, I had to ask if my father still loved me. I had to know, had to hear the words, if these are my last moments or days with him.

He was surprised, and his big, strong hand, with bruises surrounding the IV needle taped to his skin, closed over my arm as I wept. And he said he did love me. This is the Dad I’ll remember, because my dad is trustworthy.

I will tell the promise that the LORD made to me: “You are my daughter, because today I have become your father.” Psalm 2:7 CEV

World's Greatest Father

When I was two, my parents took me to Disneyland. They told me that if I were to become lost in a crowd, to sit tight on a bench and wait, no matter how long, until they came for me. We rode the submarine (I was terrified), took the jungle cruise with its surprise hippo emergences (also scary), and we strolled the streets looking at the vendors. I was fascinated by the glass blowers who made knickknack animals, which is where I lost my parents. When I realized I was lost, I spotted a park bench, and sat as instructed. People asked if they could help, or take my tiny self to Lost & Found. But I didn’t budge, and was rewarded moments later when my father found me. I don’t remember his reaction (because to a two-year-old, it’s all about me!), but even now, I remember the utter relief and the comfort and security of Daddy’s strong arms when he scooped me up and hugged me, and then placed me triumphantly on his shoulders.

Although there is surely a billion-way tie for second-greatest father in the world (including my dad, yours, and some outstanding single mothers), the title of World’s Greatest Father has to go to… Abba, our Father God.

Abba created our parents Adam and Eve, and breathed His own sacred breath (the Holy Spirit) into the physical elements He formed. Before His human children sinned, He had committed Himself to redeeming us—for the sole reason that He loved and chose us before the foundation of the world. 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. Ephesians 1:3-6 NASB, emphasis supplied.

God redeemed us with His own precious life and death. His blood sacrifice also became our adoption. John the Beloved said, To all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God. John 1:12, 13 NIV, emphasis supplied.

In sin, we were slaves of the evil one; but in Christ, we are doubly His children: through birth, and again through adoption. Jesus Christ taught us to think of the Father not as a frightening, condemnatory judge, but as our Abba. Abba meant more than “Daddy.” Abba meant children had inalienable rights to their fathers’ presence, rights of inheritance and sustenance—no matter what. Abba rights could not be revoked. Servants and slaves could not use the Abba term, though they could call the master the more formal title of father because he had lordship over their lives. Abba was reserved for the legitimately born or legally adopted children, and denoted a personal and loving relationship.

The Old Testament refers to God as Father 15 times, but it’s used 260 times in the New Testament. Jesus used “Abba Father” in His Gethsemane prayer, even as He irrevocably gave Himself into His Father’s will.

During this celebration of Fathers’ Day, you will probably phone or visit your dad, or remember the dad who is resting in Jesus. If you never had a “daddy,” or if you are estranged from your “male parental unit,” Fathers’ Day can also be a reminder that no matter who or what our earthly fathers have been, our Abba Father is waiting for permission to scoop us up in His strong and secure arms of love, and carry us on His shoulders. And you have the right to His presence simply because He loved you before the foundation of the world! He is the World’s Greatest Abba.

Father's Day gifts

Social studies and polls tell us that we all think we’re good drivers, but everyone else could stand some refresher courses – maybe even jail time.

“Could you be more annoying?” I silently fumed, following a clueless driver on my way to work. I would hope the answer from the driver would be, “Oh, sorry, I was chattering on my mobile phone while straddling both lanes at 20 miles per hour, and didn’t realize you needed to be somewhere on time. I’ll pull over and let you pass.” Instead, he suddenly stood on his brakes and blocked the intersection while waiting to make a left turn. I guess he could be more annoying!

It’s amazing how frequently life and limb can be endangered in a short distance from red-light runners, swervers, those who dart out from side streets, and who don’t use turn signals. 

I’m conscientious about the speed limit on surface streets, from concern for pedestrians and animals (plus a healthy respect for the radar-detecting motorcycle cop who lurks there sometimes). But on the freeway, I keep to the fast lane. 

So on the first day of driving a rental car in England, I drove just under the speed limit in the farthest-right lane (center lane on the left side of the road) so more-confident drivers could overtake me on the motorway. I concentrated on being safe, legal, and considerate – a righteous motorist indeed. Yet drivers frowned and mouthed words behind their windows. I finally realized that I was learning British driving in their fast lane. Fellow drivers said, essentially, “Could you be more annoying?” 

Don't pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It's easy to see a smudge on your neighbor's face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, 'Let me wash your face for you,' when your own face is distorted by contempt? It's this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor. Matt. 7:1-5 The Message 

Our heavenly Father has every right to crush us for our faults, even the ones we consider slight. He really is “holier-than-thou,” but you’d never find a critical spirit, or a sneer of contempt on His face. Instead, He sings and rejoices over us, tenderly wipes our tears, covers us with His feathers and bears us on His wings, dandles us on His own knees, runs to meet us and shower us with kisses, holds us in His arms and carries us when we’re weak, shoulders our yoke and burden, has plans for good and not for evil, takes us by hand through danger, is compassionate and merciful and forgiving, and gave Himself for us – not because we love Him, but because He loves us. 

This Father, perfect in every way, created us in His image – the image of a divine Lover. He created the angels to worship and serve Him, but us – just to love and be loved! He created us and He adopted us, so there’d be no mistaking that we belong to Him every perfect way, including dimensions we’ve not perceived. What a wonderful Father. 

Paul exclaimed, This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "What's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what's coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we're certainly going to go through the good times with him!  That's why I don't think there's any comparison between the present hard times and the coming good times. The created world itself can hardly wait for what's coming next. Everything in creation is being more or less held back. God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens. Romans 8:15-21 The Message 

 

He alone is worthy to accuse and judge us for our faults. He’s the only one worthy to tell us about the dust motes and giant logs in our own eyes. But He doesn’t condemn us (John 3:17, Romans 8:1) or tell us we’re annoying (or bad drivers!), but simply that He loves us beyond our comprehension, and offers us joyful, eternal life in His kingdom, starting here and now. 

Every day is Father’s Day, and the gift from Abba is that He gives the inheritance, the gifts, the love, the realization of His will and word – to us! Such a deal. The children get the goods! 

No one can deny that that’s good news.

The Father’s Maternal Love

As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem. Isaiah 66:13 NIV

There are highly educated, deeply spiritual people of both genders who refer to God as “She” and “Mother,” and although I find it somewhat distracting, it doesn’t make them wrong and me right. God is infinitely more than we can imagine. More intelligent, more broad-minded, more loving, compassionate, forgiving, and accepting. Just more. His ways are higher than my ways. With that in mind, and Genesis 1:27, that God created both male and female in His image, I submit that God is not confined to gender as we perceive it. God is spirit. His appearance is defined by His character (Exodus 34:6, 7; 1 John 3:1; 1 John 4:8).

Not every human mother deserves the honors we are commanded to pay them (Exodus 20:12). Nor is every woman who yearns to be a mother, able to bear children or raise a family. Parent/child relationships are only an ideal, pointing to the real: Creator/creature. (He could have created and populated the world without parents of any species—no eggs, just adult chickens!) God is powerful, protective, far-seeing, and wants the best present and future for us.

Listen to God’s parental words: ‘Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore? But even if mothers forget, I’d never forget you—never.’ Isaiah 49:15 MSG

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, …how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing. Matthew 23:37 NIV

I will extend peace… you will nurse and be carried on her arm and dandled on her knees. As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem. Isaiah 66:12-13 NIV

The grace-full tenderness that we have received so generously from God, the maternal Father, we must share by praying for those around us, and by reflecting (in God’s image!) our Parent’s compassion to troubled friends or co-workers. Then, to complete the circle, we return that love to God with heartfelt gratitude and joy.