ON FATHERHOOD

This has long been my favorite picture of me with my dad. It embodies everything wonderful about dads. My tiny hand in his big one, him bent down to my level, the arm behind me ready to catch me if I stumble backward, the look of love on my dad's face, the patience in his stature, me completely unaware of the fact that I am only able to stand and gather the pretty flowers because my father is there beside me, supporting me, allowing me.

My dad has long been the standard by which all other men are measured.

Dad has been a lot of things in his life.

Football hero. Juvenal Delinquent. Sailor, See Bee, to be more precise. Student. Pastor. Sheet Metal Foreman. Inventor. Artist. Historian. Woodworker.

He used to be bigger than life. Loud and full of life, he boomed into rooms and would fill them to overflowing. He never considered himself a smart man, and yet my best memories are of falling asleep on the sofa to the sound of his voice mixed with those of his bible school buddies debating philosophies and biblical theories. He can talk for hours about history and his thoughts on the different events that have shaped our county's.

He never pretends to be anything other than who he is, and I grew up watching the contradictions that was my father.

Rough around the edges construction worker, soul stirring artist, theologian who tells you what the bible says while cussing like the sailor he was, every guys guy, blue collared worker who passed along a strong work ethic to his children and his children's children.

Dad loves music. He was a whistler. For as far back as I can remember, I would wake to the sound of my dad trilling away in the kitchen as he started the morning coffee, and even as a girl couldn't help but wonder at such joy.

I was always dad's buddy. When I was a tiny girl I used to hear my dad turn the key in the downstairs door of our apartment, and would crawl to the upstairs door and wait for my mom to open it so I could greet dad as he came up the stairs. He would swoop me up and dance me about, and in his arms I would stay until I fell asleep for the night.

I remember feeling that nothing bad could ever happen to me in dad's arms, in dad's presences. Dad's shadow was the only protection I needed as a girl.

He was sweet, harsh, funny, demanding, loving, tender, understanding, strict, and I never once had to wonder if dad loved me. I knew. I still do. All the way down to my toes know. And I am grateful to have a dad such as mine.

They say our earthly fathers determine the size and shape and nature of our heavenly father, we see God in our Fathers, and our fathers in God. If this is true, and I believe it is, I have been given such a gift, because this song could apply to either for me.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! You deserve all the best this world holds, for through out my life you have been beside me, allowing me to stand, ready to catch me whenever I've stumbled, supporting me as I gathered all the pretty flowers, and I want you to know, I am aware. Fully aware, and I love you for it more than I will ever be able to express.

CORNERSTONE

(for my dad)

Once solid rock now life-slammed sand

Shuffles lost, in search of what, I do not know

We sit together, him and me

Silence where chatter used to be

Searching his eyes for the depth they once held

Hollow green surface is all pain has left

Crag under whose shadow I once hid

How I long for the safety of your shade

Bedrock from which my life was formed

How I miss the comfort of your warmth

Foundation on which I did rest from the squall

How I need the support your arms once allowed

Would that I could, like a small child crawl

Back to the rock which once sheltered me

Where have you gone to and will you return

Whisper the words that will bring back again

The keystone who always stood watch over me.