Dad

The first hands I ever felt were those of my Dad.  He was downstairs on the phone when Mom sent Fawna with the message for him to call the midwives immediately. After sending her back upstairs to say he would do so shortly, Dad picked up the phone to hear Mom's emergent voice talking to the midwives and he decided he better forget his business and hurry upstairs. He ran into the room to find my mom in labor, and with unusual helplessness in his voice exclaimed, "What do I do?!" He proceeded to wash his hands at Mom's prompting, although she ignored his suggestion to cross her legs until the midwives made it. He no more than ran back into the room with dripping, wet hands than he caught me. That was the first time I met my dad.

Over the past 23 years, I have grown to love and respect my dad more and more with each passing day. Although words cannot adequately express how much he means to me, I will share what they can express to the best of my ability. 

Most importantly, Dad faithfully fills the position as priest of our home. No matter where we are, morning and evening family worships are always a top priority. Not only are family worships an essential element of our day, but even before we could read, personal time with Jesus was engrained to be the first and last thing we did every day, irrespective if that was what we felt like doing. 

Apart from some short-term mission trips, my dad has never done much overseas mission work. Never-the-less, ever since I can remember, my dad has always been one of the most faithful missionaries I have met. Everywhere we go, he is always searching for "souls as one that must give an account". Whether at the gas station, a wedding, a business trip, or anything in-between, Dad always has some assortment of literature to distribute. Some people reject it, some accept it only to throw it across the parking lot with great hostility, while others readily accept it. One man recently, with tears in his voice, explained how God impressed him to come to this deserted mountain road where we were backpacking, and after receiving the literature from my dad, understood that God had instituted a Divine appointment. 

Anyone that is acquainted with my immediate family knows that we all have a very dry, corny sense of humor, most of which came from my dad. Being a sanguine, he loves to laugh and have fun, and has yet to meet a stranger. Although company may at first be overwhelmed by my family, they see us the way we truly are. No one who knows my dad would deny that he has a silly side, but he also has a very intense, serious side. 

Work is one of my dad's favorite pastimes. He always has multiple projects going at one time and never lacks things to do. If there is ever the potential that he won't have something to do, he will simply come up with a new project. "Bored" was never uttered in our house while growing up. Even if we thought about being bored, we would not allow our actions to allude in the slightest to such a thing or else we would immediately be put to work. Dad made sure that we all knew how to work--whether it was helping Mom in the house, driving the tractor, digging post holes, planting blueberries, or numberless other activities, we all had our share of the work-load to carry. If talking seemed to decrease our work output, it had better cease. If tools were not put away in their proper place, Dad would simply wake us out of a deep sleep and send us to finish our job.    

Dad's love for God and his love for others overflows continually. Distributing literature, telling mission stories, building fires, working tirelessly, riding horses, playing games, reading books, making smoothies, or simply eating meals together, are just a few of his expressions of love. Words cannot express my appreciation for my dad and the way he gives me a small glimpse into the heart of God.