Just like Dad.

“You look just like your Daddy!” were the words that sent me shooting out of my church’s front doors like a bullet from a gun one Sunday afternoon. My dad and I had just finished a long day of church nursery volunteer work, and we were making our way to the parking lot when we stopped to talk to a friend. I was just a carefree pre-teen at the time, spinning discourteously in circles around my father as he made conversation, dreaming of where we might be headed for lunch that afternoon. Then, this friend said those six words that changed me forever. Stooping down to my level, she smiled, and she spoke with just the right amount of emphasis to send a shiver down my spine. I cried the whole way home that day, and then some more after plopping dramatically onto my bed, because of all the 11-year-old aspirations that I held, to look “just like Daddy” was most assuredly not one of them.

Though I have always been resistant to the idea that I share my father’s external attributes, there’s no denying that I grew up a Daddy’s girl to the core. The man taught me everything, from preparing the perfect egg sandwich to solving linear equations. He taught me the art of the insult and the craft of a good comeback. He taught me to swim, to let go of the ledge and venture out into the deep end. He taught me to serve a volleyball; he taught me to serve others.

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He called me out when I was wrong, and called out in me the girl that he knew I was capable of becoming. He taught me that bravery would take me far out into the ocean, and when waves would knock me down, but I could always pop back up. My dad is a wise man, a deep thinker and a generous giver. He’s a planner and provider. He’s impulsive and independent. He’s silly and he’s stubborn; he’s funny and he’s faithful.

This journey through life with my dad has surely been filled with lots of fun and laughter, but there have been times when our stride has slowed to an amble and the road has become pitted and tough to tread. The deep sense of accomplishment that accompanied learning to ride a bike didn’t come without band-aids plastered to both kneecaps. The thrill of being thrown over his shoulders in the swimming pool didn’t come without a busted jaw. Egg sandwiches have been burned, jokes have gone horrifyingly awry, and sometimes the deep end of the pool felt a little too deep. Harsh words and name-calling would probably top the list of regrets. The waves have knocked us over a time or two along this journey, and there were months and years when I felt the ache of his absence. Yet our heads have slowly risen above the surface, and the Lord has faithfully repaired the fractures that our relationship sustained. And if there’s one thing I learned from my dad’s absence, it’s the vast importance of the presence of a father.

I don’t know what Father’s day looks like for you today. Maybe it’s a day you face with a heavy heart. Maybe you feel forgotten amid greeting cards and father’s day sermons. There was a time when to me, it was just another day on the calendar, and maybe that’s where you are as well. Maybe your father has wronged you in more ways than you can count; maybe he has given up on you. Maybe you’ve given up on him. Maybe you spend today at the graveside of a daddy tragically taken too soon or a dad that lost his battle against cancer. Maybe today you wrestle with forgiveness or bad memories, or no memory of a present father at all. Maybe he left you with wonderful memories, or maybe he just flat out left you.

Whatever situation may describe your relationship with your father, don’t overlook the truth in Psalm 68:5: there is a Father for the fatherless and He is a Father that loves you completely. He loves you better than the best earthly dad ever could. His love is not conditional and it never runs out. He does not forsake; He never stops pursuing. So today, my prayer is that regardless of your story, you would know the fullness of the love of our perfect Heavenly Father, because truly, no other love can satisfy the way His can.

Maybe today you’re like me, and you celebrate the life a man that models fatherhood well. I am lucky to know so many of these kinds of dads. So it is on this day that I stop and say thank you – to my dad and the dads just like him – for the constant outpour of sacrificial love that is fatherhood. Though it may seem an often menial, unapplauded position, you are not unnoticed and and you are not unimportant. Any boy can father a child, but it takes a man – a man that bows daily before the battles of this age – to fight for and shepherd the hearts of his family. We may never know the weight that you carry, but we can attest to the fact that you’ve carried us through life’s different seasons, and for the crucial role that you play, we are so very grateful.

Last week, I sat in our dentist’s chair, staring up into a big, lighted mirror as our dentist, who is also a great friend of my dads’ took a look at my teeth. I was squirming and apologizing for whatever he might be seeing inside that mouth of mine, and cracking jokes as usual. At one point, he looked at me with a smile and said, “you know, you must spend a lot of time around your dad because you are just like him!” And this time, I didn’t run away crying! No, my heart swelled with joy as I looked into that mirror and saw a girl that looks a lot more like her Daddy than she ever dreamed she would.

There are so many things I love about my dad, but this is my most favorite: in all his wins and all his weaknesses, in all his strengths and all his shortcomings, he is a man that I know must spend a lot of time with his Father, because he sure is a lot like Him.

I know it’s a rare thing in the world today to find a daddy that loves well. Thank you, Lord, for mine.

 

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