Dear Dad

Every year I struggle to find the perfect gift for my Dad on Father’s Day. While he appreciates anything, he lacks nothing. What he wants, he buys for himself. He’s the poster child for all those retail commercials begging the question, “What do you get for the man who has everything?” Since my dad is by far one of my biggest fans here at Glory in the Grind, I felt it most fitting to pay tribute to him through my writing this Father’s Day. So, Dad, this one’s for you. It may be the most inexpensive thing I’ve ever given you (except maybe for that “free hug” coupon when I was five) but I hope it blesses you more than anything I could ever find at a store. I love you.

Dear Dad,

Most people don’t know this about you, but you are a writer too. I first learned of your well-guarded secret when I was sixteen. I was on the opposite side of the world from you in Australia. You wrote me a note to open while I was away for the summer and in it, you enclosed a poem you wrote yourself. I was so floored. I knew what it must have meant to you, to craft your feelings for me into poetry. Eight years later you stood to give the toast at my wedding and you surprised me with another poem. I knew how vulnerable you were making yourself in a room full of family and friends. I was so honored you chose that moment, my moment, to share your heart. It’s not easy to put yourself out there like that, to take your words off the page and share them with not only those you know but those you don’t. It takes courage. When you love someone that much, when you care about a cause so deeply, nothing can keep you from sharing with anyone who will listen. It’s the courage of a writer. I must get it from you.

Speaking of courage, I remember the day your dad, my Opa, passed away. I remember thinking how brave you were, walking his coffin down the aisle. You stood up in front of a church full of people and shared your admiration and respect for your father. I knew your relationship with your dad had been complicated, but you chose to remember the good. You chose to honor his memory. You chose to forgive. You chose the legacy he left for you. Of all the life lessons you’ve taught me, that one is by far the one I value most. I recognize you’ve done the same for me in my relatively short life. You have forgiven me quickly and completely; you’ve welcomed me back home more times than I can count. You have been a faithful father running to meet me, the prodigal daughter, as I came trudging back from miles down the road. You’ve forged a path of mercy in our family and I promise to follow close behind you.

Growing up I lacked both understanding and respect for what you did to provide for our family. I resented the late hours and the frequent business trips. I know now you resented them too. I know you would’ve chosen to be at home with us if you could. I know if it had been up to you, you would never have missed a softball game, piano recital, or birthday. I struggled with our frequent moves in the middle of a school year thanks to your job relocations. I know now you struggled too. You must have dreaded coming to us each time, telling us it was time to pack up and start over again in a city full of strangers. It wasn’t just a sacrifice for us; you sacrificed too. I know that now. I also know that because of your sacrifices, I had everything I needed. Your hard work gave me opportunities and experiences that shaped who I am in all the best ways. I know it doesn’t make up for an entire childhood of ingratitude, but today, with all my heart I say thank you. Thank you for doing everything you could to ensure I was provided for. Thank you for showing up for me emotionally my entire life, even when you couldn’t be there physically.

I know you’ll be the first to say you weren’t a perfect father or a perfect husband. Your humility is one of the things I admire most about you. I’ve been blessed to witness God’s tremendous work in you as you’ve grown in both roles. As a father, you’ve grown more patient, more gracious, and more servant-hearted. You’ve softened, grown wiser, and laughed more easily. Since becoming a grandfather I truly believe you’ve become the very best version of yourself. As a husband, you’ve never missed an opportunity to be romantic. I admit, it grossed me out as a kid, but I’ve come to find it one of your most endearing qualities. You love Mom and you make no secret about it. You’ve grown in verbal affirmation of her, in appreciating her strengths, and in accepting her weaknesses. You’ve softened there too, become more humble, and celebrated Mom in ways I’ve never seen before. I’m blessed to be a bystander to your marriage, to quietly learn and gain wisdom with each passing year.

I have a lot to attribute to you, not the least of which is my insatiable appetite for books. You raised me to be a reader and aside from introducing me to Jesus, it is quite possibly the greatest gift you’ve passed on to me. Books keep me company in every mountain high and valley low. They are faithful friends whom I would never have come to know if it weren’t for your influence. I also have you to thank for my eclectic travel experiences. I have seen more of this country and this world than most people have seen in a lifetime. Your generosity has made it possible. As your love for reading, your thirst for adventure has been passed on to me and now to your grandchildren. I have fond memories of weekends in our home, your wall of tape cassettes and CDs reverberating with music blaring from the nearby stereo system. You sang along to the Beatles and Garth Brooks and everything in between. You taught me to appreciate a wide variety of music; the list of songs that take me back to my childhood is ridiculously long. Thanks for that.

Dad, you are unfailingly generous. The number of people you have bailed out, come alongside, rallied around, or just straight-up helped is unbelievably long; I’m sure I only know a small number of them, but they know who they are. They know they wouldn’t be where they are without you. I’m certain of it because I’m one of them. I know you’ll never ask for anything in return. You’re blessed enough just to be able to bless others. I know you don’t do any of it for the glory or recognition, but I hope you know God sees you. He is honored by how well you love, how quickly you forgive, and how freely you dole out acts of kindness and words of understanding. And me? I’m just honored to be your daughter. Happy Father’s Day.

Love,

Anne