Sometimes we need to get personal. In fact, I greatly struggle with the phrase “it’s not personal”. Today, on Father’s Day, I want to get personal.
My Dad died six years ago on June 9th. After he passed I assisted my Mom in cleaning out his room. It didn’t seem right for her to do that alone. As we fingered through flannel shirts and mounds of photos I stumbled upon a binder with my initials taped on the front. It was some random doodling I had created while sitting at the computer desk. The interesting thing about that doodle was that the initials were cut out carefully but never by my hands. My Dad had cut out those letters carefully because he was proud of those initials, he had prayed for those initials. When I was 18 he was finally able to legally adopt me and give me his last name. I can see him now, stumbling upon my doodle and his sentimental heart causing familiar tears to well up in his eyes. He cut out those initials unbeknownst to me. Years later I moved overseas for a little over a year. He frequently let me know that he missed me and we emailed regularly. I was often reminded of the gift of a loving father in the form of random Facebook messages narrating the mundane life I had left in my hometown. Our emails and messages were never extravagant or news breaking, but rather just a dialogue between a Dad and his little girl. That treasure I found, THAT binder with THOSE initials – it was filled with the emails and messages we exchanged. My Dad had printed every single conversation between us during that year and a half, placed them in a binder, and then taped THOSE initials on the front. It was a glimpse of our mundane conversations and his extravagant love for me. I found a treasure.