Father's Day

 

Today is Father’s Day. My father passed away 20 years ago so it’s not really a day I give a lot of thought to anymore. Maybe a truer statement would be that I think about my dad all the time and seek to honor his legacy daily rather than one day a year.

My dad followed in his father’s footsteps and became a pastor, although he would say he did so “kicking and screaming”. In college he felt God pulling him away from his desire to go into the medical profession and become a pastor. He served in three churches, one in Oregon and two in Washington. Two of the churches were rural, small town parishes, more community churches than denominational. His final church was urban, and finally a time where they bought their first home, having lived in church owned houses the other years.

Dad loved people, whether you attended his church or not. In keeping with his love of medicine, my dad trained as an EMT and volunteered for the fire department across all three parishes. In his last location he was asked to serve as chaplain for the fire district. He met and served a lot of people along the way. We went back to his first parish for the church’s 100^th anniversary, and so many people came up to us with stories about dad. A common theme was meeting dad outside of the church, at community events, in times of crisis, in their place of business. Their interest in church or God was minimal or nil. But dad didn’t judge them, or “bug them” beyond an open invitation to join him on Sundays.  We met a woman who was baptized that day, who years after we’d been in that town had come to know God and gave dad the credit for starting her on the path. 

Dad loved to have fun. He was a character, full of jokes and good natured ribbing. He loved to laugh. He enjoyed games, particularly cards, and had regular gatherings to play.  He was very competitive. He loved the beach, and we camped at Beverly Beach or Fort Stevens every summer as long as we lived in Oregon. Fishing and hunting were also part of his life, as much for the friends he took with him as the actual catch. My love of sports came from his interests. I enjoyed being his only “son” for a while, until my brother came along six years later and he had an actual son.  Dad enjoyed just sitting around the table talking with friends and family. He was an amazing story teller.

I never thought my dad was a great preacher. He stuck to a formula his whole life. However, most of his parishioners would disagree with me. We all agree he was a great Bible teacher. He laid the foundation for my love of the Bible and what it has to say in our lives today. Dad made it accessible, real, contemporary. He also enjoyed kids. He served as his own youth minister for his two smaller parishes. He was involved on a larger level with a youth ministry organization, serving as Dean of their summer camp program for years in two states.

He was my biggest mentor and supporter. He attended every sports event I participated in, every play I was in and every concert. As an adult he would still find a way to be at events I oversaw to give his support. My dad was a certifiable workaholic, but he always found time to support us in our endeavors. He was a very role oriented male who was blessed with three daughters who brought him into the world of outspoken, self-determining women of the 70’s. I know that wasn’t easy for him, especially when our mother broke out of her stereotypic housewife mode to expand her life more (like getting her driver’s license while I was in college). But dad never discouraged me from the roles I chose. He was anxious about my entering the church ministry role as a Christian education/youth director. Those roles had been traditionally filled by men, and he knew a difficult role would be complicated more by my filling it as a woman. He was right, but he was so supportive.

Don’t get me wrong, my dad was far from perfect, and he’d be the first to tell you that. He was a hard task master. I wanted his approval, and feared his disproval. His voice still rings in my head at times. I don’t remember his saying “I love you” until after my mother died. But he would sign cards and letters “love, dad” and I cherished that. He wouldn’t usually volunteer hugs, but would give great ones if you initiated it. He was tough and pretty stoic with his emotions, until he wasn’t. After mother died, all bets were off. He cried quite easily then.  He was a complicated man, whom I dearly loved.

So here’s to fathers! Here’s to the complicated mess of family. I don’t know of a single family that doesn’t have some dysfunction, some certainly more than others. I am thankful that amidst our dysfunction we had a lot of stability and love. I know I was blessed to have the father I had. Happy Father’s Day (with apologies for being a day late in posting).