Twenty seven years ago, he was my friend—one of my first friends in a new and unfamiliar place. Nearly twenty years ago, he became the one with promises. Promises to provide, to protect, to love, to lay down his life. Promises he keeps. And seventeen years ago, when we lived in a little place with a little boy, he celebrated his first Father’s Day.
I had a hunch he would be good dad. I was right.
And now his children (all six!) call him “Fath,” short for Father, because we have one who gives us each our own moniker.
And he smiles in spite of it all and he gently leads and he carries the burden of a family.
He takes care of things. He takes care of us. And I am the blessed one who watches it all unfold as the children grow older and the fathering takes new turns and he comes before his own Father to plead for the souls of his children.
Yes, he pleads and there are ones who won’t sleep until he prays over them, and I pray for him–for the man who shows us all the ways of grace.