The Greatest Gift

Written for Momaha Magazine


(Small note: this was written in April. My mom spent a great deal of time here in January and February during what I call the “crisis” months. She is no longer here and she doesn’t and hasn’t ever “lived” with us…. a point I make for the purposes of anyone who would choose to use this blog against me.) :)

Growing up, I remember a small plaque that hung in our kitchen. It read, “The greatest gift a father can give his children is to love their mother.” At the time, I was certain there were some other gifts (some equally wonderful gifts) to consider as well (a new car, perhaps?) and yet now I know it was, and continues to be, my father’s greatest gift.

My dad loves without reservation. He gives sacrificially of his time and resources. He tells the truth (and this, evidently, is hard for some men).

He puts his family first. Always.

My divorce is no exception. Publicly, it’s my mom. She makes the 11 hour drive. Alone. She buys the groceries. She cooks the dinners. She taxis my children. But in return, she gets grandbaby hugs and kisses. She gets bedtime stories and nighttime cuddles.

My dad doesn’t get that. He gets worries and high blood pressure and waiting. My dad is sacrificing in ways that, until recently, I had completely overlooked.

This past weekend, we celebrated my Dad’s birthday. (Well, actually this past weekend, I celebrated the razorback’s victory in Omaha, but remember this was written in April). Just days before we left, I mentioned to my neighbor that we would be leaving for Arkansas. “My Dad hasn’t seen the kids since Christmas.” I said. She gave me this confused look and said, “Your Dad? I thought he was dead.” I burst out laughing. (Which, whatever, I guess isn’t really that funny). But still, it kind of was.

She thought he was dead. And evidently, she’s not the only one. My neighbors assumed that my mother had the freedom to travel because she was a widow. Only, she’s not. She’s married to a generous and unassuming man whose sacrifices are so hidden; so private, that my friends think he’s dead.

Only he’s not. And it was time for his birthday.

Time, in fact, for presents; a pair of jeans from my 98 year old mammaw (who, incidentally, recently decided she wanted to “just see” if she could still drive. Since she’s not even supposed to walk to the mail box, you can imagine how the driving thing ended. My dad now has her car keys); two western shirts from my mother; horse supplies from my sister; a crafty-block-thing with his business logo that I learned how to make on Pinterest (impressive, I know!) and a copy of Love Wins by Rob Bell for the Sunday School class that he teachers. Oh, and pictures of grandchildren.

What? He’s hard to buy for.

The next morning, he put on his Wranglers, buttoned up his western shirt, grabbed the fishing poles, and horse supplies and with four of his five grandchildren in tow, saddled up the horses for a day of what I call “being there.” My dad shows up. My dad follows through. My dad, sorry to be so cliché, totally rocks!

The greatest gift a father can give his children is to love their mother. That’s my dad.

But what about my children? I hate to go negative when I’m trying to love on my dad for Father’s day, but it is an obvious question as I spend this day alone. Without my father. Without theirs.

Of course, I also hate to go negative since I have so many of you who “lovingly” like to send me messages hiding behind the Christian mask, speaking of respect and class and God’s law, but as I was reminded this morning in church, we don’t have to hide our emotions from God. The pastor spoke of the Psalms being “undisciplined” as David cries out his prayers to God. I am Southern. I am good at pretending. I am good at swallowing emotion and only saying things that are appropriate or expressing what I know others want to hear. But God doesn’t expect that. He doesn’t want fake. The pastor went on to say if we are to learn how to pray and cry out to God in our deepest pain, we only need to look to the Psalms and we can hear God say, “Bring it. Bring whatcha got.” We don’t have to dress it up for God. Therefore, I’m not going to dress it up for you.

What about my children? Well, I could joke (although some of you don’t seem to like that either) and say that it’s a fair assumption that I don’t have my mom’s plaque about a father’s greatest gift hanging up in my kitchen. Wait, actually that’s not a joke. I really don’t have the plaque. I do, however, have one that says, “It’s never too late to live HAPPILY ever after.” (What? OK, so I’m a little taken with Pinterest).

And so what about my children? What about their mom?

Jesus. We fall into the arms of Jesus. We fall into the arms of our heavenly father and we know.

He holds.

Happy Father’s Day!