He rests a hand on my shoulder and turns his head down just a little. I’m not that much shorter anymore.
“This is my daughter,” he says.
I look up and shake a firm handshake.
Small talk. They go back to their conversation. I listen.
They talk about the worship set. They talk about youth group. They talk about how the Father is moving.
Someone else comes up to say hi. I know how he just wants to go and have lunch, but he stays and listens. Many want to talk with him, especially the youth- his flock.
One of his own comes up, he already knows the question.
“I don’t know where we’re going for lunch.” he says in one breath. They smile and run off, wearing untamed patience.
I sit and watch him talk. He listens. He waits. He smiles.
He calls me his own.
I think I tell him how much I look up to him, but sometimes I’m quiet. Sometimes I just let my heart grow when I hear him talk about me. In the introductions, the conversations, the phone calls, I’m stilled with wonder that I get to be called his daughter. A man after God’s own heart. A man who shows his children how to chase it. A man who proudly calls his children, his.
A man I proudly call my Dad.
I love you so much Dad. I thank God that I get to be called your daughter, and I get the privilege of calling you Dad.
Love you, Dad.
Happy Father’s Day!