Tag Archives: father’s day

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Dear Jason,

We're about to be busy, busy this weekend (not that the past month hasn't been a flurry of activity). But it's Father's Day weekend, a time to reflect and be grateful (even though you were smart with me this morning). 

I've been fortunate enough to be surrounded by good fathers. I can't say enough about my dad. He's always been the picture of the invincible. He's strong, but gentle. He has such a love for God's word; a love that has influenced me greatly. 

Your dad's pretty amazing too. I've half grown up under his care. I'm grateful for how he's always been there for us in every way that counts. 

I've also got my brother and brothers in law who do a great job fathering their kids. (I do have some awesome nieces and nephews for which I suppose they get some credit). 

And I can't forget to mention the host of fatherly figures we've had through the years in the churches we've been in. God has been good to place Godly men in our lives who have cared for us and loved us much like we were their own. 

Let me get back to the point, which is you. 

You're a great dad. You make the kids erupt in raucous laughter. You've faithfully and calmly been the driving instructor for the two oldest (and teacher of other things for all three) because I apparently freak them out. Your even, collected nature provides stability in times of imagined crisis and keeps us held together when things are really out of whack. I could keep going, but I've near reached a good word count without even having got to the point. 

One of the most valuable things I believe you do as a father is love me well. I know I run the slight risk of sounding self-important. That's not what I mean. 

A good father intently loves the mother of his children. 

He hugs her when he comes home from work. He lets her emote when he really can't relate one iota with what she's feeling. For those times he has no idea what to do for her, (Do I hug her, reason with her, or hide?) he makes a best attempt, even with the high risk of failure. 

He is supportive; encouraging her to do the thing her meager confidence didn't convince her to do. He's her confidant in matters he doesn't even understand. His children can't help but notice he is always for her. 

He shows his son that leading a family is accomplished by sacrificially loving his wife. He shows his daughters that there are men out there who put themselves second to the one they committed their life to. He teaches his children the meaning of love, honor and cherish as he sticks by their mother's side. 

His love for the mother of his children is a model that will not only aid in the raising of his children. He offers them a picture of what their future ought to look like when they outgrow their first home. 

A good father plays with his children, teaches them and protects them, but he also prepares them to love well and look well for love when they come to an age where they seek to start a family of their own. Just wanted you to know you do a good job with just that. 

Your most grateful beneficiary,

Your wife 

Check out my new book here. 



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I've been collecting my thoughts about you, you being the most important father (and person) in my life. You're not MY father, you're my main man. But I'm a star witness to you being Dad to the three runners up for most important people in my life. 
  
For Father's Day this year I'm giving you something different. It's not another sappy love post or one that boasts how proud I am of you. (Though I am proud). I'm giving you a gift that keeps on giving.

 I'm giving you a promise; one that I'll likely fail at. But it's a promise I'll renew daily, just like commitments should be.

 It came tumbling over me, in my thinking, just how weighty your job as a father and as a man is.  

 You're called to lead our flock. We look to you to financially and emotionally support us. I know how exhausting that job is. We expect you, after working long (often stressful) hours at work, to come home with energy to entertain us...or guide us.....or both. 

We want you to joke when we want you to joke and to be able to discern when your joking isn't called for. We call on you to be the settler of disputes. I ask you to support me in my parenting, requesting clean up on aisle five after a mess has been made by my "moody momming". 

We need you to be concerned about our day when concern for countless others takes up residence in your mind.  

 
  Somebody asked me once if I had keys to the church. I told them no. I joked that I'm glad not to have them because having extra keys means added responsibility. 

I lose my own keys enough without being accountable for another important set of keys. 

You have that responsibility though. You've got a big set of keys in this calling you've been given. 

I promise to remember that. 

You're answerable to many, namely three (most of the time) darlings. 

Here's what else I promise. 

I promise to reconsider the keys on my own keyring, ridding it of the ones that weigh it down. Because too often I ask you to carry those keys that we don't even need.  I'll learn better to say no to things leaving room for better things for us. 

I promise to guard the keys that I do have, protecting our time together at home and at the table. 

We expect unwavering strength in you. We need your unshakable love and commitment. 

I promise to pray that God would give the measure you need of each. 

I'll remember to remain in prayer for you, calling out to the one who makes the rough places smooth, The Keeper of the Keys. 

For it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose. Philippians 2:13

Remind me when I forget. 

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For my Dad

 

Dad and just a few of his girls
perspicacity-(noun) keenness of mental perception and understanding; discernment

I just learned that word. I sounded it out syllable by syllable.  I discovered it while searching for the symbolism of the eagle.  Let me explain.

With Father's Day upon us I was thinking of my dad and a conversation we've had more than once.  We talked flying dreams and how they differed amongst dreamers. One person dreams they can fly with ease. They just levitate and then soar wherever they desire. Sounds freeing.

I've had several dreams about flying. The one I can remember though, was a dream where I could fly, but only on a carpet. I had to keep it with me wherever I went. I was a psychology major when I started college so I look to deeper meaning even when it's probably not there. In my talk with my dad I concluded the "flying with aid only" dream must represent my codependent nature.

My dad said he had a flight dream, but he had to flap really hard. It was WORK.  This sent us into a conversation about birds and what kind we'd be.

Dad decided-

"I'd be a buzzard because a buzzard sails without flapping much."

I'd never had a pleasant thought about buzzards. My buzzard sightings are usually unfortunate. I usually meet the beasts in the road feasting on road kill.  A buzzard met my windshield one time. I suspect he was being greedy after having watched all the other buzzards move off the road; either that or he had terribly slow reflexes.

My dad isn't a buzzard. He could never be a buzzard.

He works too hard. 

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters. Colossians 3:23

Whether it was teaching us kids to ride a bike, drive a standard,or play basketball, Dad taught us to give it our all.

He wasn't concerned that we were the best at it, just that we did our best. 

He's unlike a buzzard, ugly up close. Dad's a beautiful soul.  I've never not-thought that. Even in my moody teenage years he encompassed virtue. Integrity sums up his character. He's a rock. He is strong with a kind heart. He's honest; compassionate without giving to flattery. He sticks to his moral principles in times where morals shift.

If you look closely at my dad's hand you'll see a scar. I can't see that it's ever faded.  The scar comes from a serious burn from when he was little.  That scar looks exactly like an eagle.

Nope.  You're no buzzard.

In my intent watching I insist you're an eagle; like the buzzard they soar.  Maybe to some you do soar effortlessly. But more importantly is what you see up close. You are the embodiment of perspicacity (thought I wasn't going to back to that, did you?).

You're understanding is beyond compare.  Your advice is welcome and even sought after by many. This understanding is evidenced by the many that come to you to be ministered to-be it on the bus or at your shop. You seek out the downtrodden.  You're a friend to everybody and you're fatherly to many, but I'm lucky to call you MY dad....

I say you're an eagle.

...those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles. Isaiah 40:31

Love you Pops!!

Happy Father's Day


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If you ever see me eating M&Ms you can be certain that they melt in my mouth AND in my hands.  -That's because I've microwaved them for as long as I can remember.  Before you start thinking that I'm crazy, know that I'm not the only one who does this. My siblings do it too.  And our children microwave their M&Ms.  My mom even has a stack of small microwavable bowls and a large container stocked with M&Ms at all times.

The origin of intentionally melting our M&Ms is quite simple. For years, my Dad drove eighty or more miles everyday from our small town to his workplace in Arlington.  He worked long hours and then had a long drive home.  I remember being excited along with my brother and sisters when we would hear his truck driving down the dirt road returning home.  We were doubly excited when, many times Dad would get out of his truck and then pat his shirt pockets.  That signal let us know that he had stopped on the way home to get M&Ms for each of us.  Having stayed in his pocket for the trip, the M&Ms were always melted to perfection.

My Dad

Having tasted my M&Ms that way, I have abandoned eating them any other way.  I mean, I may have tossed a few of the unmelted candies in my mouth if they were offered to me or if I see a bowl of them at a party.  But I hold no affection for them.

The candies I love are reminiscent of my father's love. They represent a father who, though busy and tired, took the time to make his children feel special and loved. They bring back time spent with my father. I am thankful my children and my nieces and nephews have experienced the thrill of seeing Papa pat his pocket.

We live over three- hundred miles away from my Dad now. My Dad is still the hardest working man I know.  We look forward to finding time between demanding schedules and distance to spend time together. Even over geographical distance, M&Ms are still eaten melted at the Burden house. I don't remember who started microwaving the M&Ms. Like many other things, my siblings and I would probably each assume lone credit.  But I think we would agree on one thing. The melted M&Ms serve as a reminder that our lives have been blessed having been warmed by our father's heart.

You must know Dad.

Through your provision,

through your sacrifice,

through your love,

and simply through your presence,

you have colored my world and warmed my heart.