Honoring Dad

My father has been gone for about seven years now.

My father and I had some differences and our share of relational struggles, but today I choose to honor him.

When I was a youngster, I HATED math.  Still do.  I despised long division problems in particular.  Our school books had endless pages of long division problems and each page contained around 20 problems.  (If you are one of my former teachers and you wish to dispute that, I challenge you to look it up.  PACE 79 or 80 I believe. Seriously.  It was wretched.)  

I spent many tearful and tired hours doing that junk.  We had to do 4 pages a day.  I cannot tell you how evil it was.  I had one merciful, sweet teacher who saw my struggle and crossed out a problem or more on each page.  I seriously considered kissing her, but I held myself in check.  (Thanks Mrs. Beachy!  You were, and still are awesome!)

But I digress.

My dad was really, really good at math.  When he saw my intense struggle, he grabbed a piece of paper and sat down with me every night and worked them out with me.  He never gave me the answers, but he helped me to think it through and gave me tips on how to figure it out faster.  His mercy saved me HOURS of homework.  We could zoom through a page in no time.  Instead of me working on math from the time I got home from school until 10 at night, we got through it in about an hour and a half.  I will always be thankful to my Dad for helping me.  I couldn't have gotten through it without him.  

I came along late in my parent's lives.
I think Dad was around 42 or so when I was "hatched"
as he used to so eloquently put it.

My Dad was old school.  If I got into trouble at school, I knew that my rear was in hot water and Dad wasn't gonna save me.  That knowledge more than anything kept me in line.  Even when the punishment wasn't just, he told me to buck up and take it.  So, I did.  There were a few detentions that I served that I shouldn't have, but Dad taught me to take the hit and move on.  It seems harsh, but it was good for me.  It helped to shape my character.

When I got to high school math, my Dad couldn't help me anymore.  He had to quit school in the 8th grade to stay at home and take over full responsibility of the farm.  Yes, take over the farm.  At 14, he became the main man working on the family farm.  The youngest of 9 children, he was the last male left at home.  You have to respect that.  He had the work ethic and maturity to make the farm go.  Impressive.

My Dad was an inventor at heart.  He could make useful stuff from the junkiest material.  He designed and made a log splitter from scratch.  His wood working skills were amazing!  For my 16th birthday, he made me a full length mirror which I still have and treasure.  It stands in my bedroom and I use it everyday.  He and Mom also built me a doll house which is in my attic just waiting for the girls to become old enough to appreciate it and take care of it properly.

This was my first and only bottle calf.
His name was Buckey.  Dad created a little cart
and harness out of stuff lying around the farm.  The only
way to get Buckey to move was to hold his bottle
out in front of him and run like the wind.
Dad wouldn't let me have a horse, so I had to settle for
a bottle calf. I have no idea why Mom took the
picture sideways.

One of my first memories is of us chugging out to the field in our old red Ford pickup to do pigs.  He'd throw my four year old self into the truck bed and then corner mama sow in the hut and try to capture her piglets without getting killed.  He'd catch the squealing babies and hand them to mom who would deposit them into the back of the pickup.  It was my job to recapture them and hand them back to him one by one as he gave them shots and clipped their tails and teeth.  (Do not ask my why they do that.  I have no clue.  I was only 4.)

My big bro is sitting on the fender and Dad is holding me while I hold
two squealing piglets.  Clearly I loved pigs. 

At the tender age of 8, he put me behind the wheel of our pickup and gooseneck trailer and told me to follow him around the field while he picked up and loaded big round bales onto the trailer.  I was scared spitless, but he trusted me.  His trust in me boosted my confidence.  From then on, I took every chance I could get to drive the pickup!  I was very road ready by the time I got my school permit at 14 thanks to Dad.

When I was around 15, he taught me to drive our old 4020 John Deere tractor.  I hauled big round bales in the summer. I lined those suckers up in straight rows!  I was pretty proud of myself!

Dad taught me the value of working hard.  One summer we made a 5 barbwire fence around the entire farm.  It was hot.  I was miserable.  The job needed to be done and so we did it.  Just to clarify, around the entire property was a few miles.  It took nearly every day of that hot and miserable summer.  

One summer as he baled hay, the big round baler was having issues with breaking belts.  It was my job to run and pick up the belts and drag them to the pickup and have Mom take us to John Deere to get new.  As Dad was driving through the field, he stopped and pointed animatedly at the ground.  I sighed and took off running through the hot field.  Sure enough, I saw a dark "thing" on the ground.  Assuming that it was the belt, I approached without caution.  I was about 5 feet from the "dark thing" when I realized that it was a HUGE snapping turtle!  I took off running at full speed for the pickup.  I stopped halfway back and turned around to look at Dad.  He was sitting up in the tractor busting a gut laughing at me!  If I remember correctly, he almost fell out of the tractor, he was laughing so hard.  Thanks Dad.

He taught me a lot about life.  He wasn't perfect.  Then again, nobody is.  I'm grateful to have had a man who stuck with his marriage vows and taught me so many valuable lessons about life.

This Father's Day, I'd also like to recognize my husband.  I know, I can just hear you saying, "AGAIN?"

Yes.  AGAIN!!

In this day and age, we see delinquent dads all over the place.  Abusive fathers.  Absent fathers.  Sometimes it makes me wonder if men have any feelings at all.  I wonder if they possess any compass within that points them toward responsibility and love for their families.  After some of my personal dealings with men, and the deep hurt I've endured, I tend think the worst about the male gender.  I wonder sometimes if men really can be trusted.  If they have the ability to truly love.

Then I watch my man.  

All I can say is, he's the best!  The girls know that they are safe with him.  Physically, and emotionally safe.  I tear up when I see them curl up on his lap or see him reach out and grab the nearest girly and tickle her until she's breathless.  I've seen him crouch down and take a crying little girl into his arms and comfort her after she's fallen on the rocks. The bedtime routine is spent with him singing to them and listening to endless prattle.  He has infinite patience.

I see the calm that he brings to overly dramatic female situations. We need that.  His gentle words and tone bring peace and even giggles to tense moments.  We need him.  

 I'm amazed at the amount of time that he spends doing things with them.  He pushes them on the swing that he made for them, daily.  And not just a few pushes, we're talking serious swing time!

 He honestly likes to spend time with his little people.  Sometimes is really blows my mind because (while I love them to the moon and back) I just can't get into the whole "imagine with me" thing.  Apparently I lost my knack.  Together they've imagined being on a ship, Bethlehem, Kings and Princesses.  (He makes for a terribly handsome King!  Just sayin')  He allows them to poke and prod him as they pretend to be his doctors.  (Do you have any idea how much a "shot" from a pencil hurts? Seriously. I've since refused to be their patient.  Though Daddy put his foot down on a throat swab.  Can you tell, we've had a lot of experience with the doctor this last winter?)  He allows them to beat up on him and he just laughs.  

He diligently teaches them about the things of God.  Devotions are done regularly every morning.  Prayers from the little ones are encouraged.  Kurt does his best to point our babies to Jesus.  It warms my heart.  I think that sometimes he feels a bit discouraged when it seems that no one is listening intently to devotions, but they're getting it.  I respect him and love him for his efforts.  They will not be in vain.  The girls are listening, even when one is hanging upside down from her chair (Honestly, I don't think she can hear much unless she's moving.  Sitting still makes her crazy.) or the other girl is dashing to the bathroom for an emergency.  They're getting it Daddy.  I hear it throughout the day.  Keep it up.

Daily devotions.

His anticipation for the arrival of our third baby is an awesome thing to behold. I mentioned before that I sometimes question a man's ability to love; the excitement I see in his eyes when we talk about bringing this baby home (and it was the same for our other children) lets me know that men really do have the capacity to love and love deeply. My husband's care for us is proof that there are good men on this earth.

He works hard and long hours to provide for us.
I don't think he'll ever know just how much that means to me.
I truly appreciate his desire to take care of us.
I am blessed.

 All of the above are marks of an outstanding Dad.  A Dad that deserves a capital "D".  His little girls adore him.  They know that when they walk up to him, whatever he's doing, they will be recieved with love, excitement, and total acceptance.  That knowledge is priceless.

I learn a lot from watching him.  I'm a goal oriented person.  I've got a task and I want to get it done as quickly and efficiently as I can.  Kurt has taught me to slow down and take in the "little" moments.  To enjoy the sound of our 3 year old's voice.  To listen intently as my 5 year old describes a bug to me.  To put aside the dirty dishes and go outside to visit them in their playhouse.

I'm honored to be Kurt's wife.  I don't deserve such a good man.  He makes me crazy sometimes.  Crazy in love and sometimes crazy mad, but he's mine.  I cannot express to you just how much I admire him.  

My husband is a rare treasure.  I'll keep him forever. He just keeps getting better and better with time.  After nearly 11 years with this man, I am still amazed that God has given me such a gift.  

Happy Father's Day to all the Daddies out there!  Especially our Heavenly Father!  The best Father of them all!  

Be blessed Daddies!

Daddy's precious girls!