My Dad is gentle, quiet, unassuming, and humble. He is someone who has little to say, so you listen when he speaks. He loves Dunkin Donuts coffee, the Red Sox, and his family. It's that simple. But loving people who can be unlovable at times (me:) is not simple. It requires all the patience, stamina, and sacrifice that you can muster. And he has done that, day in and day out - in great health and with cancer and Crohn's disease - for as long as I can remember.
My Dad teaches me that God listens to what I have to say. Even if I just ramble on with nonsensical junk all the time. He hears me and He cares.
My Dad also helps me to understand the weight of God's word. God doesn't talk our ears off. He hasn't given us libraries chock full. He's given us one book. So I'm thinking that whatever is in that book must be drenched, just sopping wet, with meaning. And yet His voice - the only one that can speak to my deepest need - gets drowned out by noise - text messages, the microwave beeping, emails, the droning TV, screaming children, magazines, work, websites, facebook, whatever.
I want to love my Dad more. I need to love him more. He's the best Dad ever and I thank God for giving him to me. But I also want to learn to love my God more. He is my everything. To do that, I've got to still the distractions and carve out quiet. In that silence, with His few simple words, I will find wholeness. I will find complete.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you.