It’s only natural to think about your dad on Father’s Day. My dad left this earth almost 25 years ago but the treasure he left me won’t ever mold, rust or fade.
The memories of being snuggled in his lap on the patio he laid with his hands, looking at the stars and listening to his deep voice tell me fanciful stories in which I was always the heroine. Dancing while standing on his feet. Skipping oyster shells off the bank in his hometown of Carrabelle.
A good father is a rich gift. My dad showed me what love, loyalty and trust look like. I spoke at his memorial service of two of the greatest gifts he left me.
The first is the gift of music. Dad was a musician; a bass fiddle player in the West Coast Symphony, an orchestra teacher in the Sarasota County School System, opera singer in the shower…he could literally play any instrument. Learning to play an instrument in our family wasn’t optional. His question was, “how many do you want to play?” Learning notes and technique through lessons was valuable, but the indescribable gift was that he breathed the language of music into my very soul. A rich inheritance.
The second gift is the gift of unconditional love. It transcends human frailty and can only be accessed through the sacrifice of our Heavenly Father when He gave his own Son, Jesus, so that we can have relationship with the King. It’s not natural to always see the best in people, to forgive countless times, to not be offended and to love without measure. It’s supernatural. My Dad’s faith was quiet and steady and opened my spirit to the reality of a living God. A rich inheritance.
The third gift is one I didn’t speak of when he died because I’m not sure I fully appreciated the impact of Dad’s spirit of excellence at the time. He had lots of one-liners; “anything worth doing is worth doing right”, “you don’t have to be the best but you have to give your best” and countless others.
A man of deep faith, Dad’s eyes were fixed on the unseen – making it only slightly easier to say our final goodbyes when he died of cancer at age 67.
Yes, I’m one of the lucky ones with a rich inheritance of love. The good news is, you are too. It stinks if your earthly dad didn’t do his job. But you can be adopted by a Father who loves you more than you can imagine. And if you need the access code to your account that holds everything you ever hoped for, I have it. It’s a rich inheritance indeed.