Sometimes I just have to see if what crossed my mind can be laid out. I hope that before the end, this connects with any out there who read, even if it is just the verse at the end. If not, click close and know Charis is saying, “This one is for me!” My birthday is June 17 and as the world turns it meshes at times with the other June occasion, Father’s Day. I’ve lived long enough and had contact with various family mixes from blood lines to school families to know ties in relationships don’t always match. While fathers are necessary to being, I have friends who almost shudder at the term. Yet fathering has an underlying meaning regardless of personal experience just as shepherding denotes care even for those who have never patted a wooly four-footed creature.
I was shaped and raised by two daddies. (A co-teacher from Michigan asked, “What is it with you southern girls and your Daddy?) To be a daddy’s girl is a safe and loving place to be. A birth dad gave me to a family that wanted a child and both cared for me enough to make an almost dual relationship work. My adopted daddy was the lode star of my life. One, he loved all children and delighted them by making them a part of whatever he was doing, so a life skill just seemed like the natural thing to do. I can take apart my sewing machine and put it back together because I was seated at a table and taught to do it. Part of any skill I have in speaking is because he put me in front of groups to explain or tell. I learned the lasting advantage of teaching by seeing him welcome gangly college boys who came to visit Mr. Joe and tell where their life was at that time. He looked at report cards and came to concerts and affirmed by saying, “Now that was just fine.”
Go back to the title. Even as I cherished this day and who it represented to me, a different person may be the support of another life. Single moms do amazing things. An elderly next door neighbor may provide listening ears and teach coping skills. Aunts and uncles can be mentors simple because they don’t have to feel guilty if their advice isn’t followed. A teacher opens the door to following new adventures that didn’t seem possible. So maybe these words led you to look back to last Sunday to remember, or reconnect, or mostly be thankful for that person, whatever you called them, who helped shape you to be what you are today. And underneath were the everlasting arms.
“Yet, Lord, you are our father; we are the clay and you our potter: we are all the work of your hand.”
Isaiah 64:7
Let Me Tell Ya 