Love That Kept Going

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

In my earliest years, I was incredibly close to my father. He was my hero. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.

When something difficult happened at the Catholic school I attended, my dad was there. He stood up for me. He protected me. As a little boy, I knew my father would be there when I needed him, and I always felt protected by him.

Then, when I was fourteen years old, everything changed.

In 1968, my father suffered a massive stroke. He remained disabled for the next twenty years until he passed away in 1988.

I don't think I fully understood at fourteen what losing that strong presence would mean to me. But looking back now, I can see how much it affected me and eventually shaped the kind of father I wanted to be.

When Tammie and I began raising our own family, there was something very important to me. I wanted my children to feel safe. I wanted them to know that their dad would do anything for them, because I remembered what it felt like to have that kind of security from my own father.

Only months after my dad passed away, we were preparing for a family trip.

My mother was still grieving the loss of her husband. She was very sad. But she also dearly loved her grandchildren. They were the first grandchildren in our entire family, and she loved them so much.

So this newly widowed grandmother climbed into a rented motorhome with us and four young children, including a toddler and a newborn. When I think about that now, it says a lot about my mom.

Camping was never really my thing. Packing everything up, living in close quarters, and spending days on the road wasn't something I naturally looked forward to.

But Tammie had told me many times about the wonderful memories she had growing up and staying at KOA campgrounds across the country. She loved telling me about the full hookups and what seemed to her like the luxuries of camping that way. Those memories meant something to her, and I wanted our family to experience some of that too.

More than anything, Tammie and I did not want our children to miss having a summer vacation. That was important to both of us.

So we rented the motorhome.

Looking back, what amazes me most may be Tammie. She had just given birth only days before we left.

With a brand-new baby in her arms, she packed up and headed out on a summer vacation with our family. I don't think I appreciated then, as much as I do today, what that required of her.

She simply did what mothers so often do. She loved her family and gave of herself.

And I was happy. I was happy about our new baby. I was happy that Tammie was happy. I was happy that our children weren't going to miss their summer vacation.

Camping may not have been my first choice, but taking care of my family was.

Now, all these years later, I look back at the photographs from that trip and see so much more than a motorhome and a family vacation.

I see my mom, grieving the loss of my dad but still choosing to go because she loved her grandchildren. I see Tammie, only days after giving birth, climbing into that motorhome with our newborn and the rest of our children. I see our young family making memories together.

And I see something I probably couldn't have recognized at the time.

I see my own father.

The protection he gave me as a little boy had stayed with me. Even after his stroke, and even after his death, something he had given me was still being passed along to my own family.

And through all of it, I see the faithfulness of God.

He is consistent. He is there.

He is Abba Father. Daddy God. The Father we can draw near to, talk to, and trust completely.

And He is also the Lord of Hosts. He protects us. He keeps us. He will never leave us nor forsake us.

Our earthly fathers are human. Our bodies fail. Sickness comes. Life changes in ways we never expected. I learned that at fourteen years old when my father's life changed in an instant.

But our Heavenly Father does not change.

He was there when I was a little boy who felt safe because his dad was nearby. He was there when my father's strength was taken from him. He was there when we lost him.

And He was there in that rented motorhome, with a grieving grandmother, a tired young mother, a brand-new baby, and a father just trying to make sure his family was taken care of.

He is still here today.

Near. Strong. Faithful.

Yesterday, today, and forever.