Happy Not-My-Father's Day

Pastor Mark,

I know you're not my father.

I loved my Dad very much and he was a good, Godly man. He lived and breathed the Gospel and discipled dozens of young men in the faith. Unfortunately, he never shared that part of himself with me. When I was about 16 years old he started writing the names of the people he witnessed to in the back of his Bible so he could remember to pray for them. There were 87 names there when he died. None of them were mine. To this day, I know almost nothing about his testimony.

There was never a doubt in my mind that my Dad loved me (though he rarely said it) and that he was proud of me. But his pride in what I could do led him to make assumptions about who I was. He never really knew me and I'm not sure he really wanted to.

And even still, saying "good-bye" to him was one of the hardest things I've ever done. To see him suffer... to watch him lose his strength and his brilliant mind... to let him go... to say "it's time to go get your crown in glory," and know that he never took another breath... Hard things.

Eight weeks ago I wondered if God would ask me to say "good-bye" to you too. And I wondered why you had come to matter so much.

Because I know you're not my father,
and I know I have no claim to you.

Except that you've said you're proud of me - of me - not of what I can accomplish but of who I am and who I'm becoming.

Thank you for the gentle reminders and the not-so-gentle rebukes. Thank you for asking for promises and holding me to my word. Thank you for the "FOOP!"s. I thank God for the person He's made you to be.

Even though I know you're not my father, I want you to know, I am proud of you.

I am proud of the man who, in the midst of his own suffering looked to the welfare of his wife, who asked about the health of a sick woman and who dared to ask why he was spared when others were not.

I am proud of the man who grieved over the death of a friend and neighbor; in part because he wasn't strong enough to comfort the family. I am proud of the man who considers it an honor to be there for people during some of their worst moments in life, and who is willing to do so day after day, no matter the hour.

I am proud of the man who considers it a privilege to care about four lost and needy children and their even needier mother. I am proud to call you my pastor.

If I could choose the type of men my sons grow up to be, and the type of men my daughters grow up to marry, they would look a lot like you.

And today...

I know you're not my father, but I am blessed, and better, because I know you and because you've taken the time to know me.

So...

Happy Not-My-Father's Day