Will You Have a Tag Line?

As I have said many times, this blog is supposed to be about “God, Love, Life and Lessons.” Today’s post is really about all 4 of those things.

July 29th came again this year – it is a date I would prefer to forget. My father went to be with the Lord on July 29, 2010. Despite the celebration of knowing he is saved, the memory of the day still brings sadness. It happens to all of us. For some of you that day has already come and gone. If that is you, it is good to spend time reflecting on your father and what he did for you. Mourning his loss is part of that process and you should never be afraid of showing emotion when you think of him. Yes, part of what I am doing with today’s post involves mourning my father and yes, it is ok to do that even though it has now been ten years. There are some of you who are still enjoying your father, watching him, listening to his stories, learning from him, modeling your life after his. There are others who might not have known your father, he was gone before you were old enough to understand what happened. If that is you, no matter how old you are, I encourage you find a mentor, someone you trust and admire, someone who can use their experience to help you navigate through life’s challenges.

Thinking back on it, I knew the day I would lose my dad was getting closer. He had been experiencing bouts with congestive heart failure and his cardiologist had told him that short of a miracle in the near future his heart would stop beating – it was worn out. My father was the ultimate role model for those of you who are husbands and fathers or aspire to be a husband and father. He loved my mother unconditionally and was a true servant husband. Please understand, my mother didn’t demand anything of him, he simply lived to love and take care of her. On the morning of July 29, 2010 he was doing exactly that. As he did every day he had risen before my mom, gone into their tiny kitchen to make coffee and prepare their breakfast. After she joined him and was seated at the table he served her breakfast, sat down in his chair, leaned over against the wall and was gone.

My Dad grew up in Iowa, the son of a tough German farmer. I never really got to know his father very well because my grandfather died when I was in fifth grade, after a lengthy battle with prostate cancer. I wish I could have known him better because judging by the man my father became, my grandfather must have been a really great man.

There are so many stories I could tell you about the kind of man my dad was. Stories about his perseverance, about his natural leadership abilities, about the way he cared for his family, about his sense of responsibility to his employer, about his love for good scotch whiskey, Nat King Cole and the game of golf. He was tough on my sister and me, but always very measured and very fair in the way he disciplined us. He was the same in the way he always encouraged us, using our screw ups to teach us invaluable life lessons. As he grew older he displayed a zeal for life that was infectious and impacted everyone who came into contact with him. He had his share of health issues but never made that a focus of conversation with anyone. Every once in a while he would comment about the fact that he was blind in his right eye, the result of a childhood accident with a small toy. The loss of vision kept him out of World War II, indirectly had to do with him meeting my mom, created a depth perception problem that frustrated him when he played golf and gave him one of the best ever tag lines.

Periodically I like to listen to podcasts while I am working out or out for a walk. One of the podcasts I really enjoy is produced by John Eldridge and “Ransomed Heart Ministries.” Some of you might have read one of his books entitled, “Wild at Heart.” If you haven’t read it I encourage you to get a copy and spend some time with it. On one recent show Eldridge and guest Morgan Snyder pointed out, “the heartache of the world is unfinished men.” In July of 1994 my father became a “finished man” when sitting next to me at a Promise Keepers conference held at Folsom Field in Boulder, Colorado he got on his knees and gave his life to Jesus.

Not all of us men are blessed to have a father like I had. I am not sure why God chooses some of us to have that experience while others have a less secure and more challenging experience. On the other hand I don’t know why some of us get to have a father like the one in the parable about the Prodigal Son. Much like my father loved me and my sister, the father in Luke 15:11-32 loved his son(s) unconditionally. If you haven’t read the story, it takes all of about 2 minutes and has many lessons about how we should act as men and fathers.

It really doesn’t matter if you are a father now, maybe you are a grandfather, or you are planning to be a father, the same truths apply to all of us. God wants us to be men of integrity. Men of faith and love. Men who accept responsibility and care for our loved ones. Men who are good custodians of the physical, mental and financial assets He in-trusts us with. Men who will not run away from challenges. Men who will put on His full armor when the enemy confronts us. Men who will do everything we can to bring up our children like my father did. Men who will love and nurture their wives. Men who when the time comes to go home to Jesus can look back on our lives and believe we did our best to use the unique gifts God instilled in us. Men who model our roles as fathers after the father of the universe.

My Dad was all of those men and more. Earlier I hinted that my Dad had one of the best tag lines ever. It was a tag line he earned and enjoyed and I think God probably gets a kick out of. You see, every time he would do or accomplish something he thought might be a little out of the ordinary or beyond his normal capacity he would wink with his good eye and pull out the tag line. And yes Dad, the life you lived, the example you set, the man of God you became was “not bad for a one eyed Dutchman from Iowa.” What will your tag line be? You still have time to create it.

I love you Pop and can’t wait to see you again.