Restore the Fathers

Father’s Day is just around the corner. How very appropriate and heartbreaking that the immigrant crisis—children being torn from the very breasts of their mothers—now center stage in our country should be garnering so much notice at this time.

My grandfather was an immigrant. Granted, his parents went through the arduous process of coming legally, but had they not been able to do that, if they had been fleeing a dangerous situation and needed refuge, I can’t even imagine what would have happened had my grandfather been taken away from them.

We lost our younger son at Sea World one time. It was only for a few minutes, but the terror that was in my heart during those few minutes has never been forgotten. Had anything happened to him, I would have been devastated. So to know that hundreds, no, thousands of parents are experiencing their children being taken away from them by authorities in a country they thought would be their refuge is completely unimaginable.

The law of the land, they say. It’s biblical to obey the governing authorities, they say.

How they can look themselves in the mirror or even sleep at night is beyond me.

Families belong together. There is no excuse. Maybe the parents have broken the law, but there are better ways to handle the situation. I’m not a fan of illegal immigration, but I am a fan of people. You can’t treat them like animals. They are not cattle or sheep to be separated for slaughter.

It’s Father’s Day on Sunday. While you’re celebrating your own father, or being a father, or fathers that you know, take time to pray for those fathers who have had their children forcibly removed from their care by the governing authority, that they would be restored to their children.

And weep for them, as I’m sure Jesus is doing even now.

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” — Jesus of Nazareth (Matthew 19:14)

This post is a part of the weekly Five Minute Friday link up. Come join in the fun!

 

image from vvsventujuparapija.lt

Dear Dad

My dad is no longer with us, but I thought I would write him a letter on Father’s Day. Ever since I had kids of my own, my Father’s Day focus has been on my kids’ dad rather than my own, and there’s just something not quite right about that. So even though he’s not here to read it, I wanted to tell him a few things.

Dear Dad,

I can imagine what it was like for you, having 3 kids in 4 years–and another one 7 years later. We pretty much had to be your focus. But I know that you loved to drive your Porsche, and you loved to fly, and you loved to sail, and you loved to take pictures. You were an ardent Cal football fan, and you transferred that love to your kids. I remember being at the Big Game, when the Stanford band ran out on the field before the final whistle and Cal had the ball and there were something like three or four laterals and finally a touchdown by the Bears! That was so exciting! I’m glad I got to be there with you for that one.

Remember when you took me camping with Paul and the Boy Scouts? Luckily we had our pop-up camper, and I didn’t have to sleep in a tent. I go camping with my family now. I bet it started with you.

The smell of pine trees still brings back memories of our Lake Tahoe vacations. Those were such great times with Grandma and Grandpa Allan. I loved that house we rented. Thanks for planning those, and our week on Balboa Island. That is still one of my very favorite places. And one of the best childhood memories I have is our trip to British Columbia. We’re hoping to give our kids great memories like that on our trip across the country this summer.

Remember when you told your friend that I was a good driver and he could trust me to go on a little drive in his Corvette? I appreciated your confidence in me. It was so fun to drive that hot car down Shepherd Canyon Road.

We had fun at the Warriors games you took me to several birthdays when I was in college. I’m not a big basketball fan, but the Warriors are still my favorite team. If they’d quit being perennial celler dwellers, I could get a little more fired up about them.

Remember going to A’s games? I stay up way too late even now watching them from the east coast. Let’s go, Oakland!

I’m pretty sure I got my love of writing from you. Of course, our styles are vastly different: you’re technical, I’m . . . not. But you read my articles in the magazine, and you told me what you thought. I hope you were proud of me.

I remember once when you told someone I was a good singer. That meant a lot.

I remember that you used to like to hunt. That’s something I didn’t get from you.

When I was preparing to buy my first car, I called you for advice. Your love of automobiles runs in my blood a little bit. You suggested I get something practical. I got a convertible instead.

When David called you to ask for my hand in marriage, you gave him advice about marriage. Yours lasted nearly 50 years, so I guess you knew something, right? By the way, thanks for giving him your permission.

I’m sorry that life’s pressures got to be so hard for you in your later years. Job challenges, health challenges. I don’t think you knew how to handle them very well. I wish I had talked to you more about the peace you could find in Jesus. I wish that heart attack hadn’t taken you so suddenly.

Well, I’ll wrap this up for now, but I just wanted to say thanks for being my dad. I have some good memories. I wish you were still here to make more.

See you in heaven.

Love,

Stephanie (aka Blondie)

Thankful today for:

375. my dad

376. my children’s dad

377. fresh paint on my living room walls

378. my kids being old enough to help with the painting

379. choices

380. breakfast

381. a nearby grocery store

382. new marriages

383. old marriages like mine