I grew up in a big house atop a big hill. My room had two large south-facing windows, perfect for watching a storm roll in. My dad, an avid weather-watcher, never missed an opportunity to watch one of nature’s fantastic stormy displays.
So on every single stormy night of my growing-up years, the routine was the same: a deafening crack of thunder would jolt me out of a sound sleep, in a terror–but only for a moment. Because I knew, before I even opened my eyes, that my dad would be standing at the foot of my four-poster bed, silhouetted in the lightning flashes, peering out my windows at the raging storm. This conditioned me from a young age not to fear storms. I never had to doubt, even in the scariest moments, the presence of my father.
They say a child gains much of her perspective of her Heavenly Father from her earthly one. I believe this. For most of my life it has not been a stretch for me to trust a Father who stands guard over me, who is present even when the storms rage.
Thank you, Dad, for modeling such tender care for me. Thank you for teaching me how to trust. And thank you, thank you, for watching the storms. Happy Father’s Day.
(And while I’m at it, happy Father’s Day to all the other great dads in my life–my uncle Jim and uncle Mike, my brother R, and of course, my sweet Hubs, the sweet daddy to my very blessed children. You are all so special!)