It's a Happy Birthday Father's Day!

Every so often that the planets align and we share a day.

When I was a kid, I thought it was super special when my birthday and Father’s Day landed on the same day. (I feel the same about sharing the day with Scott.) Two years ago, I wrote a blog to honor my dad: When Dads Are Mothers. I have continued to heal since then, but it is a great tribute to my dad.

I feel so fortunate to have the dad I did. I kind of cringe when people say they are so glad God chose their parents for them. So many survivors cannot see that as a positive thing—and this day is difficult. If it wasn’t my birthday and Father’s Day all lumped together, I probably would have skipped this post because of that.

But since we are here, I honor every dad who is doing his very best to break generational patterns and love, care for, and protect his children. It matters.

Last Thursday was eight years since my dad left this earth—three days before my birthday. It was rough. I was in Indiana and we sat in the O'Hare airport for 6 hours waiting for our flight because we had planned to do some sightseeing, but we had no heart for it.

We thought he was leaving us ten-plus years earlier. He had a bowel obstruction and the verdict was cancer. It was a female chaplain who came to talk to me. "Your father told me that I should come tell you and not your mother. He said you are the strong one." She stayed with me while my world collapsed and then helped me find the courage to tell my mother.

Didn't the doctor come to talk to us? I did have a conversation with the doctor eventually. The more I think of it though, my dad would have asked a chaplain to help me first. That makes sense.

My dad was a pastor in a tradition that ordains women. I grew up in that tradition. It would have never occurred to me that I was talking to someone who "should not have been ordained" though that was true in the church world I lived in at the time. If I remember correctly, she was Methodist. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except my need for someone to give me hope. She did.

My dad raised me to not believe that being a girl would stop me from doing anything—especially if I believed God was leading me. About ten years ago I mistakenly applied for a job at a college that takes a hard stance on not ordaining women. The job was a perfect fit and I was well-qualified. I realized what I had done before the initial interview call. When the gentleman called, I said, “I need to tell you that I probably should have done my homework better. My daughter-in-law is ordained and I will not shy away from supporting her.”

“Ahhhh,” he said. “That is too bad. You were the perfect candidate, but you are right, this is a deal breaker. We were sure you were the right person for the job.”

We had a short conversation about the weather and left on good terms. I went to share this with my dad who was living with us at the time. He just shook his head and confirmed that I made the right choice.

At 97, my dad was well-practiced in shaking his head in a way that spoke volumes about the conditions in both the world and the church. He taught me to do the same. We are shaking our heads together this week.

Happy Heavenly Father’s Day to my dad. Thank you for teaching me to shake my head at things that make no sense! And Happy Father’s Day to my husband who also shakes his head right along with us.