Just Like Him

They used to tell me I look just like him . . . a spitting’ image. Some still say it. Do you know how hard it is for a little girl to wrap her head around looking just like her dad? I spent many years wondering how in the world that works, when he is clearly a boy and I’m clearly a girl.

But, it’s true. There’s no denying the resemblance. The other day I was making a goofy face while taking a selfie with one of my kids, and my breath caught in my chest. There he was staring back at me.

It still feels so hard to believe that he’s not here.

His blood runs thick, right down the middle of me. By college, it was more a source of pride than of confusion.

He’s the reason I talk to other cars while driving down the road.

He’s the reason I love Dairy Queen blizzards and carrot cake so much.

He’s the reason I feel like I need to get the last word in.

He’s the reason I’m certain that my way is, indeed, the best way.

He’s the reason that I love the ocean.

He’s the reason that my faith is so childlike.

Even when I laugh, he’s there in the echo of my voice.

Growing up, I adored him. He rode motorcycles, flew helicopters, and water-skied like a pro. I mean, what’s not to look up to? He was also cool as a cucumber in intense situations.

But, boy, you could get on his bad side. Especially if he felt like you were endangering the lives of others, those he loved.

And stubborn . . . whew, as a mule. I certainly didn’t get that from him;) He wasn’t afraid to step right into an argument. Naturally, I was the best person to step right in there with him. My poor mom!

His love for his family was fierce. I know he hated all the time he had to spend away from home, as a pilot. Or maybe he actually enjoyed getting away from mom and my sisters?! Too many hormones in one house.

If God said it in his Word, then it was true. Why else would He put it in there? That’s how he lived his life . . . with a simple faith. He led me in that faith, sitting on his lap, answering my questions, testing my heart. I will always cherish that memory.

It’s deeply humbling when your hero wraps his arms around you, tears in his throat, and tells you how proud of you he is, that you are his hero, just as you are getting ready to board that plane headed halfway around the world.

But I think he showed his greatest strength on his last leg of this earthly journey. Rarely complained, rarely questioned, despite the intense pain and overwhelming uncertainty. 12 years of tests, experiments, drugs, treatments, appointments . . . with little clue as to the root cause. Just a slow-growing cancer, a closed off bone marrow, and bones so dense they scared technicians on the regular.

One by one, he hung up his dreams . . .

cycling

flying

working

camping

riding

But not singing, not worshipping. He’d stand up there, even on days he felt miserable. He wouldn’t surrender his ability to declare the glories of his God. How he loved the Body of Christ.

And he didn’t give up going to the ocean either. He’d stumble his way down the boardwalk, through the sand, just to catch a glimpse of the horizon, feel the waves on his feet, breath in the fresh ocean air. He loved it so.

I know he was real with my mom. And on the rare occasion he would wonder out loud why he had to go through it all. But he had a deep trust in the Lord. Right up to the very end.

My dad knew well that his days were ordered and numbered from the very beginning. He trusted the Lord’s timing.

I will never forget those last few FaceTime calls with him. No one likes to see their dad sitting in a hospital bed, fighting for an illusive strength and wellness. But he was still smiling. Still giving his nurse a hard time. Still trusting through fear and uncertainty. He would do so until he no longer could . . . and the Lord called him home.

What I wouldn’t give to hug him . . . one of those awesomely tight bear hugs of his. Or hear him laugh one more time. His legacy lives on, the best and worst of him, in those who call him Dad and Pops.

My mom and sisters will probably kill me, but this seemed like one of the best ways to honor him and remember him as Father’s Day draws near.

Dad, I sure do love you. I miss you. I’m jealous of your view right now. Until we meet again.