Since watching it sail off into the sunset just a few hours ago, it seemed obvious that I would write about our ship tonight.
About the amazing people that are on their way to Papua New Guinea to give their very lives to others. About the ones that waved them off from the shore who have spent long hours preparing, assembling, building, welding, painting, cleaning, praying. About the many people that have rallied, given themselves, invested their time, emptied their wallets.
I was going to write about the people waiting on the other side of the journey. The ones who have hope rising because of the heart and help that the ship brings and represents.
And these are worthy things to write about. (I will.)
But then I realized that today is my dad’s birthday.
And maybe no one else in the blogosphere cares about reading a wee post from a girl about her dad… but I care about writing, about giving him space.
I have so many memories of my dad growing up. I kid you not, they are all happy.
He was just that good of a dad.
But you know what I always remember when I think back to him during our “little” years?
And softball in the park and soccer in the yard.
Whatever was my current whim, there he was right alongside me, helping me to learn, helping me get better,
but mostly… just having fun with me.
What a great dad. Dependable, available, approachable, relatable.
Always giving, always fun, always involved (in the best possible way).
Sixty years of being the best dad (and now granddad) I could ever imagine having.
Love him with my whole heart, I do.
Q for you: How do you remember your growing-up years with your dad?
Click Clink Five | Five minutes a day, unedited.