The Melody of My Fatherís Love
My name is Jennifer. I am in my twenties and the youngest of my parents children. It is late, well after midnight but I know there is a 99% chance weíll hear the first notes of the melody of my fatherís love as soon as I open the door.
Watch your step. Hear that? Yes, Iím talking about the snoring. Come letís go through the kitchen into the living room. Dad will be on the couch.
I could sit here all night and listen to that sound of love. Yes, Iím still talking about the snoring. See, my daddy loves me, he has always waited up for me. Heís older now and I think he falls asleep earlier but he is waiting for me nonetheless. He could have gone to bed, after all, Iíve never not come home, but he waits. Each snore is a note of the song of his life, the melody of my fatherís love.
Take a look at the book on his chest, itís written by Charles Finney. He was a great preacher of the 1800s. Every late night I come in itís either Daddyís Bible or a book from a great minister of the past. Those books are another part of the melody of Daddyís love. He reads them day and night, but, when he wasnít reading he was teaching them to me and my siblings. He taught us about faith, hope and charity from those books and most importantly from his life. He taught us to read, to seek the answers to the questions of life. He raised us to do the one thing he never wanted us to do: leave home. He prepared us the best he could.
See his shirt? It has the emblem for his favorite baseball team, another thing that tells me he loves me. How? Through sports he taught us to be competitive but to be fair, to have a passion for something but not to put it out of perspective. He loves baseball and he would take us to games, but we didnít go for the game. We went for each other. Many dads because they love winning more, donít realize it but they teach their kids that other people are not important. Through sports our dad taught us everyone has value. If someone hit home runs all the time or struck out every time up Dad would always tell us, ďDonít boo, Christ died for that guy. Or, donít cheer too loud, Christ gets the glory! Ē
Notice his fingernails. Thatís right, but they are definitely not manicured. Never have been. Iím twenty five years old and Iíve never seen him use nail clippers or a file. He bites them, just another note of the melody of his love. How so you ask? Iím sure he bit some off tonight waiting for his baby to come home. He wouldnít worry about me if he didnít love me.
Now look at one last thing. On the table next to the couch, right there by his head are his wallet and his keys. Notice how his shoes with socks are right under his wallet and keys on the floor. He didnít have his shoes on or his stuff in his pockets because he had enough faith in me and the Lord to relax, knowing I would eventually be okay. But everything is right there, he would be ready to leave within seconds if I needed him. His love is always ready for action.
This is my Dad, and the notes in the melody of his love for me will never be fully numbered.
ďDad, Dad, itís me, Jennifer. Iím home.Ē
ďOh Jennifer itís so nice to see you. I tried to stay up but . . . Ē
ďItís okay Dad I know. We both need to get our rest. We should be getting off to bed.Ē
ďDid you just get home?Ē
ďIíve been home a little while just listening to your snore.Ē
ďGood night Jennifer.Ē
ďGood night Dad. I love you.Ē
ďI love you too.Ē
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