A letter from a father's heart.

My sweet baby girl,

I hope you are reading this on a beach somewhere as the sand holds your feet in it's grip and you feel the sea wash away the day's work and worries. I hope tears fill your eyes as you hear my voice whisper these words into your ear and you look up to see my smile in the setting sun as it paints you with it's fading glory.

You see, I saw you today for the first time. Your black and white "nest" on the monitor in front of me made you seem close yet a million miles away. As your mommy lay on that bed, hope for your future filled my heart. I knew you weren't just a picture but a somebody and not just a somebody but my daughter. You always will be. I will always be your daddy.

I will be the happiest man to hand you over to the man who will one day hand you over to our creator as you pass from this life to the next. I hope I am a good dad. My fulfillment will never be in you telling me so, but seeing some of my attributes in you shine through. It will be more than trophies or plaques on the wall for you to come in and say, "Daddy, will you dance with me?"

I write this letter with one purpose: To tell you that God exists. Even more than Him existing, He loves you. Look up for a second and watch the sun set into the sea. He did that because He loves you. The picture He is panting now is telling you a story. A story of old, that man rebelled against Him and separated man and God. God solved this separation by sending His son, Jesus into the world. Jesus died on a sinner's cross and beat death three days later. This is the reason for my letter.

God the Father loves you more than I ever could. He is singing a song over you as you read this now. Whether I am here with you or if I've passed on I want you to know, I love you. If your life was asked of you, I would beg to lay my life down in your place. If you were lost, I would search the deepest sea. If you were cold, I would wrap the summer around you. If you were lonely, I would sit by you and breathe. I love you my sweet princess.

From the heart of your father...

"I dont know what to tell them..."

That's what my dad said about 3 weeks ago. We had a pretty important conversation about the Gospel on the phone. A conversation that I will hold dear to my heart for years to come. I was telling him about my passion to preach and teach the gospel. He was not impressed but encouraged.

I'll let you in on a little bit of our conversation.

"It's all I think about." I breathe and it makes me think about the gospel."

"That's good, son." "I'm excited for you." It's the only story worth telling."

PAUSE

"Sometimes I think...what else can I say?" What else can I tell them?" " I teach and preach and try to make it as easy to understand for them but they continue to live their lives with such mediocrity." "Like Jesus never opened the mouth of the grave."

"Wow. I wish I knew how to counsel you or encourage you."

"I don't expect you to." "I expect you to preach." "Until cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without people, and the land is a desolate waste." (Isaiah 6) "Preach even when no one listens..."

This confirms everything I've experienced in the last year. I am going to take up the cross my dad carried and hope my sons do the same.

Our conversation was over as quickly as it started. It usually ends with questions about my family and how work is going. Not this time. It ended with two simple phrases.

"I just don't know what to say." "I don't know what to tell them..."

The old days

This is a picture of my Dad. I am proud to be his son. I NEVER thought I would say that. I just felt like he never understood me. Now, I know he does. He did all the while. I think I've been thinking about him a lot lately (see last post) because, as terrible as this sounds, I think his time here with us is slowly fading. I know none of us know the time of our passing from glory to glory but he talks about it a lot, so I'm ok with it. Maybe this is a way for me to cope for after he leaves. The thing that gives me hope is that I will see him again. I will get to worship with him. I will enjoy Jesus with him, forever.

I think back to when I was a kid and remember when my dad would hold me and rock me to sleep in an old wooden rocking chair that sat in our living room. He would pat my back and sing an old spanish lullaby that I sing to my boys to this very day. I remember that when I was scared or couldn't sleep, he would grab his old, withered Bible, sit next to my bed and read from the Psalms and comb my hair with his fingers until I fell asleep. I remember the times he would take us on dates, my sister and I. He would ask about school, friends and share wisdom, whether we wanted to hear it or not.

I miss these days. I know my Dad is still alive but this is what I want for my children. I can honestly say, I will never be like my Dad. I will try, but success will be out of reach. He loves my Mom. I think, if his life was asked in place of hers, he would gladly lay it down. I only hope I can fill his proverbial shoes one day.

The thing I will miss most about him is his preaching. This, I hold dear to my heart. Outside of the Bible, my dad is my spiritual hero. He led me to Jesus. He taught me about Jesus and he knows and loves me like no other man could. This post echos my last, that my parents were godly, holy examples and I would not want it any other way. The fights we had, times of trial and silence are places I look back to and think of their patience with me and the hope they had in a gospel that would change me one day.

I love my Dad. I want to mirror him in every way. In that mirror, I see Jesus, one who understands, feels what I feel, has seen the world through my eyes and loves me, despite who I am. When I stand before Jesus, I am going to thank Him for giving me my Dad. Then, my Dad and I will step aside and make way for the King...

The hopes and fears of father preacher

I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. His hands shake and he is now slouching a bit in his old age. His memory is fleeing him but his head is adorned with wisdom and grey hair. If you didn't know, my dad is a preacher. I would have never, ever expected to think that I would follow in his footsteps. In fact, I remember thinking how I never wanted to go into ministry. Not just because of the beat downs my dad received but it just didn't interest me in the least. I would watch my dad preach on Sundays and at times I would be filled with hope and on other, with much conviction over sin. On some Sundays, his sermons filled me with much fear and trembling as he would talk about hell and what awaited for those who were not in relationship with Jesus.

My dad never exchanged truth to make anyone feel good. He had a graceful way of telling you that he cared through his harsh and horrifically true analogies. I remember in one particular instance, my dad was preaching a "revival" at a church in the Dallas area. The church was full and the majority were people who only came to big events. My dad came out of a meeting with the Pastor and some of the deacons ready to preach. Something was different about his "readiness". There was a fire in his eye and passion in his words as he challenged and charged the church with the truth of Revelation 2. He warned them of losing their Pastor because they had lost their first love (Jesus). People wept and flooded the alter that night. They embraced their Pastor after that day. My dad did not walk on egg shells that night. He smashed any proverbial ice in the room with a warning: "Jesus will come and close these doors. For He is the one who starts churches and He is the one who closes them!".

I would over hear my parents talk at night after my sister and I went to bed. I would creep to the edge of their room and sit and listen awhile. They would unpack the day, talk about their love for us and the love for the ministry. My dad would share stories about people in the church who would come and try to start fights or ask questions about the sermon on Sundays and he never seemed to bat an eye. It was part of his calling. His hopes and fears for the flock he was shepherding were of great joy to him and my mom. He saw that people were growing, asking questions, being offended by the truth of God's word, and that excited him.

I am writing this filled with 2 great hopes. One being that God chose me and called me into salvation and into the ministry. The second being that my parents loved me so much that they never did give up on me. They saw through all the pain and misery I brought as a child and teenager knowing that God would use me as His own one day. I don't think my dad ever expected me to follow in his footsteps, he just wanted to see me in heaven one day. I knew that he prayed for me. I would hear him late at night or early mornings in the living room laboring in prayer for my sister and me and the people of the church. At times you would hear him weeping over the lost of the city. My dad cared. He cared more than I ever could. He still cares. He cares for people.

I want to be like my dad. My heart is slowly changing into the heart of a Pastor. I want to Pastor people. Struggle with people. Show people folly and weep with them as they repent of sin. My dad's ministry might never be noticed by anyone "important". I don't think he cares about that. My dad didn't give his life to a call of being noticed. He gave his life to a murdered and resurrected savior. One that loved him so much that he laid down his life for him. This fills me with much hope that I may one day be like my dad. Giving my life to a purpose that might not get me noticed on earth, but that I may receive a crown in heaven.

I long for the day when we join the hosts of heaven and the myriads of angels and cry out to the lamb that was slain. As our eyes see the King, God almighty seated on His throne. I long for the day that He will call the faithful forward and they will lay down their crowns at His feet and worship Him. I know I will see my dad in that crowd. As Jesus takes my dad's face in his nail-scarred hands, looks deep into his eyes and says, "You did great. Welcome home.".

Christ crucified, Christ glorified,

- rg