Father's Day 2011 - Jesus, Joy, and All That Jazz

Today was father's day - my first without my dad here to celebrate with.  I wasn't sure how today was goinna be.  I was very hesitant given that his birthday (just 3 days ago) did not go well at all.  But I knew I had some powerful prayer warriors on my side throughout the day and I could really feel the strength that rose up from them.  While contemplating exactly how I wanted to approach this day, I arrived at the decision that I did not want it to be a sorrowful day.  There are far too many great things about my dad that still live on today that should be recognized and celebrated.  Instead, I rifled through my t-shirt drawer and pulled out one of the dearest and most beloved memories that my dad left behind . . . "Jesus, Joy, and All That Jazz".  This was a t-shirt he wore as a kid.  I stole it from him when I was in high school and I am SO glad that I never returned it - if for no other reason than to be able to wear it today.  I instantly knew that this was one way I wanted to publicly recognize my dad on his special day.  Not only did I get to share the story behind the t-shirt with those I came into contact with today, but just feeling it on me made me feel like he was right there with me.  Additionally, "Jesus, Joy, and All That Jazz" was also the legacy that he left behind.  I would dare say that outside of his family, these were the 3 MOST important components of life to him.  He lived each day joyfully serving the Lord and his family while using the gifts of music he was given to teach and inspire others.  What a fulfilling legacy to dwell on each and every day. 

I also spent a lot of time today thinking about the most valuable fatherly advice he ever gave me.  This was tough as I felt like his whole was one big lesson that I was meant to glean from.  But ultimately, it was the following phrase that I kept coming back to . . . "you live and die by your choices."  Truer words have never been spoken. 

And lastly, as a collector of the fabulous Willow Tree statues/ornaments, I felt like today was an appropriate day to add to that collection.  Each piece of the collection has been purchased for specific reasons - life change (marriage, children, etc.), celebration of friendship, or characteristics others have pinpointed in me - that have made up this collection to date.  So I wanted to purchase a statue in honor of my dad on this memorable day to add to the growing collection that is a summation of my life and everything that matters most to me.  Here is what I chose:

My Girls

Looking at you, I see wonder, joy, strength

This piece was directed by the models. The poses that the girls naturally assumed showed their relationship with their dad much better than I could have instructed them. Their father was the anchor—the girls fluttered around him. I got a sense of how the girls saw him as strong and reassuring. They looked at him with a “my dad can do anything” look. The dad was clearly having fun being with his daughters. I wanted to make this a two-way piece—the girls look to his strength and stability, and he looks to them as his greatest source of joy. I think the beauty of a good father/daughter relationship is in its duality. I hope the sentiment can be read from either perspective —father to daughters, or daughter to father.

Unfortunately I could not find a representation of 3 daughters (boo), but I thought that this piece summed us all up so well.  While only 2 daughters are shown, there are 3 very strong characteristics listed, and I believe each of us embody those qualities individually . . . something we undoubtedly learned from our father.

Today

Today . . .
we should be celebrating 53 years of your life,
eating ice cream cake and blowing out your candles . . .

Today . . .
you should be the first person I talk to;
I should be be able to wrap my arms around you and settle into the joy that you bring . . .

Today. June 16th. Today is your birthday.

Today I think back on birthday's past.  Celebrations in the backyard by the pool, at our timeshare at the beach, even our annual birthday lunches at the Kanki restaurant.  So many happy memories to choose from.  But the fondest memory I keep coming back to was during our family vacation in 2001 at Daytona Beach.  I remember the gift I gave to you.  It was a brown leather-bound scrapbook filled with my favorite photos of you and I together.  I remember slaving away at each photo meticulously editing them all to ensure that they were "just right".  Each in its neutral shades of sepia matching the overall rustic yet classic profile of this beloved gift.  I remember the butterflies I felt during the moments leading up to presenting you with this gift.  I remember thinking that it wasn't anything fancy, certainly nothing of any monetary value . . . yet this gift had more value (to me) than anything I could have every bought you from a store.  This gift was a labor of love.  One that I was proud of.  One that I hoped you would love as much as me.  And you did . . . you really did.

I remember seeing it months later laying beside your bed on the floor. I have no idea what it was doing there but I like to believe it was there because you looked at it often and wanted to keep it close by.  Maybe it helped you feel close to me since I was away at college at the time.  Maybe it gave you peace each night before you fell asleep because it reassured you that were in fact a great father to your children and were loved dearly for it.

As much as I wish you were here to celebrate your birthday together again, I know that you are celebrating in an entirely new way in heaven today.  And if you can't be with your girls here on this earth, you can at least be in the company of angels up there. 

So . . .

Today . . .
you are deeply missed;
but are in our fondest memories . . .

Today . . .
you are smiling your biggest smile;
you are youthful and sprightly and happy once again . . .

Today . . .
instead of feeling the effects of earthly aging,
you are made whole in the presence of our Creator . . .

Today is your birthday.  Happy Birthday to you, dad.