I think about my dad every day. I drew strength from his love. I miss him deeply.
As a kid growing up, I didn’t need an alarm clock most mornings. I woke up to the sound of my dad, down the hallway, singing in the shower. Every morning he sang heartily, cheerfully, with zero irritation to me, this hymn:
When morning gilds the skies
My heart awaking cries
May Jesus Christ be praised
Alike at work or prayer
To Jesus I repair
May Jesus Christ be praised
Some men are hard to read. I really don’t know what they stand for. Nice guys, in their way. But nothing stands out so clearly that it compels my attention. That is a safe way to live, but unbiblical and unattractive.
I never wondered about my dad — what he cared most about, what he was absolutely living for. Never once. At all. Not even a little. He did not take a wait-and-see, keep-a-low-profile approach to life. Jesus was too wonderful to him. He praised the Lord throughout the whole of his life, public and private. Clearly. Winsomely.
A good definition of the word “Christian.” A good definition of the word “man.”
