On this, his birthday...

My dad would have been 56 today.

If things had turned out differently, we might have had a party. My mom might have cooked his favorite: prime rib. I might have unearthed my old (and very limited) cake decorating supplies to bake him a chocolate cake with chocolate icing to eat with chocolate ice cream topped with chocolate fudge. The family might have chipped in to buy him a special gift. I might have been sitting at my usual spot at the kitchen table next to him while we talked theology until well after midnight.

But things didn't turn out differently. Instead, I am having a glass of his favorite scotch (Balvenie) in honor of his memory. It was actually his bottle, come to think of it. Thanks, Dad.

In those turbulent high school years I saw my dad as my rock, my steady anchor and support in that raging sea of stereotypical teenage angst. I could tell him anything, ask him anything, and he would drop what he was doing to be what a father should be. Now he is gone, and try as I might, sometimes I can't help but feel alone. It doesn't make sense. I have a wonderful husband, a caring family, and supportive Christian friends. But that connection - that deep understanding I shared with my dad and no one else - that is gone.

A friend and mentor explained to me recently that the Lord sometimes takes our idols away from us. Perhaps that is what God has done here for me. Now my dad is with Jesus, and my heart and mind are more frequently drawn to Him than they ever were.

That is, I believe, what my dad would want. The cross was his life. He constantly pointed others to Christ. In his death, I am reminded that the Gospel gives life. My dad is forgiven, and so am I. When the Lord calls me home, what a happy reunion it will be.

Here's to you, Dad.