My dad

If you knew my dad, you knew his strengths: builder, fixer, doer.

Today would have been my dad's 70th birthday. This is our first Christmas without him. I have been debating whether or not to post a new blog in honor of my dad, considering I did write something 6 months ago, when he passed away and I didn't want to re-hash or over-mourn, or focus on things that I shouldn't focus on today, but I have memories of my dad that I just thought important to share-to give you a more personal glimpse of my dad, maybe you'll learn something about him you didn't know. My dad would throw a fit if he knew about all the attention he still gets, but I would argue that the honor bestowed on him just feels right to me, to all of us. We, or I, need to shareabout my dad. This makes the "growing through the rain" process easier for me.

Let's begin with a few random facts about my dad:

1) He was my Grandma Mary's first born. She gave birth to him at home, in Costa Mesa.
2) When he was 11, he made a Nativity scene out of wood-one of his first wood-working projects. My Grandma still has it-it's beautiful.
3) When he was in high school, He sang in choir and performed in the musical "The Pirates of Penzance." He even wore tights.

Now something more personal that I've been wanting to share. He was-well, for lack of a better way of describing him-a manly man. He learned to be tender-hearted, but he was tough. Don't get me wrong, all of four of us kids agree he was a great and wonderful dad, but he was a tough dad. I am his oldest child. This manly man would pick me up when I would fall or scrape my knee. He'd tell me to wipe my tears, brush it off and get back to whatever I was doing. He taught me to be tough and strong, just like him.

Fast forward many years and I was raising my own little girl. We had a family gathering at my folks home. My daughter, Jennifer, had fallen, or something like that, and began crying. I immediately patted her, told her to brush it off, and walked away. My dad went to her, picked her up, placed her in his lap and let her cry. Oh, my anger just blew! I let it out on my dad: "What are you doing! You never let me cry when I was little! You told me to be tough and get over it! Stop!"He waited a minute, put Jennifer down, walked over to me, hugged me and said: "You're right Paula, I did raise you to be tough, but you know what, I was wrong, and I'm sorry." I cried, of course, and he held me. That was the first of many times throughout the years that he held me as I cried.

This experience was one of those privileged moments I had of watching God work on my dad's heart. I even remember when Dad accepted Christ. He was still a doer, but he built, fixed, and did things for a different reason than before. Christmas was, I think, his favorite time of year. We celebrated his birthday with cake, and extra presents, as he'd admonish us for taking the time to do so, because we should be only celebrating Jesus' birth. But then he would always make sure we would remember to hug and kiss him and wish him Happy Birthday. He loved his family, but more importantly, He loved Jesus. Serving Jesus, and sharing God's love was the most important, single priority in his life.

So, in this time of remembering my dad, and the life we had with him, also remember that it was because of Jesus' birth, death and resurrection and the impact it had on my dad's life, and the impact it should have on all of our lives. Build, fix, do.

Do.