Dad

Tough, persistent, not afraid of anything. These are the words I would use to describe my dad. That’s why I was so surprised to see him standing in my room so upset, stammering to get the words out. He had just received news that a neighbor, two houses down the street, had been shot and killed. Robbers had come into our neighbor’s store and killed him. Dad stood there telling my mom and me the tragic news. In that moment, he wasn’t the guy I thought he was. In that moment, I could see his heart.

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV)

Dad was “old school” in a lot of ways. His discipline with me was swift, and through today’s lens, it sometimes employed violence. Perhaps I was tough too; I never dwelt on it. If I did something stupid and correction was required, well, that was that. No matter what happened through those years growing up, though, I always knew he would be fair. No kidding, I knew if I approached him, he would always try to be fair-minded. He had a good heart.

I used to like lighting things up, often with gasoline. One day, I talked my neighbor buddy into grabbing a trash can to load up with trash. What’s dumber than one little boy? Two little boys. I threw the gasoline on top of the trash and lit the fire. We did this repeatedly, throwing gas onto trash. Suddenly, in a flash, everything left my control. Turns out, there was still a fire in that trash can, and it traveled up the gas stream into the metal gas can I was holding. Boom! The gas can rocketed out of my hands and was on fire. I tried to extinguish the fire that had erupted on top of the gas can itself. The plastic spout was smoldering. Dad pulled up from work into the driveway just then – of course.

Standing there, fists clenched, I was waiting for my beating. The smoke and smells persisted. He walked up the driveway, looked down at the smoldering gas can, and looked up at his garage ceiling covered in carbon soot. And… walked into the house. That was that. No beating, no discipline. I waited that evening, the next day – nothing. The beating never happened; he never even mentioned the incident. Maybe he just knew because he had been a boy once and had burned down his buddy’s garage. His buddy got that beating when his dad came home, and it left a mark on Dad. Maybe he knew when discipline was required and when it wasn’t. He had a good heart.

It was a beautiful summer day when mom and dad came to visit. We sat on the back and talked about my kids and family. He then reflected on his upbringing and his parents. Looking away he said “I just wish I had been a better son”.

No one is perfect, but a good heart seems to overcome so many of our sins and transgressions. Dad has been called home, and I know he is in heaven because he believed and had a good heart.