Yesterday was Father's Day, as hopefully most of you remembered. I am hundreds of miles away from my father, but I did get to speak to him on the phone which was very nice.
At church here in Japan they made sure to recognize the holiday. All the small children in Sunday school put together little packets to present to all the fathers in the church. Every father went to the front of the church, and the eager little kids presented them each with a little gift.
It was adorable, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling at all those tiny hands placing something in the larger, more experienced ones of their daddies.
But then it struck me that the world was lacking one father that we had celebrated for the past eighty-two years. My Opa was not here on earth with us to celebrate the holiday for the first time in my life. Honestly, tears filled my eyes at the remembrance.
Something really struck me about the tiny hands and their gifts. I think that Opa looked a little like those children when he first arrived Home. I think that perhaps he felt like a small child, giving his life and his faith to his Father in Heaven. And those hands that made him, and were pierced for him, accepted the gift with love that cannot be imagined.
Opa is with the Father of all for this Father's Day. It seemed, to me, to be a very beautiful thought. Fathers are very important, and I know that personally my father has been very influential in my life. I cannot wait to go Home and meet my earthly fathers, but most of all, the Heavenly one who calls us Home to Him.
We miss you, Opa, but are rejoicing that you are safely in God's arms after a life well-lived.
(Sorry, this really had nothing to do with Japan)