A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

by Joanie Butman

One of the things I like about our summer community is that it is a neighborhood. Having grown up in Brooklyn where most homes were attached on at least one side and then apartment living for a decade in New York City, the close proximity of our neighbors is familiar, comfortable and preferable to the isolation of suburban living. When we first moved to Connecticut, my children and I drove around looking for people wondering where everyone was. It was like there was a party to which we weren’t invited. Sixteen years later there are still people on my street I’ve never even seen! We never did figure out where they all were except on Thursday mornings – Community Bible Study. It was there that I found women who were the epitome of good neighbors, proving how neighborly suburbia can be despite the distance between our houses.

My daughter is living and working in our Massachusetts neighborhood this summer while my husband and I commute. There was a tornado warning recently while we were both in Connecticut. I tried calling and texting Hannah to no avail. When she finally surfaced, she told me our next door neighbor had come over to warn her. Upon my return, I thanked him for watching out for her. He simply replied, “It’s what we do here. We look out for each other.” I guess I will now have to forgive him for introducing me to his children as Mrs. Butts – a name I will be stuck with forever!

He explained that when he was my daughter’s age, he too spent time alone here. That was before computers and cell phones, and teenagers seldom watch the news. There was a hurricane approaching to which he was oblivious. A neighbor came to warn him. He explained that he was merely extending the same kindness to my daughter. It’s amazing how affected people are by small gestures of kindness. They remember. Kindness begets kindness. Here is an excellent example.

The elderly friend I mentioned last week shared a story from his youth about how enduring and how far goodwill can travel. At the age of 13 he was working in a sweatshop in Belfast. He had 12 siblings. As he described, “We always had enough to eat, just nothing fancy - no little niceties.” There was a woman who also worked there that took him under her wing. She would bake Irish raisin bread that Mr. C. said he would dream about and still does on occasion. In fact, his zen-like description was so vivid I could almost taste it myself. He told me he never forgot her benevolence (or her raisin bread) and that she taught him the importance of choosing to reach out to others in kindness.

Fast forward a couple of decades and Mr. C is now living in the United States playing on a club soccer team. One of his teammates told him about a newly-ordained priest from ‘the old country’ who had just been assigned to Ferndale Seminary in the next town. This young cleric was suffering from a bout of homesickness. Norwalk had a tightknit Irish community at the time, and Mr. C was as he describes, “the frontman for Irish immigrants.” He’d help them get jobs and settle into the community. The Irish connection must have been strong because when Mr. C heard about what he refered to as a ‘landsman’ in distress, he took it upon himself to walk (he didn’t own a car) the six miles to bring a little comfort to this man – a taste of home in the form of a loaf of Irish raisin bread. That priest turned out to be the son of Mr. C’s motherly co-worker at the factory in Belfast all those years ago. 

We all have the ability to choose to perform acts of kindness expressing a similar generosity of spirit in whatever neighborhood we find ourselves. It isn’t confined by boundaries or circumstances - especially today when we can connect with neighbors across the globe just as easily as those across the street. The world is now our neighborhood.

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The best part is that you don’t have to be particularly gifted to have a positive impact on whatever neighborhood you find yourself in. It could be something as small as a smile. St. Francis once said, “A kind face is a precious gift.” I think of his words often as I pass the smiley faces someone has nailed to a number of trees in our town. They started appearing shortly after the hurricane last Fall, and their source remains a mystery. Some might think it an insignificant or even silly exercise, but those images are a constant reminder of the power a simple smile holds. Choosing to greet others with a smile is a community service we are all capable of regardless of age or infirmity.

It is not surprising that the basic tenet of all major world religions is The Golden Rule, which states “Love your neighbor as yourself.” It is the one commonality on which everyone can agree – and it is mutually beneficial. You’ll never see a war fought over that belief. Kindness, love and compassion transcend any border including religious ones. 

Mr. Rogers greeted audiences for 33 years with his theme song, Won't You Be My Neighbor? He made a career out of teaching children what it means to be a good neighbor. He explored many themes, but kindness was one of his most important. His books are full of wisdom and insight for people of any age, but I never figured out what was up with the sweaters. He always had such a hard time with the zipper, you'd think he'd switch to buttons. Funny that I married a man who is known for his vast collection of sweaters and is one of the kindest people I know. Perhaps I related to Mr. Rogers more than I realized.

I am reading a gem of a book that one of my readers brought to my attention recently, You are God’s Gift to the World. In it I discovered an excellent challenge I will pass along to you. “If nothing else, just do something positive every day, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you. It will not be wasted.” The author goes on to comment that while some of those positive actions will be great, most “will be done in much smaller ways, ways that knit us together as a human family through very basic acts of love and caring.” I truly believe choosing to perform small acts of kindness can make everyday a beautiful day in any neighborhood. 

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*You Are God's Gift to the World, Louis M. Savary and Patricia H. Berne, Pg. 8.

This is the Life!

by Joanie Butman

Played hooky last week while I was off learning how to live. That quote adorns the refrigerator at our beach cottage because it is the attitude I’d like any visitor to embrace. My only criticism is that there is no such thing as a useless afternoon. Choosing to relax is as integral to a balanced, healthy life as choosing any fitness or nutritional regiment – and much more fun. That’s what summer is all about. I just spent five glorious days surrounded by family, playing on the beach, eating lobster and blueberry pie, chatting on the porch, drinking wine, and playing games. My six-year-old nephew astutely commented as we floated around in the ocean on water pillows (more commonly known as tubes), “This is the life.” The next day found us in the exact same position so he followed up with, “This is paradise. I could do this all day.” So we did. During a heat wave, the ocean is the only place to be – even with its bone-chilling temperatures.

My son, Doug, was using the same five days to work on his college essay. I wasn’t hearing “This is the life” from him. In fact, I’m pretty confident that wasn’t what he was mumbling to me any time I asked how it was going. The common application questions had been released a couple of weeks before, and he‘d been struggling with a topic. It is an excellent exercise for anyone because it is an opportunity for reflection and in my son’s case, digging deep to transform a Saltine into a Dorito (at least on paper). Not an easy feat. Yes, we all have something to offer but trying to convey the essence of oneself in 650 words or less is another thing altogether. Try it.

Doug’s most valuable asset doesn’t necessarily translate well into print, and it won't be reflected in any test scores. He and my husband are the happiest, most content people I know, but those attributes aren’t easily described or understood. John Lennon once said, “When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.” Well said. I wonder if he even went to college.

Most of the prompts offered seemed too touchy, feely for a teenage boy unaccustomed to discussing anything more profound than sports and food. But one of them screamed his name – at least to me. “Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content.” Bingo! I thought it would be an excellent subject given his easygoing nature. After much angst and laborious efforts on his part, he shared that ‘contentment isn’t a place, it’s in my head. It’s being happy with who you are not where you are.’ And that is his reality. He came out of the womb like that. I wish I could bottle whatever he has, because a lot of people in this world could use a healthy dose of it – myself included. Even so, in print it’s easy to misinterpret contentment as complacency, but it is anything but.

Doug’s quandary was “How do I describe an attitude?” You can’t. People who are naturally content don’t tend to work at it or even consider it for that matter. I know I’m not supposed to covet, but surely this has to be an exception. Who wouldn’t want to be perfectly content? Content people simply don’t overthink things. Maybe that’s their secret. They just have a natural inclination to recognize good in any situation. Being discontent doesn’t even occur to them unless, of course, you are a teenage boy being forced to write an essay over Fourth of July weekend. Under ordinary circumstances, it is difficult for them to write about being content because they’ve never experienced discontent. Here’s an example.

I was visiting a friend in the hospital this week. He, too, shares the gift of contentment. He is in his late eighties and in failing health. He was my children’s soccer coach for years. Despite his many illnesses, he is one of the happiest people I know. He always has been. During our visit he regaled me with stories of his life and all the kindnesses people shared with him. Then he told me about the nurses he’s met in the hospital and rehab facility and how badly a couple of them needed his prayers. He said, “It’s lucky I’m here or else they wouldn’t have anyone to pray for them.” If you looked at his situation, lucky would not be the word that comes to mind. He went on to tell me that his ailments also gave him the opportunity to tutor the newly-appointed, young chaplain at the hospital on how to minister to the elderly. “TALK LOUD AND CLEAR. If they can’t hear you, you can’t help them. And for goodness sake, throw in a few jokes!”

We aren’t all fortunate to be born with a natural tendency towards contentment like my son or Mr. C. Humans seem to find complaining so much more tempting. Some even elevate it to a sport. And it’s contagious – in a bad way, like a disease. Have you ever noticed that when you are surrounded by complainers, it is hard to resist joining in? It becomes a competition – known in some circles as “The Crying Game.” A who-can-top-this reality show. Negativity breeds negativity. It is a virus of the soul with only one cure.

You see, the opposite is also true. If you have a positive attitude, people tend to respond in kind. We choose what kind of energy we want to project into the world. As Chuck Swindoll notes, “The remarkable thing is, we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day." Or even that minute because that is as far as my concentration goes. But if you take care of the minutes, the hours (and days) will take care of themselves.

Trust me, I do my own share of kvetching, and I certainly felt convicted after my afternoon with Mr. C. I have three exercises I’ve chosen to adopt (to varying degrees of success) in an effort to combat my natural tendency towards complaining.

1. Choose to avoid chronic complainers; or if that is impossible, keep exposure to limited doses.

2. Choose to change the complaint into a prayer of gratitude.

It is easier than you think. A simple example:

I dislike being in the car all summer driving back and forth every few days between Connecticut and Massachusetts to accommodate everyone's schedules. I hear myself expressing this aversion way too often. What a brat, right? Here’s my solution. Change the complaint to:

a. Thank you that I am blessed to have two beautiful homes to share with family and friends.

b. Thank you for the four-hour ride to enjoy long, uninterrupted conversations with you.

c. Thank you for a generous, loving husband who is willing to do this much more often than me without complaint in order to provide his family a lifetime of wonderful summers at the beach while he is working.

3. Choose to control your thoughts as they creep in.

I made a scripture card with the following verse on it, “Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me – put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. (Phil 4:8)” Yes, I put it on a picture of a place that I enjoy but the peace I feel there remains with me wherever I go.

I keep that scripture card everywhere (especially in the car) so when I am tempted to veer into the “this stinks” lane while sitting in traffic, I can choose to readjust my attitude. I'd be happy to send you one if you want because I didn't just make one. I made hundreds. It works (not always but often enough) because it is longer than my usual ten-word word maximum for memory verses. I’ve never been able to recite it without my cheat sheet, and you can’t have negative thoughts while you are concentrating on positive ones. There are times it has to be recited many, many times but eventually, the negative thoughts begin to dissipate.

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Sure, it’s effortless to be content floating around the ocean without anything more pressing on my mind other than figuring out my next meal or what time my nephew’s magic show begins. The secret to a happy life is learning how to hold onto that contentment amidst the ups and downs of life. Everyone has to develop their own methods for achieving this state of being, but faith is at the center of mine whether I am practicing yoga, sitting by Mr. C's hospital bed or sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Even if most of us haven’t been blessed with the contentment gene, we can choose to develop it.

I will close with the words from probably the best example of someone who wasn’t born with contentment but spent a lifetime achieving it. “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength. (Phil 4:11-13)”

I hope that someday, I will be worthy of using his words as my epitaph. He’s my hero; his name is Paul.

God's Gift

by Joanie Butman

Someone wrote to me this week about a book called You are God’s Gift to the World. I have never read it, but ordered it immediately. Why? Because the title brought back a vivid memory that has haunted me since middle school: my name with this opinion beneath it, “She thinks she’s God’s gift to the world!” Before you are tempted to agree, read on.

We've all heard or used that phrase, and it is NEVER complimentary. You could find it and worse in our middle school Slam Book. For the uninitiated, a Slam Book is simply an innocuous composition book (had to be so nuns wouldn’t take notice) with a page designated for each person unfortunate enough to be included in it. The book would get passed around and girls would anonymously post comments about you on your page. These remarks varied from the occasional compliment to passive aggressive observations to veiled insults thinly disguised as constructive criticism to outright vicious critiques of your character, clothing, makeup, hair, family, etc. Nothing was spared. I’ve never fully recovered from that experience, and I’m sure I’m not alone. Adolescent females are brutal, and some never outgrow it.

My youthful assurance that promoted this criticism couldn’t have been conceit because I had nothing to be conceited about. I was overweight and in that awkward stage that few go through gracefully. I wasn’t athletic or musically inclined, yet I tried out for every team and every play. Never made any of them, but oddly that never deterred me. When I couldn’t find a niche, I created one with my friends. By producing and directing our own plays, we could give ourselves any role we wanted. We put on shows for the school — mostly comedies with the exception of the passion play which, though serious, had more than one comedic moment like when my best friend (Christ of course) fell carrying the cross whose weight we grossly underestimated. It fell on top of her, and she couldn’t get back up. I suppose it made it all the more realistic when Simon had to come to her aid. My role as Judas could have been a foreshadowing of my subsequent rebellion. Luckily, I was able to eventually grab onto something that eluded Judas – forgiveness and redemption.

Our sophomoric comedies were hilarious – or so we thought. When I moved to Connecticut I met someone with whom I attended grammar school. One of the first things she said was, “You used to put on the stupidest plays.” Hopefully, my sense of humor has evolved over the years but not according to my children.

When my daughter was going through her own middle school angst, she asked me if I was one of the ‘cool’ kids when I was her age. At a loss for an honest answer, I emailed my childhood friend and posed the same question. Her answer typifies our group’s mentality and probably the attitude that prompted that comment under my name. She responded, “No, but we thought we were and that’s all that mattered.” No wonder we’re still friends 45+ years later!

I can’t remember any of the other comments written in that Slam Book EXCEPT the one that claimed, “she thinks she’s God’s gift to the world!” Thus began a lifetime of working to convince myself I wasn’t because apparently that belief was not a good one, and I bought into that lie. Maybe it was because my Catholic education taught me to perceive that attitude as the dreaded pride – one of the seven deadly sins. Just one of the many one-way tickets to hell the nuns threatened us with to keep us in line. I had accumulated so many one-way tickets by this time for minor transgressions like passing notes, talking during a fire drill, the length of my uniform or occasionally eating meat on Friday that I’m sure the sisters thought Judas was the perfect role for me.

I’ll never know who wrote that remark, but by accusing me of pride she unwittingly planted its seed because a person with an inferiority complex is just as painfully self-aware as one with a superiority complex. Self-aggrandizing and self-loathing are both forms of pride. It doesn’t matter if you are looking at yourself in a flattering way or a critical one, your focus is still on you. What I didn’t fully grasp until much later in life is that “True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.” (C.S. Lewis) At the time, however, in a misguided effort to correct my perceived fault, I became overly self-critical. I ended up thinking about myself more instead of less, and every action was measured by that original assessment. In my attempt to achieve humility, I lost it. Tim Keller calls humility a shy virtue because he explains it is not something you can work on. It is a byproduct of something else; namely, service to others. If you are thinking of someone else, you can’t be thinking about yourself. Your attention is focused elsewhere.

Coincidentally, when I received the email that prompted my memory I was in the middle of writing this week’s blog about identifying and using your gifts and talents. You’d be surprised how many people say they don’t have any. The essay was (and this is no lie) about learning to recognize yourself as God’s gift to the world. The title remains God’s Gift. You see, that comment is EXACTLY what God wants us to embrace. That was the real tragedy. I chose to allow that unkind comment to convince me otherwise. It took something I instinctively knew in my youth and turned it into something negative. We were made in His image to reflect His glory and goodness to the world. When you truly grasp how precious you are in his eyes, you don’t need anyone else’s approval. Oh, how I wished the nuns had drummed THAT into my head and my soul instead of memorizing the seven deadly sins.

God gives each of us a certain set of abilities, not to be kept to ourselves but to share with others in the unique ways He creates just for us. Appreciating those gifts and talents isn’t conceit; it is a form of worship. We are his hands and feet here on earth, and as such He has given us the awesome privilege of co-creators by using the gifts He’s given us to serve others, to have a positive impact, to reflect His image. When you are using those gifts you aren’t thinking of yourself, you are lost in the joy of the process. You are in communion with the Divine.

I will give you an example. My friend described an exercise her church was conducting an exercise called the Talent Adventure based on Jesus’ Parable of the Talents. The congregation was encouraged to accept a small amount of money passed out in envelopes along with the challenge to use their gifts, talents and imagination to multiply the amount given. The proceeds are then to be used for a number of the church’s outreach programs. Ruth is a gifted painter. While she was considering how to apply her talent, I called her to commission a watercolor for a friend. She used the money she received in her envelope to purchase the canvas and supplies to apply her magic to the task at hand. The fee I paid enabled her to multiply the money she received in her envelope. The night before I presented my friend her unexpected gift, one word woke me up in the middle of the night. I realized I was being given the title for the painting. When my friend opened her sussie,* she was moved to tears because Ruth had captured something in her art that my friend had been at a loss to describe. God used Ruth’s talent to speak to my friend. His message was simply, “Remember.”

Your gifts and talents don’t have to be grandiose to make a difference. We all have something to offer. Ruth Tucker (not Ruth the artist) describes the quickest way to improve your self-image: “I feel best about myself when I have selflessly reached out to someone in need and given with no thought of reward – or of self. It is only when my self is submerged that God’s image begins to shine forth. Then I have a healthy self-image that truly reflects God’s image.”

Sadly, my producing and directing tenure didn’t extend beyond eigth grade, but I can still choose the roles I take on in life. I can also choose to use my gift and talents to glorify myself or God. Therein lies the difference between pride and humility. By the way, He’s an excellent director but only when we choose to ask for His guidance.

So, 40+ years later my answer to that snarky comment about me thinking I am God’s gift to the world is this, “Aren’t we all?”

*A sussie is an unexpected gift given for no real reason other than it's relevance to the intended recipient.

 My favorite song and daily prayer. [button url="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVUg85l-254" target="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVUg85l-254" size="small" style="tealgrey" ]Play Empty Me[/button]

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane…No, It’s Ridiculous!

by Joanie Butman

Last Sunday, I read with interest a number of articles regarding the recently released movie, Man of Steel. Intrigued by Warner Bros.’ promotional strategy of marketing it to Christians as the story of Christ, I was coaxed into the theatre, which is exactly what they are banking on I’m sure. Well, after sitting through more explosions than I’ve seen in a lifetime, I had to laugh about how easily I succumbed to Hollywood’s bait.

Literature and the arts have been retelling the story of Christ forever. This art form is nothing new. It is a valuable tool for conveying His story to audiences of all ages and backgrounds. C.S. Lewis and J.R. Tolkien made their reputations doing just that. That said, Superman could hardly be considered in the same genre. Sure, there are some glaring biblical references and metaphors obviously used to appeal to a Christian audience, but Superman as an allegory to Jesus is laughable – especially in light of the massive amount of collateral damage he creates in his quest for “truth, justice and the American way.” That might be the American way, but it’s certainly not Christ’s. Why not include Popeye whose mantra, “I am what I am,” is pretty darn close to how God introduces himself to Moses, “I am who I am.”

Despite my cynicism, there are plenty of Christian themes to explore in the movie within a children’s ministry. I would have seized any opportunity to engage youngsters when I was teaching religious education to my son’s first and second grade class. Passing it off to the general public as the story of Christ, though, is ridiculous. Distributing sermon notes and providing free previews for pastors is just a marketing ploy to tap into an audience notoriously critical of the content and quality of Hollywood’s efforts.

The underlying story of Superman has always been wholesome in its message. Historically, it’s been a classic story of good vs. evil – a saga that began in the Garden of Eden and will continue until Christ comes again. In this version, however, the good vs. evil theme gets a little grey – at least to me. In most contemporary superhero sagas, the protagonist and antagonist share equally impressive powers. However, the difference between them is typically pride, which ultimately leads to the villain’s destruction. It’s a simple formula. Superheroes use their powers to benefit others. Villains use their powers to glorify themselves.

Man of Steel’s General Zod isn’t so different from Superman. He is willing to sacrifice everything to save his race and way of life. His efforts begin with his failed coup on Krypton to rescue the planet from an irresponsible government who has depleted their natural resources thereby causing instability in the planet’s core leading to its imminent destruction. (Global warming parallel?) Zod spends his life committed to the task for which he was designed  –  to protect his people at any cost. His motives aren’t personal gain or glory. He believes his cause of preserving his race is a noble one. It is the sole purpose for which he was created – literally. There is no free will or natural births on Krypton. Superman is doing the same thing, except humans are now his people. He is willing to sacrifice the remnant of his biological race to protect his adopted one. Wars have been fought since the beginning of time over grey areas such as these, with both sides believing their cause is greater and nobler than their opponent’s. In reality, it isn’t always easy identifying exactly who is the enemy. I suppose it depends on where you’re standing.

On a more personal level, I’d say we’ve all been given unique abilities, which can be used for the benefit of others or for selfish pursuits. Life is a journey where we are constantly discovering and developing our gifts and talents. Among the many important lessons Kevin Costner’s character imparts to his son, Clark, is this: “I have to believe that you were sent here for a reason. And even if it takes the rest of your life, you owe it to yourself to find out what that reason is.” Isn’t that true for all of us? Rick Warren has devoted his life to helping people answer that question through his Purpose Driven Life ministries.

Furthermore, determining what kind of man (or woman) you want to become is something we all need to decide, and it will be no less life-defining than Superman’s. Costner sums up this point beautifully, “One day, you’re going to have to make a choice. You have to decide what kind of man you want to grow up to be. Whoever that man is, good character or bad, it’s going to change the world.” Isn’t that something we all need to consider carefully? Most of us will never be in a position to change the entire world or maybe we will. Regardless of what our role is, we all affect the lives of those we touch. It is our choice as to what kind of affect we want that to be.

The true heroes of Man of Steel are Superman’s biological and adoptive fathers. They are the ones who sacrifice their own lives for their son, and consequently, for the world. It’s not surprising, then, that Warner Bros. would schedule the release around Father’s Day. Celebrating all those dads who live out their lives in quiet anonymity building and shaping their sons and daughters to become “men and women of steely resolve” is what true heroes look like – and a more appropriate marketing strategy that appeals to everyone regardless of their religious beliefs. Little boys may run around dressed as superheroes in their youth, but good fathers are the heroes they choose to emulate in adulthood.

I will leave you with the words of a pastor that ring truer than any superhero legend. “Heroes aren’t born; they’re made — very slowly, with the help of God’s grace.”  I couldn’t agree more because when you submit yourself to God’s will, your humility and God’s power enable you to do heroic things. I watch that story being played out every day as ordinary people accomplish extraordinary things in the quietest and simplest of ways.

Oh, one last thing. Unarguably, the most irrefutable biblical parallel between the story of Superman and Christ is that THE GOOD GUY WINS IN THE END!

My Father's Eyes

by Joanie Butman

“There’s a new sheriff in town!” That was my husband’s announcement to our children as I prepared to leave for a 10-day trip. His statement was promptly followed by a long list of directives. I heard him attempting once again to establish a ‘NO-SHOE ZONE’ along with a number of other new mandates. I finally told him, “Keep it simple. Even God only needed ten commandments, and most of us have a hard enough time remembering them.” Despite his show of authority, I knew my children were eager to see me leave because they understood that once alone with their Dad, they (and he) would enjoy a reprieve from my watchful eye and my own long list of do’s and don’ts. My intuition was spot on because upon my return, I opened the pantry to discover many forbidden, sugar-laden breakfast cereals. When I questioned my daughter, she told me my husband bought them. When I turned to him, he pointed at my daughter and replied, “She told me to,” as if that was a viable defense. Wasn’t that Adam’s excuse?

I’m not sure if that trip was when the DTM (Don’t Tell Mom) acronym was coined, but there were other signs that perhaps all was not what it seemed. I relay the story tongue-in-cheek, but developing a united front and their own love language was a joy to see. DTMs work just fine for me. There are some things I’m just better off not knowing, and they all intuitively sense which ones fall into that category.

My pediatrician was the first to lecture me on the importance of not hovering over my husband or criticizing his child-rearing techniques. If the diaper is on backwards, no one is going to get hurt. He stressed the importance of letting my husband be responsible for his relationship with his children without me trying to dictate the terms. I thought it odd at the time, but I suppose he’d seen enough uber-moms come through his office that he chose to use his position to improve the lot of dads in general. He was right of course – and particularly good-looking, which is why I was paying such close attention.

We all carry the influence of our dad’s throughout our life. Whether you had a great dad, a not-so-great dad, or even no dad, his presence or lack thereof has a life-long impact whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. We learn not only what we want to emulate, but also what we don’t. It’s funny. The things that sometimes have the most impact are ones they may not have thought important at all. For instance, my life-long love of the theatre began with my dad taking us to occasional Saturday morning plays as a way to give my mom a break. His tradition of taking the brood of us to a Broadway show every Christmas season lasted well into my adulthood. Unfortunately, there always seemed to be a big playoff game on the same day. As an avid sports fan, he was not to be denied so he would sit in the theater listening to the game through headphones. One of the last shows we saw was Fifth of July (a drama about a gay paraplegic Vietnam vet). Christopher Reeve’s was delivering his intense soliloquy when the Giants scored the winning touchdown. My father jumped out of his seat and screamed. I'm not sure whether it was that incident or our growing numbers that eventually put an end to the tradition. Regardless, we had a good run.

I’ve inherited a lot of things from my dad – some good and some not so good, like my driving skills. There are many things I admire about him, but his devotion to family, sense of fun, ability to laugh at himself, and his penchant for remembering only good times have got to be at the top of my list. Without a doubt, though I didn’t appreciate it growing up, the most important example my dad set for me was the way he lived out his faith.

A friend of mine met my dad last year during one of his visits. Shortly thereafter, she sent me a note saying, “When I look into your father’s eyes, I see Jesus.” Wow, in the middle of Swanky Franks? Who would’ve guessed? It was an unexpected compliment though oddly enough, people have commented on his eyes before. It made me wonder what people see when they look in my eyes. Did I inherit my father’s eyes? As a Christian, the answer to that question is a resounding, “YES!” Seeing the world from God’s perspective is part of our inheritance as is His legacy of love – if we choose to claim it. In turn, our lives are meant to be lived in such a way that reveals that love to others. I believe that is what my friend saw in my dad’s eyes, and like Amy Grant, I pray that someday, others will say the same about me.

When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say

She's got her father's eyes

Her father's eyes

Eyes that find the good in things

When good is not around

Eyes that find the source of help, when help just can't be found

Eyes full of compassion, seein' every pain

Knowing what you're going through, and feelin' it the same

Just like my father's eyes

my father's eyes

my father's eyes

Just like my father's eyes

As I mentioned, my father’s example of a faith-directed life laid the foundation, but much like that doctor advised all those years ago, I had to build my own relationship with my heavenly Father. Getting to know someone is always the first step in developing a deep, lasting relationship, which is why I choose to study the Bible. It is God’s love letter to us, and it speaks to each of us in different ways at different times. Any knowledge I attained would all be for naught though if I didn’t choose to spend time with Him everyday. It’s no different than developing and maintaining relationships with our earthly fathers.

We aren’t all fortunate enough to be blessed with fathers who share their faith or even gentle, tender-hearted fathers who shower us with love. Nevertheless, we all have access to a heavenly Father who wants to do just that, who values each and every one of us and is waiting to share those things we tend to keep hidden from everyone else. Even so, it is still our choice to determine the depth and breadth of that relationship.

While I am celebrating the men in my life today, I begin by thanking God for blessing me with them.

Thanks Dad for always being there when I needed you - and especially when I didn't think I did. Happy Father’s Day!

I wrote that last line for Big Lou as my dad is affectionately called. However, when I read it, I realized it also sounds like an excellent prayer for today so I will end it accordingly with a heartfelt "Amen!"