I have never written a post for Father's Day. My dad was mentally ill and, after he and Mom were divorced, he left the state we lived in, about a month after my 9th birthday. We had little contact, after that. So this post isn't about him; he did the best that he could, but...he left, and that was good for us for many reasons.
God sent a few men into my life who, knowingly or otherwise, served as healthy and spiritually sound men. I needed that. These were not relatives; I had some uncles who were good to me, and a granddad who loved me, but I didn't really know how to relate to them, as I was growing up.
The first of the men who became so important in my life was Tom. He started a Children's Church that ran during the Sunday morning adult service. At least one of his goals was to teach us not only how to behave in church--and he seldom had to admonish us, as I remember it--but also how the church ran. He established a board, of some sort; I know I was a trustee, which I faithfully pronounced trusty, until my granddad finally helped me hear the difference.
Tom and Eva had one daughter, when they came to our church. During the time that he was the children's pastor, Eva gave birth to another daughter, named Vicki...yes, named for me. That knowledge embarrassed me, but it also made me feel special, which was not a familiar feeling, for me. At Tom's invitation, I occasionally sang a solo in Children's Church, and for a while, the daughter of furloughed missionaries sang with me.
In other ways, as well, Tom filled the gap where a father might have fit, all without (as far as I know!) ever neglecting his own family. One of the first times I went on an overnight camp-out with a church group, Tom was there and tossed a ball back and forth, with me. That was before he had started the children's service. Another time, he reached the church for another overnight camping experience and realized he had forgotten his pillow. I wanted him to put his sleeping bag next to mine and offered him my pillow. I was, I think, 10 years old, when Tom accepted a position in a church several states away. I was crushed.
He and his family moved back after 5 or 6 years, and we reconnected. By that time I was 15 or 16 and not aware of needing a daddy-figure (I was wrong, but . . .). We had occasional contact but lost touch, after I married and moved away.
Enter the Internet. Occasionally, for a few years, I would do a search for him, and several years ago--there he was! I sent a letter and we've been in touch, really only through e-mail, ever since. I hoped, at first, that Bruce and I would be going over to the area where they were living, sometime, and that we could see them, but that never happened. Now, they have moved to another part of the country. I suspect we will next meet at Jesus' feet, which is, in a real sense, where we first met.
I have always been so grateful to God for sending Tom and Eva--who is every bit as nice as her husband--into my life at a time of such great need, for me. Happy Father's Day, Tom!
